I am a working mom, so to be able to have a space for my kids as

Hearken, children of time, to the words of Ayesha Curry, who once proclaimed: “I am a working mom, so to be able to have a space for my kids as well as a space for my work, it’s just great. That is what balance is.” These words, though simple in sound, carry the depth of oceans and the strength of mountains. They echo the eternal struggle of human beings to divide their days between labor and love, between duty and devotion. In them is revealed the secret harmony of existence—the weaving together of toil and tenderness, where neither is sacrificed, but both are given their sacred dwelling.

From the beginning of days, humankind has sought this balance. The farmer who tilled his fields by sunrise still found time to gather his children at dusk, telling stories by the fire. The warrior who returned from battle longed not for endless war, but for the embrace of kin and hearth. And so Ayesha, in her wisdom, gives voice to an ancient truth: that true greatness does not lie in abandoning one’s work for family, nor in forsaking family for work, but in shaping a life where both can flourish side by side.

Consider the story of Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-king of Rome. Though emperor of a vast empire, burdened with endless decisions of state, he wrote in his Meditations of the tenderness he held for his children, and of the joy found in simple acts of love within his household. He knew that to govern well, a man must also love well. His empire was not only of laws and legions, but of balance between power and tenderness. Without that harmony, both family and empire would crumble into dust.

So too, in Ayesha’s words, we glimpse the empire of the home. A mother who works, who builds, who creates, is no less mighty than kings and queens of old. But her triumph is doubled, for she reigns in two realms: the world of labor and the world of love. To carve out a space for her children and a space for her work is to carve out her own destiny. She becomes both provider and nurturer, hand of strength and hand of comfort, carrying the weight of many crowns.

Let no one think this an easy path. For the road of the working mother is often steep and lonely. In ancient times, women labored in fields and marketplaces while still raising their children in wisdom. In modern times, the struggle has shifted but not vanished. The longing of the heart remains the same: to be fully present in each role, without losing oneself in either. Thus the cry for balance is not a selfish yearning, but a declaration of survival, a song of resilience sung by countless women across the ages.

What then shall we, the listeners, learn from this? The lesson is clear: seek not to live divided, but integrated. Give each sacred duty—work, family, love, rest—its rightful place in the temple of your days. Guard your time as a warrior guards the gates of a city. Create boundaries where chaos seeks to intrude, and honor both your craft and your kin with undivided attention when you stand before them. For in this lies peace.

To put this wisdom into practice, set aside hours of your day where your heart is wholly given: to your work, without distraction; and to your family, without intrusion of toil. Mark those hours as holy, as one marks feast days in a calendar. Build spaces, both physical and spiritual, that welcome the fullness of each role. And remember that balance is not found once and held forever—it must be forged anew each day, like a blacksmith striking iron, patient and steadfast.

Thus let Ayesha Curry’s words be more than a quote; let them be a torch passed down, illuminating the path for mothers, fathers, and all who strive for harmony. For the true measure of life is not in how much we conquer, but in how we balance the worlds we love.