How many times do we as women push ourselves to go to sleep “just an hour later”, skip that meal, run out to do a chore that “can’t wait until tomorrow” because we hear our families singing Eishet Chayil in our heads and wish we felt like we deserved it?
Sometimes it is through loss that we come to discovery.
She, who is fearless, who walks out of the wilderness feral-shouldered and unbroken.
The sacred excavation of helixed antiquity and brand-newness.
There is an oceanic pain-knowing, a tide no soul should ever be made to swim against.
Your every step can’t help but grind riots of inquiry into the dusty dirt.
