Domestic Goddess Rebellion

01

Feb, 2018
Full Moon

It’s no secret that I’m not very good at being a Domestic Goddess.

And yet, here I am, two full moons in a row writing about cleaning.

What’s with that?

There is probably some astrological significance to cleaning for this huge, Moon of Moons day. But I’m not good at astrology either, so I’m just going to share what’s coming up for me on this full moon.

This Full Moon, Blood Moon, Blue Moon, Super Moon AND Total Lunar Eclipse Moon, I’m going to completely acknowledge all those shadowy parts of me, even the parts that are incongruous.

The incongruous part of me that writes about shadows on a bright full moon.

The incongruous part of me that puts rebellion in the same sentence as Domestic Goddess.

Now, I love messing with words, but don’t you find those two words brain-breakers?

Goddess is always glorious, but Domestic is never having a good time, is it?

Let’s break it down and think about all the places the word domestic appears…

Domestic abuse, domestic violence, having a domestic, domestic work, or my least favourite use of the word; domesticated meaning to be tamed or subdued.

Let’s be honest, even the domestic terminal at the airport is a little bit less glam than the international one…

Besides, the word domestic infers being inside at all times. When I know that being outside is where the magic is.

Adele dress by Khòlò

On the other hand, when I think of the word Goddess, I think of the mother of gods, a woman in her power, hair piled on top of her head (perhaps with a few loose tendrils for the camera), a bow across her chest, a amulet at her neck, strong boots covering her feet, dagger at her hip to cut away the ideas that no longer serve her.

This Goddess believes in magic and her own strength, she has practical boots to walk, run and hike through life and it’s likely she’s wearing a long sleeved Kholo gown for maximum protection against sun and marauding mosquitos…

When I think of a Goddess, she isn’t wearing rubber gloves and her 50’s apron, scrubbing the kitchen floor with an eco-friendly brush with homemade vinegar, organic lemons and bicarbonate soda cleaning products.

No ma’am I do not.

When I think of a Goddess, she isn’t spending her days worshipping the labour-saving devices of a dishwasher, vacuum cleaner or automatic washing machine either.

She’s out there. OUTSIDE. Out in the world.

Meanwhile, I don’t see how a clean sink is going to make me a better woman.

I don’t see how making a good bed is setting an example for higher ambition for my daughter (actually it’s not and that’s backed up by research – check out this link for the evidence!)

I don’t for a moment think that having life-long experience in domestic goddessing on a resume is going to see women in more positions of power – in government, in defence, in sport, in medicine, in business, in politics, in science.

And sure, I understand how domestic duty can be an exercise in mindfulness, but it’s also an exercise in soul-destroying drudgery that is keeping women in the home and working on household admin in disproportionate numbers.

I say women at home deliberately – please don’t talk to me about how men are starting to share more of the domestic labour unless your father, your male partner and three of your male colleagues are doing so – and then by golly, I want to interview you! What is your special spark that attracts Domestic Unicorns to your hearth?

Meanwhile, I suspect that the term Domestic Goddess is a cleaning-industry manufactured archetype and that’s all the more reason to stage a domestic rebellion!

So I’m asking you now, will you join me? Will you help me create the rebellion?!

Meanwhile, what am I celebrating coming into fullness this Full Moon on 1st February at 12.26am?

I am celebrating that I am not a Domestic Goddess, and never will be.

I am celebrating that two glorious cleaners come and blitz my house for 6 hours every fortnight, allowing me to get on with my own brand of goddessing.

The goddessing of self-care.

You see, now when I walk into my house after the cleaners have left, I no longer feel guilt that I can’t keep up with my domestic drudgery.

Instead, deep warm gratitude gushes into all my previously-parched squishy bits.

I feel juicy. I feel looked after.

And throughout the following fortnight, I no longer look at the dust bunnies on the stairs, or the ring in the bath, or the fingerprints on the fridge door.

I pay no heed to them now – I celebrate that I do not leak out any more precious energy wondering how I’m going to fit in the time to clean everything.

Instead, I now spend my time cleaning up and clearing out what no longer works for me.

Instead, I now have space to do more of the things I want to do.

Instead, I now have more space to be kinder to everyone, including myself.

And where there is space, there is magic.

That’s how the Domestic Goddess Rebellion lives in me.

And that’s how I’m going to become a better woman.

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Photo credit: Lucy Spartalis

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