Finding My Seat at the Table of Womanhood

On Labels and Language

I used to think feminism was… a bit extreme.
Or maybe it was the word that felt extreme—like one more label I didn’t quite know how to wear.

Labels are funny that way.
We use them to make sense of things that are too big, too layered, too human to capture completely. We create words so we can talk about experiences that don’t really have language.

It’s the same with spirituality.
Some people say “God.”
Others say “Allah.”
Others say “the Universe.”
But we’re all reaching toward something indescribable—the energy that binds every being, every star, every quiet moment of this existence together.

We do our best with the few words we have.

On Womanhood and the Words We Use

Maybe feminism is simply the closest word we have for what it feels like to be a woman fighting for her small piece of humanity here on earth—to name the struggle, the beauty, the longing, the becoming of it all.

Because being a woman means stepping into more roles than any one label can hold.
Mother, partner, daughter, friend, maker, dreamer, caretaker, anchor… and still, beneath all of that, trying to hear the voice that belongs only to us.

The voice inside.
The one untouched by expectation.

On the Observer Within

Lately, I’ve realized something that feels both ancient and brand new:
We are not our thoughts.
We are not our emotions.
We are not even our roles.

We are the one watching the experience.
The observer inside the human costume.

And that observer — she deserves a seat at the table.

Not the seat that’s performing for approval.
Not the seat that’s shrinking to not take up space.
But the seat where she can breathe and exist and be human without being pulled in a thousand directions by who she “should” be.

On “Having It All”

Womanhood… motherhood… the cultural noise around “having it all”… it makes that seat hard to claim.

Part of me believes strongly that women should have it all.
Another part says, “Yes — but not all at once.”
And then there’s the quietest part, the observer, who seems to smile and whisper:

“You will have the experience you are meant to have. Let it unfold. Enjoy the ride.”

On Letting Go of the “-isms”

Maybe I don’t align with any “-ism.” Maybe I never will.
But I know this:

I am a woman learning to honor the voice within.
I am a woman learning to name her own humanity.
I am a woman claiming her seat at the table—not because a label defines me, but because I am the one living this life from the inside out.

So call it feminism.
Call it being awake.
Call it whatever language fits.

I just know I want to live in a world where women feel free to listen inward, to trust the observer, and to live from that quiet, rooted place.

And if that’s an “-ism,”
then maybe that’s one I can finally sit with.