Chapter 2 Angeni Luna
Angeni Luna
All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to becoming a mother.
While she was busily entering the requisite hashtags in the comments section—#motherhoodjourney #motherhood #consciousmotherhood #motherisaverb #connectedparenting—Angeni watched people’s comments roll in.
Such true words, yet again. You are a beautiful soul
OMG. This. Who was I even before having my child? I don’t even know
It is the most wonderful journey, isn’t it?
I can’t believe I ever doubted having children. It has changed me in the best ways
She had long ago stopped “liking” each of the replies.
She couldn’t keep up, and she didn’t want people to wonder why she “liked” someone else’s comment and not theirs.
Each post got thousands of replies. People had to understand that she simply could not engage with each one.
She had a baby to care for, dinners to make, a house to tend to, new posts to write.
Occasionally, though, she had to respond.
You seem to think that a woman’s life is not complete if she doesn’t have a child. It’s kind of #tradwife and
These were the kinds of comments that just had to be dealt with.
I do not believe every woman needs to become a mother, but I do believe in the sacred beauty of motherhood.
It is a true gift. I have grown in ways I never could have before.
I will continue to speak about this sacred beauty because there is too much in our cultural narrative about the difficulties of motherhood. I am sharing my view of its wonders.
The person, this @betty-bo-betty, wrote back immediately.
Easy for you to be detached from the difficulties. You live in a fucking commune with people who tend to your family and fawn over you like you’re the messiah
She swiped left on that comment, then tapped the little red trash can icon. Delete.
Then she promptly blocked @betty-bo-betty. Buh-bye. The world did not need exposure to this kind of vitriol.
For the record, she did think a woman’s life wasn’t complete if she didn’t have a child.
That was why the womb was there—to harbor a life.
Not utilizing it was like refusing to ever put weight on your right foot.
She couldn’t say that, though, not outright.
There were all these feminist types, these @betty-bo-bettys, who spammed her with hate when she tiptoed near suggesting that motherhood was imperative.
But it was. It was, quite literally, the crux of humanity.
Also for the record: She was a feminist, if feminist meant being pro-female. That was her whole point—a woman’s body was incredible. It could create. It could give so much. Every woman deserved to see the full potential of her body and soul.
All these Gloria Steinem enthusiasts had steered things so wrong.
Erik walked into the kitchen, shirtless and sweaty from chopping wood in the backyard—eleven acres of misty forest land they’d purchased with the profits from their first years of offering their Conscious Couples Communicating (CCC) webinars.
The webinars had been lucrative beyond Angeni’s wildest dreams. So many people were in need of guidance on how to create real, meaningful connection within themselves and with their partners.
Angeni and Erik served as an example of that connection.
They had done so much work together, exploring their pasts, their traumas, their attachment styles, their relational needs.
She was proud of their marriage, proud that they had spent years building the foundation of their togetherness before calling Freya into her womb.
People said her life seemed idyllic and, well, it was.
“I think we’ve got enough wood for the year at this point,” Erik said.
In their life before Freya, a life that felt light-years away, in another galaxy, Angeni would have been aroused by this sight of her handsome man, aroused even by his body odor.
Now, though, her eyes were trained on Freya, looking for slight shifts in facial expressions that would suggest she had gas—Angeni had eaten broccoli the night before, and she knew that cruciferous vegetables had compounds that would make their way to her breast milk and, perhaps, cause her baby to have some gastrointestinal distress.
Her current nose found Erik’s smell off putting, but her daughter’s poops mildly sweet and pleasant.
Still, though, Erik’s eyes locked with his wife’s, as if he was checking to see if the old Angeni had returned yet. Poor Erik—he hadn’t realized that she was never coming back.
“You guys have been working hard out there,” Angeni said.
He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and said, “We sure have.”
Someone had made a comment recently about how her household seemed divided along traditional gender lines, with the women (Angeni; her soul sister, Aurora; and their newest addition, Sitka) canning tomatoes and caring for Freya while the men (Erik and his soul brothers, Jer and Matt) tended The Land.
This had been her dream—to create a loving community where members could contribute their individual strengths for the greater good.
While she was the matriarch, everyone had their cherished part.
She felt so supported in an era when she knew so many new mothers lacked support.
Freya would grow up knowing her auntie Aurora and uncles Matt and Jer.
There was so much affection, so much warmth.
Angeni loved to share Instagram posts and reels of the life they’d created.
They were living proof of a different way to do modern life.
Angeni was convinced that if more people lived like them, they would be happier, less stressed.
We are made to live in tribes she’d posted recently, along with a photo of her tribe.
The responses had varied—several people commented with #lifegoals, while others posted eye roll emojis with no further explanation.
Erik said people were envious of the life they’d built, and, well, who could blame them.
Our division of labor is according to the interests and skill sets of the people involved. I expect other people divide labor according to what works in their unique family situation
The person wrote back:
And why do you think you’re interested in baking cookies and sewing booties while the men are getting a workout building a yurt? #gendersocialization
She didn’t respond to that one. There was no winning.
What people didn’t seem to understand was that she had the typically male role of breadwinner for their family.
The Instagram accounts, the webinars, the workbooks—they were all her creations, and they all generated enough income for their family to live on.
Erik participated in the couples-based work, yes, but there wouldn’t be couples-based work without Angeni’s initiative and ambition.
Of course, calling attention to these facts would be detrimental to Angeni’s relationship with Erik.
She understood his childhood wounding, his sensitivity to feeling unimportant and overlooked.
Freya fussed in her baby wrap, waking from the nap she’d taken while Angeni was making pasta from scratch. Angeni wiped her hands on a dish towel and lifted Freya from the wrap.
“She heard Daddy’s voice and wanted to say hi,” she said, holding the baby out to Erik.
Erik took Freya in his arms, his biceps flexing as he held their baby against his bare chest. People seemed to think skin-to-skin contact was only relevant for the newest of newborns, but Angeni was hoping to shift the cultural narrative about this by posting photos of Freya continuing to love skin-to-skin contact with her parents.
Angeni was usually topless beneath the baby wrap, allowing Freya to nuzzle her breasts and feed whenever she needed.
Angeni didn’t share this fact with the outside world, as she knew there were prudes that would be horrified that her boobs were on display daily in an environment shared with men besides her husband.
People already thought it was strange that she lived in community with men besides her husband: anyone think she’s boning those two beefcakes?
Sex was such a ridiculous fixation of modern society.
Their community rose above all that. They didn’t believe in mind-numbing substances or escaping through screen time.
They didn’t condone meaningless sex outside the bounds of a loving relationship.
Matt had a girlfriend, Annika, who lived on Point White, at the southern end of the island.
They had all met her, but she never stayed overnight on The Land.
Matt stayed at her place a few nights a week.
Angeni had made it clear that the community was to be kept small, intentional.
She wanted everyone to feel completely safe.
Jer was shy, private. If he dated, he kept it to himself, never advertising if he was spending the night elsewhere.
Aurora hadn’t shown interest in romance, said she was more than fulfilled by the platonic love she felt on a daily basis.
They all lived in peace, free of the drama that so many people seemed addicted to online.
“Morning,” Sitka said, stumbling into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
She’d been up most of the night with Freya so Angeni could get some much-needed rest. Angeni couldn’t deny that Sitka had been a wonderful, if unexpected, addition to their little community.
She’d arrived a month ago, showing up quite literally on Angeni’s doorstep, peddling turquoise the way Girl Scouts peddle cookies.
She had all these pieces of jewelry in a little cart on wheels, the kind teachers use for classroom art supplies.
She looked to be in the first half of her twenties, thin as a reed, gold hoop in her septum.
When she introduced herself as Sitka, Angeni gasped.
“Sitka? Like the spruce tree?”