Some Women

Don’t Get To Live Soft Lives.

Pamela Leavey left a thoughtful note on Substack that triggered my own memories:

Some women don't get to live soft lives. 

They get handed chaos, grief, betrayal, and
they have to learn how to bloom anyway. 
They become the ones who know how 
to carry others when their world falls apart 
because they remember what it was like 
when no one showed up for them. 
They're not here because it was easy. 
They're here
because they didn't give up.

It brought back memories of women I’ve known around the world, for whom I ached to help lighten their loads.

And now I’m thinking about the women in mud huts giving birth, and if they are lucky, there is a village midwife to help.

I am thinking of women who are not free, who are hidden away, who must have a man’s permission for the smallest thing.

I am thinking about women who every day must walk 3 or 4 kilometers for water and carry it home in an old 20 liter tin cushioned on top of their heads with a small, woven circle of grass.

I am thinking of a young woman waiting in the rain for a crowded bus, with a baby on her back, a child holding her hand, and another baby on the way soon, all while she balances a large bundle on her head.

I am thinking of a woman who is carrying a bundle of firewood on her head that required two men to lift it up for her.

I am thinking of a woman I stood beside as she wept in deep grief at the funeral of her husband, a good man, a healer who died from that terrible plague.

I am thinking of a woman who knows her child needs basic vaccinations but must choose between standing line at the clinic, or working in the garden, carrying water, caring for her children, gathering firewood and cooking the family meals.

I am thinking of a woman with two small children and a tiny infant in a box next to a small wood stove not adequate for the Balkan winter, her windows and roof covered with plastic sheeting so she and her children can stay dry, at least, in the cold, and I see the tears in her eyes as she tells me how they took her husband before the infant was born and doesn’t know if he is still alive.

Please don’t complain about your life of privilege, your degrees and credentials, your granite countertops, your gated communities, your shiny new suv. Please hold these images of our sisters in your mind and do something, anything, search until you find a way to lighten their loads in places where hope is a luxury they cannot afford.