MY LIFE DESIGNED BY WOMEN

by Brenna McWha

My friend Rachel came to visit me at my childhood home for the first time over the holidays. She walked in, dropped her bags, and I began giving her the “official” home tour. I walked her through the multi-colored living room filled with art and mosaics, the blue kitchen with LED-lit cabinets and fiesta dishware, the backyard with dinosaur lawn ornaments and windchimes littered throughout, and finally to the corner bar bought from Facebook Marketplace with a neon sign reading “Julie’s Bar” above it. After the tour was complete and we had settled down for the evening, Rachel turned to me and said, “You can tell this house was designed by a woman.” I agreed, finding the sentiment accurate. But it got me thinking, why are some things so viscerally “woman,” and what gives them this quality? Is the essence of womanhood so potent that it bleeds into the space we occupy, the energy we emit, the homes we create?

Growing up, it was just my mom and me in our home. Until I was 18 years old we shared a bathroom, a kitchen, a living space, a life. One of the things I find most special about my childhood, as well as into my adult life, is how close I am with my mother. We are best friends and confidantes, comparable to the likes of Lorelai and Rory Gilmore. As I reflect on my home, I feel as if I need to give it its due credit for the closeness I feel with my mom. I wonder now if the physical closeness of our shared space is partially what made us feel so close emotionally. If the space around us can do so much as to bring two people together, it’s no wonder that it can encapsulate the essence of the people within it.

As the only two people in our home, and both of us women, I think there was a sense of comfort between my mom and me in doing what we liked with our space. My mom’s personality is so prevalent in our home because she felt confident inserting her point of view into it. This is a luxury I think many women who share a space with a man may have to compromise on. My mom never had to dull her design for the fear of a man not “getting it,” or feeling emasculated by her use of color or artwork. Having authenticity in your space is something that allows you to truly feel at home, as it’s an outward representation of yourself. This leads me to surmise that “a woman’s touch” is simply an expression of a woman being herself, unconfined. My mom’s house isn’t perfectly manicured or “Pinterest perfect,” but it is a visual representation of what she unapologetically loves. It showcases her varied interests and exemplifies her individuality in a way that I think women so often seek to do in a world molded by the patriarchy.

Another way I find that spaces women create are so identifiable is because oftentimes these spaces are created directly for other women to recognize and enjoy. Historically, women have always yearned to create spaces where they can commune to discuss trials and tribulations that are unique to womanhood. It’s something we as women have grown accustomed to- carving out spaces in industries that don’t want us, societies that don’t respect us, and situations that don’t prioritize us. To survive we build these sanctuaries to shield ourselves from an oftentimes dangerous and scary world. I think the idea of “homemaking” that women are so often associated with should not be valued only in the traditionalist sense of making a space comfortable for a man, but instead with the notion that we build and maintain homes where ourselves and other women can find community and respite. I was fortunate enough to have a space like this growing up with my mother.

I was even luckier that I was able to build another women-centric space when I moved away to college. I had the privilege of turning my generic Tallahassee apartment into a home with three other women. This space had the same uniqueness as my childhood home, in that it felt so representative of everyone who lived there. We had a Twilight composite, birthday tassels that hung year-round, pastel place mats, and Cher posters. As my roommates’ decorations went up, I got to see more and more of who they were. I could see their personalities splayed across our walls, folded on our couch, and magnetized to our fridge. And the more I saw of them (the “them” being what they contributed to the space, as well as the women themselves), the more it felt like home. Throughout that year living together I tried new things (cooking, crafts, dancing), opened up emotionally in ways I hadn’t with others before, and affirmed a lifelong friendship with the best friend I could ever imagine (shoutout Julia). This growth I fully contribute once again to the comfort I found being in a home full of women, who made the space so conducive to being my authentic self.

Fast forward to now, and for the first time in my life, I live in a space with all men (a male cat and dog included). I love my current home with my incredible fiance, but I think the time I’ve spent living with women was so integral to being able to form an authentic life with a partner today. We have a space that feels genuine to me, I think partly because when I look around I see pieces of all the homes I’ve lived in before. The clock on my wall from my college apartment, the painting above my couch that was in the same location at my mom’s. All of these components that came from homes before, that have traveled with me here and helped to maintain this feeling of “home” within the space I reside in now. All physical items that I’ve brought with me, but embedded with the spirit of the spaces themselves. The legacy continues on, and home becomes an amalgamation of the women I’ve been lucky enough to share my life with.

When I think about my life, my being, I think of how the women in it have shaped me. And how in turn, I shape my space. To me, being a woman is characterized by depth, warmth, creativity, and intellect. All of which I find wherever I call home to embody. My mix-matched pillows represent my varied interests, my collected pieces of art remind me of my appreciation for beauty. My hand-painted walls make me think of my penchant for creating, and the animal figurines on my mantle showcase my sense of imagination. The contents of my home mirror my sense of self- my sense of womanhood, which is something so strong that it carries weight into everything we as women are, everything we create, everything we put out into this world. That sense of safety and acceptance that accompanies a home created by a woman is ultimately what I think Rachel felt when she came over to my house over the holidays, and what I have been fortunate enough to feel with the women I’ve lived with for so much of my life. It’s something I’ll cherish and take with me into my life with my partner, my pets, and whatever person I end up being shaped into. It is a constant reminder of the strength of spirit that we as women contain, and pass on throughout the duration of our lives. I think it’s quite beautiful that women don’t need to be “homemakers,” because instead, we are home ourselves.

I got you a coffee. Oat milk, right? Is that a new top? I love your haircut. I saw your story!

I’m making your birthday gift, so it might be late. Can we do a craft night? Should we make dinner and watch together? Let’s go get piercings.

What shampoo do you use?

Anyone have a hairstylist they love?

Has anyone tried the TJs butternut squash mac and cheese?

Do you like your gyno?

Goodbye! Love you!

Get home safe. Text me when you make it.

Where are you? She’s almost here, I’m tracking her location. Come if you want to! You should come!

Collecting seashells and laying them out. Trying on rings at the flea market. Lining shelves with trinkets. Because she saw something and it made her think of you! Sitting in silence.

Crying side by side at the movie theater.

Trading clothes. Packing communal bags for vacations. Passing drinks around the table, ceremoniously taking sips of each. Letting a man buy a round. Giggling about him afterwards.

Can I come over? I don’t want to be alone. Are you home? I Door Dashed you something. Check your email.

Ew. He sounds like a loser.

I’m so sorry love :(

Hallie Cain