On Saturday morning, I went to the market. The cafés were full of men, sitting, talking, facing outward, watching people pass. There was time in the way they sat. No rush. A kind of ease that felt familiar and unquestioned. Inside the market, it felt different. Women behind tables of oranges, herbs, eggs, greens still carrying the smell of soil. Moving between customers. Weighing, chatting, noticing who had arrived, who had not, whose mother was unwell, whose child had exams.
I found myself watching the conversations. Women leaning in slightly, asking a follow up question, remembering something from last week, softening an exchange before it became abrupt. Small things, easy to miss, yet they shape how spaces feel. I notice these things more as International Women’s Day approaches. Not the slogans. The choreography. Who holds atmosphere. Who remembers. Who notices tension before it spills.
From a psychological point of view, this is emotional labour, though the phrase can sound clinical. In reality, it is human. It is scanning a room, sensing tone, anticipating needs, holding relational memory. A form of intelligence that is rarely named because it is expected.
I notice older men in cafés still carrying status in ways that feel intact, their presence remaining central. I notice older women becoming quieter in public space even as their responsibilities continue, a quiet fading that does not reflect experience, only visibility. Identity is shaped by attention. To be seen sustains a sense of self. To be overlooked slowly alters it. At the same time, I notice change.
Conversations about hormones that once felt awkward now happening more openly, not only menopause but younger women asking about mood, anxiety, fertility, libido, energy. The body becoming something to understand rather than endure. Knowledge brings relief. Language itself can regulate. I notice the difference in how my gynaecologist speaks to me now compared with 10 years ago. More curiosity. More care. Less dismissal. Not perfect, but different. Being listened to changes how a woman lives inside her body.
These quieter shifts sit alongside louder reckonings. Epstein’s shadow lingering. The unfinished echoes of MeToo. Misogyny that moves between the obvious and the subtle, a joke, an interruption, a dismissal, sometimes small enough to question yet cumulative in effect. Psychologically, this creates tension. Gratitude for progress mixed with vigilance. Relief alongside fatigue. Recognition that awareness can grow while safety still feels uneven.
In families, I notice mothers holding the emotional centre of their children’s lives in ways that feel instinctive yet effortful, sensing distress early, managing transitions, translating feelings into words, creating emotional safety almost invisibly.
This is not about suggesting women are naturally better at holding emotional space, nor that men do not nurture deeply. It feels more accurate to see it as training and expectation. Many women learn early to anticipate needs, smooth tensions, and carry relational memory, often without realising this is a skill rather than an obligation. When named, it opens the possibility that this quiet work can be shared rather than silently inherited.
I think part of this quiet work is memory. Women often carry the small details that give relationships continuity. Who likes what. Who is struggling. Who has not called in a while. It can look like attentiveness, but it is also emotional scaffolding. When these details are held by one person, connection appears effortless to everyone else. When they are not, relationships can falter in ways that feel confusing but are quietly structural. Naming this is not about complaint. It is about recognising how connection is sustained and how easily this sustaining work becomes invisible even to the person carrying it.
The quiet work that steadies relationships rarely attracts applause, yet its absence is immediately felt. Toni Morrison’s words linger here. “If you can only be tall because someone else is on their knees, then you have a serious problem.” The line invites a gentle but necessary question about whose steadiness allows others to feel at ease and how easily uneven labour becomes normal.
International Women’s Day offers recognition, flowers, messages, a warmth of appreciation. These gestures matter. Being seen matters. But appreciation does not automatically redistribute emotional or practical care. Celebration does not remove vigilance. Arundhati Roy’s words feel closer to the quiet hope I sense. “Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.” Change often arrives through awareness rather than declaration, through conversations that name what was invisible, through women sharing knowledge about their bodies, through partners learning to hold emotional space differently, through older women refusing quiet disappearance.
Perhaps the work ahead sits between the quiet and the dramatic. Naming invisible labour. Sharing it more consciously. Listening when women speak about their bodies and experiences. Challenging the small moments of misogyny that pass without comment. And still, the work is also urgent. Women continue to navigate public space with a background awareness that rarely leaves the body, routes considered, messages sent to say “I am home,” stories of harm surfacing with unsettling regularity.
Celebration exists alongside vigilance. Awareness is growing. Language is shifting. Women are speaking more openly about their bodies, their experiences, and their expectations. Yet the deeper work of safety, fairness, and shared emotional labour remains ongoing. Recognition matters, but it is not the destination.
Also read Farah Naz’s last month’s article: It’s not your fault — but it is your responsibility
