Between You & Me… 

A couple of weeks ago, I read Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own, and while reading this essay, I kept thinking about its implications for contemporary women. Women of the borderlands, working-class women. What does it mean to have a room of our own? Is it even possible?  

Published in 1928, Virginia Woolf’s essay originated as a speech at Cambridge on ‘Women and Fiction.’ It explores the conditions necessary for women’s creative expression during a time of newfound political and economic opportunities for women in the U.K. 

I was raised by many, many women who were not my mother, from my sisters, aunts, and grandmother. It could only be described as a village, a collective effort made possible by multiple women sacrificing themselves to put me first. All these women gave a part of themselves to look after me. They sacrificed their time, their money, to ensure that I was clothed, fed, and went to school.  

 I  can look back at all of the times at my sister’s effort and understand seemingly it was a simple action required.  

I can understand what it means to be a young 20-something trying to work, pay the bills, keep herself afloat, and still make time for her younger siblings. I can look back at my aunt, who would pick up my sister and I from school, take us to her house, and offer us food. Now I see the kindness, the selflessness that it takes to cook a meal and offer a warm place to stay, to extend that to others while you still have a family of your own to take care of. My grandmother– the generosity and love that it took for her to decide to care for us, to raise us, all those years. All these second mothers who chose to step up –we see and respect you.  

I have also been fortunate enough to experience firsthand these women who were my primary caregivers for many years what a beautiful role it is to be a second mother.  

For that, I am blessed to have two amazing and unique little critters (my niece and nephew) in my life. I love those kids. More than words could describe. I remember not long ago having changed their diapers, feeding them, driving them to and from school on occasion, dealing with meltdowns, and above all, loving them unconditionally. I remember the FIRST time that they pooped on me, and my immediate thought was, “the fact that I am not raising a white flag and calling it quits RIGHT NOW, that’s REAL unconditional love” (and that moment was followed by plenty more “happy little accidents”://). I think about this love, the responsibility that it brings, and how that is both a benefit and a challenge.  

Now, the gift of time has brought about a new perspective, a new light, a question. What about them? What about their dreams and aspirations? What about their goals? Did they have the time/money/energy to pursue their passions? Do you, reader? How does one do it? How does one navigate the self and the family, especially when our communities are so dependent on helping each other to survive? When the word “aunt” means babysitter, when the word “sister” means personal driver, and when the word “grandmother” now means mom. Where is their room?  

While there might not be a single answer, we can start by showing up for them, as they did with us. As the baby of the family who felt that safe, protective love, this is my humble attempt to do so. Now, as a young adult who serves as a second mother myself, I finally understand the natural yet intentional effort it takes.…