London
On why I don’t get to London often enough. Fish and chips on Notting Hill. Noodles and dumplings steaming in Chinatown. And the correct Brasier.
My writing for women reclaiming their natural power.
For women reclaiming power and somatic leadership.
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I am harbour
She didn’t come to visit. She came to nap. She lay down because my house holds. I am harbour.
On Nitpicking
Nitpicking happens in the moment. Without thought. Without impact assessment. Without malice.
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The way I blow my husband now
A blowjob is not performance. It is placement. It is command. It is programming. And it is how I keep him tethered to my orbit.
How I tune my man in a real house. With real kids. In real time.
Five minutes. Any room. Any hour. I tune my man before friction starts. I clear him before chaos builds. I place him before drift sets in.
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This is what they’ll remember
They won’t remember our words. They’ll remember the rhythm. The stillness. The change. This is what remains.
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Who my husband is
He did not run. He did not punish. He stayed through everything. This is the man I married.
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Blame is a racket. Placement is power.
I stop blaming him. I place him. The house changes when I do.
I hated my husband
I didn’t fix the marriage with words. I let him land. Not with sex, but with presence. That’s when he came home.
Why I tune my man
I share my house with a man. My space. My rhythm. My bed. And because I want no drama, I tune him.
Maintenance is not sex
Maintenance isn’t romance. It’s placement. I don’t clear him because I owe him. I clear him because I built this house. And I keep it flowing.
Householding is not cuckolding
I don’t fuck other men. I rarely fuck my own man. I hold my house clean. This is not rebellion. This is householding.
You are not late. This is what you were always becoming.
Most women arrive late to their power. That’s how it works. You are not behind. You are exactly on time.