The Women Remember

The world has always been swinging—back and forth, side to side, between chaos and calm, wisdom and foolishness, war and peace, oppression and liberation. Life is a pendulum. And right now, it feels like we’re at one of those wild, wide swings that threatens to knock everything off the table.

But pendulums don’t swing forever in one direction. They always return to center.

My mother knew this, I’m sure, deep in her bones, even as fear gripped her during the Cuban Missile Crisis. She was carrying me then, pregnant and trembling, unsure if the world would still be here when I was born. She had reason to be afraid. The men in charge were chest-puffing and button-threatening, and she—a young woman with a whole life ahead—wondered if she’d get to meet the child she was carrying.

And yet here I am. Born of fear, raised by faith, and now old enough to see it all coming back around.

So if you’re feeling shaken right now—by the headlines, the politics, the climate, the cruelty—I want you to know: That fear you feel?

It is not weakness. It’s a signal. It means you’re still alive, still invested, still tethered to hope.

But we can’t let fear run the show. Because the truth is, women have never had the luxury of falling apart for long. We’ve always had to make dinner anyway.

Show up anyway.

Hold the baby,

heal the wounded,

bury the dead,

plant the seeds,

light the candles.

This is not new to us. What is relatively new—on the grand timeline of humanity—is letting men run the whole thing.

Let’s talk about that for a second.

For thousands of years, across cultures and continents, women were the leaders, the healers, the keepers of the sacred rhythm of life.

We knew when to plant and when to rest.

We governed in circles, not hierarchies.

We made decisions rooted in what would serve seven generations from now—not just next quarter’s profit report.

And then, slowly but deliberately, the systems shifted. Men took over, mostly through violence or decree. They rewrote the stories. The goddesses were turned into wives, then virgins, then whores. And here we are, a few thousand years later, watching them swing their dicks around and wondering how it all got so absurd.

But remember: the pendulum.

This isn’t the end. It’s a turning point.

And I believe—deep in my crone gut, in my moonlit bones—that we are swinging back toward something wiser. Something more whole. It won’t be easy, but it will be possible. Especially if women remember who we are.

Here’s what I mean by that:

Younger women, trust the power you already carry.

You don’t need to wait until you have gray hair or a certificate or permission. You are not too much. You are not too late. You are already sacred. Listen to your gut. When something feels wrong, it probably is. When something feels holy, it definitely is. Build your life around the holy.

Older women, it’s not too late to re-center.

Don’t let the world convince you you’ve passed your usefulness. You’re the firewood AND the matches.

You’re the stories. You’re the map. The world needs your clarity, your compassion, and especially your ability to say “that’s bullshit” without blinking. Your lived experience is the spell we need right now.

All of us, remember: those who are in charge right now want us to forget our strength.

They want us overwhelmed. Distracted. Doom-scrolling. Drenched in anxiety and thinking it’s normal. But it’s not. What’s normal is sitting in a circle. Tending a garden. Helping each other raise the kids. Dancing. Feeding each other. Telling the truth. We’ve done all that before. We will do it again.

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So, if you’re scared right now, that’s okay. Fear is part of the pendulum swing. But don’t pitch your tent there.

Take a walk. Light a candle. Cry if you need to, then call a friend who makes you laugh so hard you pee a little.

Return, again and again, to the center.

That’s where we find the pulse of life. That’s where our ancestors are humming songs under their breath. That’s where wisdom waits.

And that’s where you’ll find me, too—this old grandmother wannabe — I’m watching the moon and stars, whispering steady truths into the dark.

You are not alone.

It is not too late.

This is not the end.

This is the swing. And we are swinging back.

Love you, Amy