The Field We Are Living In
This week felt heavy, and not in a way I could shake off.
Not the kind of tired that comes from doing too much, but the kind that settles in your body when something deeper is moving through you. A weight that isn’t just personal. A feeling that what we are living inside of right now matters.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the field.
Not in a spiritual bypass way. Not as a concept to analyse. But as something lived and felt.
Your energy.
My energy.
And the space that gets created between us.
That space is not empty. It’s alive. It’s shaped by what we bring into it, what we ignore, what we carry without tending, and what we choose to turn away from because it feels too much.
This week, I felt the field very clearly.
There was a moment on a train that shook my sense of safety.
A man who would not listen to the word no. A boundary that should have been simple, but wasn’t respected. My nervous system going into shock before my mind had time to catch up. The aftermath lingering long after the moment had passed.
And then, in the same week, the murder of a child in the town I now live in.
A child.
There are no words that make sense of that. And I don’t want to try. This isn’t about details or headlines. It’s about what happens inside a community, inside a mother’s body, inside a collective, when something like that enters the field.
Because it does enter the field.
We don’t witness these things and remain untouched, even when we think we’ve compartmentalised them. Even when we keep scrolling. Even when we tell ourselves we’re fine.
Our nervous systems know otherwise.
We are living in a time where trauma is everywhere.
On our screens.
In our streets.
In our bodies.
In the way people move through the world without attunement, without care, without listening.
And here’s the part that feels important to name gently, without blame:
When we don’t tend to our own regulation, when we don’t pause to process what we are holding, we don’t just carry it privately. We leak it into the field.
Our reactivity.
Our numbness.
Our unspoken grief.
Our rage.
Our fear.
None of this makes us bad or broken. It makes us human.
But it does ask something of us.
I believe women have always been the tenders of the field.
Not because it’s our job to fix everything.
Not because we should carry what others refuse to hold.
But because we notice.
Because we feel.
Because we know when something is off.
The problem is that we’ve been trying to do this alone, in a world that doesn’t slow down enough to let us feel what we feel.
So we push on.
We normalise what isn’t normal.
We silence our bodies.
We tell ourselves we’re overreacting.
And all the while, the field gets heavier.
This isn’t a call to take on more responsibility.
It’s a call to come back into choice.
Choice about what we consume.
Choice about what we tolerate.
Choice about when we stop and tend to our nervous systems.
Choice about how we show up with others.
Because every time we choose regulation over reaction, presence over performance, truth over silence, we shift the field. Even in small ways. Especially in small ways.
This is how change actually happens.
Not all at once.
Not loudly.
But collectively.
As we move deeper into winter, I feel the invitation to slow this down even more.
To sit with what we are carrying.
To acknowledge what has moved through us.
To be honest about what feels unsafe, heavy, or unresolved.
Not to wallow.
Not to fix.
But to tend.
To remember that we are not meant to do this alone. That sitting in circle, at the kitchen table, in shared witnessing, has always been how humans survived dark times.
The field changes when we gather with intention.
And that matters more than we realise.
If you’ve been feeling the weight of this week, or this season, or this world, know this:
You’re not imagining it.
You’re not too sensitive.
And you’re not alone.
We are living inside something together.
And together, we can choose how we meet it.
Continue the Conversation
If this reflection resonated, I speak more openly and in real time in this week’s episode of Around the Kitchen Table, where I share the lived moments behind this piece and explore what it means to consciously tend the field we are living in.
→ Listen to the podcast here
An Invitation to Pause
As we move deeper into winter, I’m holding The Sacred Pause — a seasonal journey for women who feel the weight of this moment and are longing to slow down, regulate their nervous systems, and come back into rhythm with themselves.
This is not about doing more.
It’s about creating space to tend what you are carrying.
→ Explore The Sacred Pause
