We Were Never the Rib

I’ve always found it strange that we ever agreed to this, but I find it even more perplexing that we haven’t flipped the narrative by now. 

By “this,” I mean a world in which men are routinely credited as the architects of creation while women are treated like supporting characters in a story that literally cannot exist without us.

God, for instance, is almost always introduced as Father. Not Parent, not Creator, and certainly not Mother. The feminine divine tends to be whispered about, if acknowledged at all, like an overt typo that slipped past the history editors.

Kings outrank queens—even though queens produce kings. Men sit at the helm of creation, despite requiring a womb to get here.

It’s like applauding the spark plug and ignoring the engine.

The longer I’ve lived, the more incredulous it’s felt that we’ve collectively nodded along (men and women alike), as if this version of reality makes any sense at all.

Somewhere along the way, brute force was mistaken for leadership. History has proven that we’re strangely committed to male authority. Religion, monarchy, and patriarchy long ago formed a neat little triangle of control, and somehow, strength became synonymous with domination and power that was/is measured by how much can be taken, rather than how much can be given or sustained.

And listen, I’m not anti-men. I love men. I come from a woman and a man. Some of my favorite people are men. My own father has been my hero throughout my life. This isn’t about vilifying masculinity; it’s about questioning why we haven’t yet taken the keys away from the unexamined masculinity that continues to wreak havoc. 

Because when leadership is built on force rather than wisdom, the results are…well…look around.

We can all see war dressed up as order, control masquerading as protection, and violence excused as some sort of necessity. This looks to me like a world very much run by unhealed masculinity. 

And here’s the thing we keep skipping over. Creation does not begin with some forceful command. It begins with a holding that allows things to naturally unfold. Yet the womb isn’t passive; it’s the place where all persons grow to completion. Talk about the original technology! It’s the incubator of all potential, the only natural vessel able to nurture the growth of human life through the woman's sheer surrender to a process she can engineer with incredible patience within her own body. And though we know the stages of gestation through science, the entire process is shrouded in mystery far more incredible than any other mystery of the universe. Inside the feminine, life is not forced, but is formed. (I’m not sure why writing that sentence made me cry, but it did).

Before anyone starts drafting a rebuttal email, this isn’t about excluding men. It’s about correcting authorship. It’s about giving credit where credit has always been due.

I’m sure you’ve noticed that when leadership lacks emotional intelligence and runs on testosterone alone, stewardship and kindness are suffocated, and the mighty ego replaces caring and inclusion. We are seeing it right in front of our eyes in America today. There’s a whole lot of abuse of power, domination, and silence where there should be accountability.

And to be fair, there are women sitting in positions of power who appear to be at the helm, while their appendages (especially their tongues) move in obedient rhythm to a string tied to the fingertips of the puppetmaster. This isn’t the rise of the feminine I’m talking about. That posturing is more like ventriloquism. Changing a voice at the microphone without changing the values behind it IS NOT leadership or the rising of the feminine. The feminine doesn’t perform power for applause—or for others. She knows when she’s being used as a trophy or a mouthpiece, and she opts out; sometimes gracefully and at other times like a roaring lion.

My proof-of-concept for the feminine rising to her rightful place was demonstrated by my own mother, my entire life. Before I understood feminism (the real definition of feminism, not the one people tout as the downfall of society), I understood my own mom.

She didn’t lead with bravado. She led with empathy, kindness, and an uncanny ability to make something out of nothing, especially when it meant others would benefit from it. In times when she was at a loss, she held space and waited to be inspired by answers from a Universal Source she knew she could trust, and that she also knew would, in one way or another, answer her and put her back on course. She kept life moving for herself, my dad, all of us kids, and the numerous people who counted on her at work—not because it was glamorous, but because it was necessary, and she committed to it. She led an entire organization and held a special place in one of the most powerful institutions in the world, and she never once boasted or beat her chest.

At times, Mom created unforgettable experiences out of scraps. She brought joy in those rare times when there was none and gave her kids and grandkids the times of their lives through her creativity, because she couldn’t think of anything more fulfilling than seeing the people she loved as happy as they could possibly be. She empowered her own children and thousands of families throughout her long career. She carried more than her share without demanding a medal or any renown. And she did it all with an unwavering love.

I learned more about leadership from my mother’s quiet navigation of life than from any male at a throne, pulpit, or podium combined. Once I started seeing that kind of leadership up close, the rest of the narrative began breaking down for me.

But let me be clear. What I’m calling for isn’t a takeover by women. It’s a remembering. It’s a rising up of all of us who have sat quietly in the margins because that’s what we were taught to do. It’s a wakeup call to begin to challenge what no longer serves the world.

When women rise, it’s not to dominate, it’s to stabilize and put collaboration over conquest. It’s to remind us that power without caring (about everyone involved) ultimately leads to barbarism and destruction.

So I’ll leave you with this.

What would the world look like if the womb—not the sword—set the tone?

Again, I’m not suggesting women overthrow the world. I’m suggesting we re-mother it. And maybe in doing so, we create a place where the unhealed masculine can finally heal and stop trying to prove itself.

I think it’s about time women put ourselves back in charge of the thing that only we have the ultimate capacity to create—life.