Do It Yourself

A Memo to the Village While It Burns

Today I chose myself.

And honestly? The world can choke on it.

What a scandal. What a quiet, decadent, feral luxury a mother, a career woman, a keeper of everyone else’s chaos, daring to say "not today, demons".

Because apparently if you’re not meal prepping organic quinoa bento boxes, limiting screen time like a tech CEO, answering emails with a smile, exfoliating your trauma, hydrating, stretching, healing your inner child, and looking like a Pinterest ghost while doing it you’re failing.

Oh no.

Call the council. Alert the elders. Summon the beige moms of the apocalypse.

But today?

I flipped off the expectations with freshly moisturized hands and zero intention of apologizing.

Let me set the record straight before the village gathers with their pitchforks and unsolicited opinions.

The feral glitter goblin was loved, accounted for, and pre snacked like the tiny chaotic royalty he is.

And I have been on call all week 8 to 5 PLUS “surprise, everything is broken and somehow your problem” after hours nonsense, INCLUDING the weekend.

So no. This was not neglect. This was a controlled burn.

And if the village catches fire in the process?

Maybe they should’ve minded their own business.

I woke up and did not sprint. Did not leap from my bed like a caffeine fueled servant of capitalism and motherhood. No. I marinated in my blankets like the swamp witch I am and whispered into the void “The troll can parent today.” (And lo, the warning had already been issued. I am merciful, not chaotic evil.)

I took a shower so long it became a pilgrimage.

Used ALL the hot water. Every last drop.

Left nothing but cold regret for whoever came after me.

I painted my face in colors that would make HR nervous. I dressed for comfort, not productivity. I looked like peace but with a threat behind it.

Soft.

Unbothered.

Slightly unhinged.

Then like two mildly dangerous woodland cryptids my sister and I went for coffee.

Which turned into lunch and a margarita. Which turned into we deserve this and no one can stop us because we pay taxes and have survived things.

We met the troll and my tiny sunbeam of chaos, who looked at me like I personally hung the moon just for him. And that, that right there?

That’s how I know I’m doing just fine.

He asked for a haircut. And I, in my infinite, exhausted wisdom, said “Ah yes. A father son side quest.” The troll complained, of course.

As trolls do when asked to contribute to their own storyline. And I ignored him with the elegance of a woman who has transcended nonsense and no longer attends meetings she didn’t schedule.

And then, oh then I entered a bookstore. Alone.

Unsupervised. Financially irresponsible. Emotionally thriving. I touched books. I smelled books. I bought books. For myself. No guilt no justification no “well I earned it.”

I exist. That’s enough. Selfish? If taking up space in my own life is selfish, then carve it into stone and set it on fire. Because listen carefully, You cannot pour from a cup that has been licked clean, microwaved, dropped, and handed back to you with more expectations.

Yes, I went to the market. Because even feral witches must forage. Snacks were secured for the glitter goblin his favorites, obviously, because I am not a monster. And birthday treasures were hidden with the precision of a raccoon who knows joy is coming but refuses to share the location.

Dinner tonight? Lazy. Not “quick and easy.” Not “low effort.” Lazy. Glorious. Intentional. sacred laziness. Because I am tired.

Because my body is summoning ancient feminine forces that require snacks, silence, and possibly arson.

Because I have spent days, weeks, months being everything for everyone. And tonight? I am off duty.

My phone is still ringing. Emergencies. Problems. People who panic before they think.

People who could solve their own problems if they just sat still for 30 seconds and used the brain cells they were issued at birth.

Let it ring. If it’s not bleeding, burning, or directly paying my bills it can wait. And if the world collapses between now and Monday?

It will do so while I am horizontal, moisturized, unbothered, and deep in a book that does not need me.

The troll may call me lazy. May mutter about effort and expectations and whatever fragile nonsense surfaces when a man is mildly inconvenienced by having to participate in his own household.

The village may whisper. They always do.

But here’s the truth they can choke on, I am not lazy. I am not failing. I am not “letting myself go.” I am a woman who has carried the weight, held the line, answered the calls, kept the tiny human alive and loved, and still showed up when I had nothing left.

And today? Today I set the weight down.

Today I chose joy over performance. Peace over approval. Myself over the endless, hungry expectations of a world that will never be satisfied anyway. And if that makes me a bad mother, a bad worker, a bad woman?

Then light the match. Let the village burn.

I’ll be over here rested, radiant, and absolutely unwilling to rebuild it.