The Ripples of Desire: When the "I" Meets the "We"

So much of my work is about helping women find their spark again.

Their joy.

Their pleasure.

Their desire.

Their passion.

Their aliveness.

It is about reclaiming.

Reclaiming their body.

Reclaiming their voice.

Reclaiming their right to take up space.

Reclaiming their life.

Because so many women have spent years putting themselves last. Saying yes when they mean no. Silencing the whisper of their own needs. Holding everyone else together while slowly losing touch with what lights them up from within.

So yes, I believe deeply in desire.

I believe in pleasure.

I believe in joy.

I believe in women remembering what they want, what they need, what feels good, and what brings them alive.

But the more deeply I go into this work, the more I can feel that there is another side that also needs to be spoken to.

Because ultimately, we are not separate.

We are part of a family, a community, a culture, a planet, a web of life.

We are both the individual and the collective.

And so the desires of the I also need to be placed against the backdrop of the we.

This is where the dance begins.

Not the old dance of women abandoning themselves for everyone else.

Not the old story that our needs come last, that our pleasure is indulgent, that our dreams are too much, or that being a “good” woman means quietly swallowing everything we want.

No.

That is not what I mean.

I am talking about something much deeper, more conscious, and more honest than that.

I am talking about asking:

What do I desire?

What do I need?

What brings me alive?

And what ripples will this choice create?

Because every choice creates ripples.

Like throwing a stone into water, what we do moves outward.

It touches our children.

Our partners.

Our friends.

Our communities.

The earth.

The collective.

Doing something simply because we want to do it, while knowing it may harm others, asks for deeper reflection.

Seeking pleasure at the cost of someone else’s wellbeing, safety, joy, or peace is not true liberation.

It is still disconnection.

And this is where I think the conversation around desire and pleasure can sometimes become too simple.

Because yes, we need to reclaim our joy.

Yes, we need to remember our aliveness.

Yes, we need to stop glorifying exhaustion, burnout, and self-sacrifice.

But we also need to stay awake to the world around us.

We need to remember that our lives are woven with the lives of others.

For me, this often comes back to motherhood.

If I wake up in the morning, tune in to my body, and feel that what I would really love is to stay in bed all day, that desire is valid.

It is information.

It tells me something about my body, my energy, my nervous system, my needs.

Maybe I am tired.

Maybe I need softness.

Maybe I have been holding too much.

Maybe my body is asking for a gentler rhythm.

But I am also a mother.

I have children who need care, food, presence, and support.

So I do not get to simply opt out of my responsibilities and run away to frolic in the fields of gold because my body says it wants rest.

But I can listen more closely.

I can ask:

How can I honour this need without abandoning the people who rely on me?

Maybe I make the day gentler.

Maybe the kids eat something simple.

Maybe we cancel the extra thing.

Maybe I let the house be messy.

Maybe I create more softness around the edges.

Maybe I find a way to meet my need for rest while still tending to the responsibilities that are mine to hold.

This is the dance.

The dance between desire and responsibility.

Between pleasure and consequence.

Between the I and the we.

Between reclaiming our own life and remembering that our life is woven into the lives of others.

There is also something here about remembering the choices we have made in the past.

If I chose to have children, then my children need to be factored into the decisions I make now.

Not because I no longer matter.

Not because motherhood means self-abandonment.

Not because my desires, pleasure, joy, or dreams have to disappear.

But because my life is now woven with theirs.

They are part of the ripple.

So when I check in with what I want, I also need to check in with what my choices mean for them.

This does not mean I sacrifice myself endlessly.

It does not mean I ignore my needs until I burn out.

It means I stay awake.

I ask:

What do I need?

What do they need?

Is there a way to honour both?

Where can I soften the day rather than abandon the responsibility?

Where can I choose myself without causing unnecessary harm?

Because true freedom is not just doing whatever we want.

True freedom also carries awareness.

Awareness of the promises we have made.

The people we love.

The lives connected to ours.

The ripples that move out from our choices.

And maybe this is where the image of the tapestry comes in.

If we think of ourselves as one thread in a great tapestry, then what we do with our own thread matters.

If we pull too hard, move without awareness, or try to tear ourselves away completely, it affects the whole tapestry.

But if we tend to our thread, if we bring it back to its truth, its colour, its texture, its golden shimmer, then it does not just shine for itself.

It illuminates what is around it.

This, to me, is the deeper purpose of coming back to authenticity.

It is not simply so we can say, “This is what I want, so I am doing it.”

It is so we can become more fully alive.

So our light can shine more brightly.

So our presence, joy, pleasure, passion, and truth can ripple out and inspire others to remember their own.

The point is not to follow our dreams and desires in a way that disconnects us from everyone else.

The point is to ask:

Is this choice helping me illuminate who I truly am?

And is that illumination offering something beautiful back into the world?

Because when we shine from authenticity, we do not take light from others.

We help remind them that they are allowed to shine too.

That is the lens.

That is the backdrop.

Not self-abandonment.

Not selfishness.

But a more conscious way of living where the I and the we are not in opposition.

They are woven together.

Desire is not the problem.

Pleasure is not the problem.

Wanting more for ourselves is not the problem.

The invitation is to become conscious of the ripples.

To come back to the body and ask not only, “What do I want?” but also, “How does this choice move through the tapestry of my life?”

Maybe the most embodied choices are not always the ones that give us instant pleasure.

Maybe sometimes they are the choices that help us stay connected to our truth while also staying connected to the people and world around us.

Maybe this is the deeper practice.

To honour the spark within us.

To let it grow.

To let it become golden.

And to let that light illuminate the world around us, rather than burn it down.