Reweaving the Village: Right Relationship with Kin

A few days ago, we named something most of us have been living with in silence.

A kind of exhaustion so deep it doesn’t show up in blood work or burnout surveys.

It’s the ache beneath the functioning.

The numbness behind the smiles.

The quiet question pulsing at the center of our lives:

“Is this really how it’s meant to be?”

We spoke of the weight we’re all carrying—individually and collectively.

How we’ve been taught to override our needs. To keep going. To hold it all together.

How that chronic, unseen burden slowly severs us…

from ourselves,

from each other,

from the Earth,

and from the life we were meant to live.

And we didn’t stop there.

Because exhaustion isn’t the end of the story.

It’s the whisper that begins the remembering.

First, We Noticed the Shoulds

We looked honestly at the trap of the shoulds—

those invisible scripts we inherited about who we need to be, how we need to show up, what we’re allowed to feel, want, or rest from.

And we began the sacred work of untangling.

Of noticing how many of our daily choices are made from duty, not desire.

From guilt, not truth.

From expectation, not alignment.

We saw how many times a day we abandon ourselves in order to be “good.”

And we began to imagine what life might feel like on the other side of that cage.

Then, We Remembered Joy

Not the shiny, Instagrammable kind.

But the steady, humming, soul-filling joy that arises when we are in right relationship.

Joy not as reward, but as frequency.

As medicine.

As our natural state when we stop performing and start listening.

We remembered that joy is not indulgent.

That it is not earned.

That it is not found “out there.”

Joy is the result of a life lived from the question: “What would I love?”

And Now, We Remember This:

We were never meant to do this alone.

The Created Life does not end with personal liberation.

It doesn’t stop with sovereignty.

It spirals back into belonging.

Because what is the point of remembering yourself,

if there is no one to witness it?

What is the point of joy,

if there is no one to share it with?

What is the point of freedom,

if your neighbour is still in chains?

The Fracture Beneath It All

Modern life sold us the myth of independence.

That strength means doing it all yourself.

That needing others is weakness.

That the nuclear family is enough.

But the truth?

We are village creatures.

We are meant to be woven into circles of care—

elders, aunties, siblings, neighbours, chosen family.

We are meant to share grief, raise children together, pass wisdom through stories, celebrate over food, fall apart in someone else’s arms.

But for many of us, that circle was broken.

We were raised in isolation.

Taught that love must be earned.

That parenting is a solo sport.

That asking for help makes you a burden.

We grew up without elders to guide us,

without community to hold us,

without the rituals that remind us: you belong.

And we’ve been quietly grieving ever since.

The Myth of the “Good Parent” and the Village We Lost

One of the cruelest tricks of this world is the story of the good parent.

It tells us we must be everything:

provider, nurturer, teacher, healer, protector, perfect role model—

all within a two-parent or single-parent unit, behind closed doors, with little rest and no room to fall apart.

And when we can’t keep up—because no one can—we feel like we’re failing.

But we’re not failing.

We are doing alone what was never meant to be done alone.

The child in us is still looking for that circle.

Still longing to be held by something bigger than one tired caregiver.

Still aching for village.

Returning to Kinship

To live a Created Life is to reclaim what was lost.

To reweave the village—on purpose.

To say:

We don’t need to be everything.

We need each other.

Kinship isn’t just about blood.

It’s about shared care.

Shared memory.

Shared responsibility.

Shared joy.

It’s the group chat where you don’t have to explain yourself.

It’s the neighbour who brings soup before you ask.

It’s the auntie who remembers what your laugh sounds like when you’re free.

It’s the elder who doesn’t give advice, just says, “I see you.”

Kinship is built slowly.

Intentionally.

Messily.

And it is sacred.

A Life in Right Relationship

We began with exhaustion.

We moved through liberation.

We touched joy.

And now we remember: Belonging is the ground joy grows in.

Right relationship with kin is not a return to codependence.

It is a remembering of interdependence.

It is a weaving of lives that reflect each other’s wholeness.

That create space for rest.

That do not demand performance.

That honour the sacred in each person, no matter how messy, tired, or undone they are.

You are not here to carry it all.

You are here to carry your part.

And trust the rest to the circle.

The Invitation

You don’t have to build a village overnight.

Begin by reaching out.

By naming your need.

By asking the people in your life: Can we care for each other differently?

Begin by tending the friendships that feel like home.

By honouring the elders in your orbit.

By being honest when you’re not okay.

By letting someone hold you.

Begin by remembering that your belonging is not something you earn.

It’s something you are.

You Are Not Alone

This is not the end of the journey.

This is the return.

The spiral back to what was always true.

You were never too much.

You were never too soft.

You were never meant to do this alone.

Let the village rise again.

One truth.

One circle.

One act of care at a time.

You belong.

You always have.