A Heavy Heart and a Full Plate

Today, my heart is heavy. Because this morning, I have to slaughter chickens—and I fucking hate it.

Yes, I enjoy a roast chicken or KFC as much as anyone, but here’s the truth:

I have a passion for being accountable for the life I take in order to eat meat.

As an aspiring badass woman, I don’t turn away from the harsh duties of my domestic life. On a ranch, being self-sufficient isn’t just about planting gardens or gathering eggs. It’s about growing food, harvesting it, preserving it, and then all the familiar (and relentless) follow-ups—cooking meals, washing dishes, and doing it all again the next day.

I don’t have a shiny “go-to, guaranteed-success” self-care method for these moments.What I have is grief.I howl. I scream. I cry when I say goodbye to animals.I sweat and sing my prayers for serenity.I hold my knife with strength and my grief with tenderness.

I mark the passing of summer with bonfires, where we tell the stories of family and village life. And while it soothes me, let’s be clear—nothing makes the hard things easy.

After today, I’ll rest and recover the best I can. And tomorrow, I’ll show up again—for the never-ending list of seasonal chores: chopping wood, sorting cattle, canning and freezing food, digging out winter clothes.

And when I sit down with my plate of homegrown food, I’ll feel gratitude in every bite.I’ll hold my grief tenderly, right there next to the nourishment.

Because that, too, is badassery.

Not the false toughness of “no big deal.”But the brave choice to feel it all: the sorrow, the gratitude, the weight, and the wonder.

This is the reason I host the Badassery Community. Because all the women I know are doing fucking impossible things - invisible labour without (enough) support.

IFKYK.