As I was peeling a satsuma in my dark kitchen tonight, I found my mind wandering to medieval Europe, of all things. And how when we learn and read about history, it’s never about a woman, standing in her kitchen, staring out the wintry window and eating citrus.
It’s always about the larger shifts, culture, humanity at large.
I felt quite small in that moment. Relatively insignificant. And yet also significant. For without me, and millions of other women like me across millennia, history would cease to exist.
It would be empty.
We small, insignificant beings fill out the tapestry of humanity. Humanity’s story.