To the Matriarchs and Matriarchs in the Making

Dear Ones,

I’m writing to you today with a tender heart—one that’s been stretched, humbled, and deeply nourished in recent days. I’ve been asked more than once: what does reciprocity really mean in practice? The question has lingered with me, not as a challenge but as an invitation. And as I sit with it, I want to share some thoughts with you—not as final answers, but as stepping stones along a shared path.

At its core, reciprocity is both individual and collective. On the individual level, I’ve come to understand it not as “tit for tat,” but as a sacred honoring—a mutual exchange of energy, rooted in intention and integrity. It’s about recognizing the unseen labor, love, and lineage behind every gift we receive. Whether it’s knowledge, care, time, or wisdom—so much of what we’re given in life is truly priceless. How, then, do we honor it?

For me, the answer lies in how I respond—with presence, with gratitude, and with something energetically meaningful in return. Sometimes that looks like sharing knowledge of my own. Sometimes it’s offering a symbolic gift or contributing to a cause dear to the giver. Sometimes, it’s just showing up consistently, or being there when someone needs to lean. And sometimes, it’s hard—because I realize I don’t yet know the person well enough to give meaningfully in return. Or I see the vast gap between what they have to offer and what I feel capable of giving. Those moments are uncomfortable—and also full of insight.

Have you seen this in your own relationships? The friend or relative who always takes, always asks, and rarely gives back? In a world shaped by extraction and transaction, it’s okay—necessary, even—to create boundaries. Reciprocity isn’t about martyrdom. It’s about balance. It’s about not letting your well run dry.

And for those who are in seasons of deep need—whether due to illness, loss, or financial challenge—there can be guilt around asking for help. I see that, and I honor it. But here’s something I’ve learned: the most healing way to move through that guilt is to offer something of energetic value in return. It might be a blessing, a song, a homemade meal, a prayer, or a word spoken at just the right time. These things carry weight far beyond any dollar amount.

Reciprocity cannot be monetized. It lives in relationship.

Sometimes, a true exchange takes time. I’ve waited months—or years—for the right moment to offer something back that felt true. And when that moment comes, the connection it restores is almost alchemical.

On a collective level, reciprocity becomes even more important. Especially for those of us who carry privilege—whether through ancestry, skin color, or access to resources—we are tasked with understanding how much has been taken in our name. As a white-presenting, European-American woman, I cannot ignore that many of the comforts I live with were built on the suffering or labor of others—on stolen land, and through systems designed to extract rather than nourish.

So, what do we do? We give. Intentionally. Consistently. Quietly. We support land back efforts. We share back abundance where we can. We fund Indigenous-led projects. We show up with humility and with the awareness that our giving is not charity—it’s a step toward balance. It’s a sacred act of repair.

And as we begin to practice reciprocity with one another, we must also extend that practice to the natural world. The dominant culture in the U.S.—rooted in extraction and profit—has made it easy to forget that our lives are also built on the lives of plants, animals, rivers, forests, and oceans. What might it look like to restore that relationship?

For some, it means not eating meat. For others, it’s reducing air travel or resisting fast fashion. For me, it started with simply getting to know the plants and animals around me. Learning their names. Listening to their cycles. Offering gratitude each day for the life they give me. But I had to learn how to be in reciprocal relationship with humans first, before I could truly begin to relate to land in that way.

And now, I feel I will be learning the language of reciprocity—for life.

So I write this to you, Matriarchs and Matriarchs in the Making, as both a reflection and an invitation:

When you consider reciprocity, start small. Ask: How has this gift—this person, this knowledge, this moment—shaped me? What might I offer in return that holds meaning, that carries weight, that comes from the deepest part of me?

Don’t let guilt or shame cloud the practice. They are not necessary here. What is needed is courage, attentiveness, and a willingness to live in rhythm with a more generous and just world.

Let reciprocity be a balm, a bridge, a blessing. Let it loosen the grip of guilt, and lead us gently back into right relationship—with one another, and with all that sustains us.

With deep respect and ongoing love,

Maija