
Two women accompany each other in their transformation. They discuss the power of sensitivity, empathy, and how one’s room looks: a space in which you can finally tune in and listen to yourself. Monika Kucia and Natalia de Barbaro speak of the road to freedom and multi-faceted aspects of manifesting our true selves.
Monika Kucia: We have come a long way together. Were I to point out the most important aspects of this journey, I would say it was mainly about accompanying each other in the process of leaving and returning to ourselves. In your book Czuła przewodniczka. Kobieca droga do siebie [The Tender Guide: A Woman’s Path To Finding Herself], you wrote this path “is rough and full of potholes, often leading us astray.” You led me, even though you are not me. Sometimes, I find it hard to believe I was so distant from myself. Nowadays, I’m learning not to wander off too far, even though it never happens definitively. How do you see it?
Natalia de Barbaro: Yes, leaving oneself is something that happens all the time. It is not possible to stand right by the core of who you are at all times, at least not in my experience. This is not a story of just one great achievement and sticking a flag on a summit but of a constant process of adjustment. Also, I have to remember that there are people on whom I can rely. When I feel weaker or have a bad day, the risk of self-abandonment grows higher. Then I can call you or some other friend and have someone ‘hold space’ for me, as we call it in women’s circles.
What does this mean?
Whenever I close my eyes and think about holding space, I can see myself sitting in a chair in front of someone watching me with care, listening to what I say. It brings to mind the phrase you often use: I see you, I hear you. It’s the opposite of judgement or unsolicited advice.
I would love to discuss the question of space with you. I keep circling the idea of one’s own room. Look, this is my shed here [we are talking via video chat]. Here’s the Egyptian cloth from Tatiana, a washed-out rug next to it, and a scarf I used to carry my daughter Luśka. This shed used to be derelict and ugly, but now it serves as a temporary room of my own while the house is being renovated. To me, the question of one’s own room is connected to the relationship I have with myself. Let me read you an excerpt from Izabela Filipiak’s introduction to the Polish edition of A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf:
“A room of one’s own is also the music. This room is made of walls, floors, windows, and ceilings. In a way, the room is also made of birds that chirp outside the window, a child’s cry coming from across one wall, the sounds of love being made across another. A room of one’s own also means peace. Especially by night, unmovable, the deepest it can be. One’s own room is the money needed to afford it. And that moment of turning the key, opening the door to see first the night’s glow, hazy through the milky net curtains, and then the table, your desk, untouched papers, scattered just like we left them. And then comes this thick, sweet warmth, pooling around the heart.”
Beautifully written, I forgot about it.
We tend to discuss mental space