05/30/2025
āØSanctuary WeaverāØ
Dear ones,
I wasnāt planning to write this today. In fact, it came as a whisper~ like many of the sacred things do.
I was standing in my kitchen, making protein pancakes with fresh blueberries, just a soft, ordinary moment when I reached for a spatula that used to belong to my former partner. The feel of it in my hand stirred a memory, which stirred a feeling, which opened a doorā¦
And I walked through it.
Grief was waiting there - not sharp or fresh, but tender and soft, like mist rising from the earth. Not just grief for one relationship, but for many things. For the echoes of love and memory that live in objects, spaces, and land. For the invisible threads that linger in a home once shared. For the role Iāve played again and again in my life - the one who stays, who tends, who remembers.
And as I sat with that, I began to notice something.
In each of my past relationships, itās been me who remained in the home, in the town, in the energy.
While others moved into new places, new rhythms, new chapters, I stayed.
Not because I was stuck.
Not because I couldnāt go.
But because, on some deeper level, my soul chose to stay.
To be the one who alchemizes the memories.
Who transforms the old energy.
Who blesses the lingering spaces with intention and presence.
To be the one who listens to the unseen and makes it holy again.
I now see this as part of my sacred role as a woman.
As a Sanctuary Weaver.
As a Sacred Space Keeper.
As a vessel of the Divine Feminine who knows that true transformation happens not only by leaving, but often by staying.
Even as a little girl, whenever someone asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, my answer was always the same: āI want to be a mom.ā
But now, through the eyes of remembrance, I know it was never just about becoming a mother.
It was a soul memory - ancient, encoded with purpose.
I wasnāt simply only longing for children.
I was remembering my calling to tend to the unseen architecture of life.āØ
Even then, I sensed it:
Home is not just a structure, but a Temple.
And to tend it is to midwife the energies that live within ~
to become the pulse of peace, the anchor of presence, the guardian of the holy.
This is the work that shapes reality, though it leaves no resume.
It is quiet. Often invisible. But it is nothing less than divine.
It is about tending to the soil where life takes root, whether that life is a child, a family, a dream, or a self just beginning to bloom.
That little girl didnāt yet have the words.
But she was speaking a truth older than time.
And now I remember once again!
Somewhere along the way, the Divine Feminine was diminished.
Her sacred roles were diluted. Her essence distorted in a world that exalts the visible, the productive, the quantifiable. We began to worship what can be measured - the paycheck, the title, the outcome (masculine qualities), forgetting the soul-shaping force of what is felt, sensed, and unseen (the feminine attributes).
The Feminine is the prayer warrior. The energy weaver. The one who listens to silence and speaks with Source for guidance and wisdom.
She is the healer who midwives not only bodies but timelines. Who alchemizes pain into wisdom. Who tends to the spirit of a home, a family, a field.
She is the keeper of rhythm, of beauty, and of numerous unseen blessings.
And yet, in a culture obsessed with doing, she has been forgottenāeven by herself.
Homemaking was dismissed.
Nurturing went unnoticed.
Intuition was called irrational.
But now, we remember.
And we riseānot to mimic the masculine, but to embody the sacred.
To reclaim the holy power that was never in performance, but in presence.
To make a home sacred is to be an alchemist of energy.
To infuse the ordinary with consciousness.
To create a sanctuary where love can root, where truth can rise, where spirit can feel welcome.
This is what I am remembering. This is what Iāve always known.
And I share it now as a living transmission for anyone whose heart it touches.
So coming full circle, back to the spatula and the quiet portal I walked through this morning:
Iām not just āstayingā in my home right now.
I am rooting in. I am alchemizing what was.
I am tending what still is.
And I am weaving what will be.
With every flower I plant, every room I paint, every deck board I stain, I am living in devotion.
This is the energy of consecration.
The work I do in this home in silence, in stillness, in unseen prayer ~ is shaping a new future.
And from this place, this temple I tend with reverence,
I rise.
I share this with you because I know so many of you feel it too.
The ache to be honored for the invisible labor you offer to your homes, your families, your communities.
The longing to be seen not just as a nurturer, but as a weaver of worlds.
The subtle shame that sometimes comes with desiring a life that looks quieter, slower, more rooted.
The resistance to believing that tending to a home could be enough ~ could even be holy. Well it is Darling! it is!
If you are at home right now whether by choice, by circumstance, or by sacred longing,
I want you to know: your presence there is holy and needed.
If your soul is stirred by tending to your spaceā¦
If you feel peace when the light pours into your kitchen just rightā¦
If caring for your home feels like an extension of your prayer lifeā¦
Then trust that ~ that is because it IS! āØ
You are not ājustā at home.
You are in ceremony.
You are in devotion.
You are tending a templeāseen and unseen.
And if your heart yearns to be home, to slow down, to soften into that rhythmā
Honor that yearning. There is wisdom in it.
This work is deeper than the world has taught us.
It is ancestral.
It is cosmic.
It is Divine Feminine remembrance, awakening through your hands, your heart, and your home.
You are not ājustā anything.
You are a Sanctuary Weaver.
You are doing holy work.
And I see you.
Thank you for letting me share this part of my journey with you.
Thank you for being the kind of woman who can hold this kind of story.
If youāre also reclaiming your space, re-rooting your life, or healing the wound around what it means to be a homemaker, Iād love to hear from you. Hit reply. Tell me your story. Letās honor the sacred soil beneath our feet ~ together.
With deepest love and reverence,
Charity
