So…What Do We Do With This D Word?

It’s a little word that triggers big feelings. Domestic. It conjures sunshine-filtered kitchens, Pinterest-perfect living rooms—and also unpaid labour, invisible obligations, and a constant mental load. Women are pushing back, and rightly so. We don’t want to be reduced to a role; we don’t want to shoulder an invisible industry—valued at a massive $650 billion globally. And yet, many of us secretly crave balance: the comfort of a tidy space, the soothing rhythm of a well-run home. So what do we do with the word domestic—bury it, burn it, or wholeheartedly redefine it on our own terms?

The conversation around domestic has long been polarized. Cultural cheerleaders glamorize it—emasculating it to “domestic goddess” status—while progressive voices slam it as the shaming code for unpaid labours. And in academic circles? It’s often discussed as a structural injustice—women doing everything and getting little credit, emotional support or financial support in return. But here’s the rub: neither nostalgia nor cancel culture fully captures our lived truth. Many women are exhausted and craving function. So this isn’t about rejecting domestic spaces—it’s about demystifying, decolonizing and remaking them.

At the Creative Women’s Association, we believe that domestic needn’t be demeaning. It can be dignified. It can be soulful. Redefinition starts with honest language: it’s not “cleaning” or “chores”—it’s care. It’s not slack or feminine restraint—it’s stewardship, skill, and sanctuary-building. For centuries, women have curated rituals of self-care and communal tending—baking, gardening, maintaining hearth-warmth. That wasn’t sweetness because they were doormats. It was quiet cultural genius—principles worth elevating, not erasing.

Real talk: the biology is on our side. UCLA researchers found that women’s cortisol (stress hormone) spikes significantly in messy environments—while men’s levels remain stable . Disorder isn’t just chaotic—it’s biologically unsettling. That’s not a failure of feminism—it’s a clue. It tells us that domestic environments shape our wellbeing, creative capacity, decision-making, even mental health. If we reclaim domestic care, we reclaim healthy living. But only if it’s shared equitably, named honestly, and protected intentionally.

While we can’t dismantle 650 billion dollars overnight, we can reshape the narrative. Step one: stop romanticising or rejecting the domestic. Instead, analyse it. What works? What drains? Who owns these cycles? Gathering systems—like chore schedules, digital home hubs, seasonal resets—aren’t emasculating or small; they’re generative. They signal respect for mental space and collective capacity.

Next: franchise the skill. Teach it, own it. Want to master sauce-making, laundry systems, planting calendars or mend-and-make practices? That’s not ‘female labour’—it’s practical ingenuity. Take what’s gendered out of the mix. Let homes become sites of intentional care—not a backdrop for someone’s destiny, but a shared workshop for every resident who lives there.

Beyond hygiene and harmony is the funny magic: when domestic spaces work, creative energy blooms. We see it in countless women-led kitchens that become community kitchens; in study nooks that transform into writing studios; in care routines that wake up our mental clarity. Domestic becomes incubator—not punishment.

Redefining domestic also means reclaiming the language. Use words like caretaking, space-building, grounded rituals, intentional stewardship. Those words carry gravity, agency, confidence. They reframe labour not as obligation, but as creative sovereignty.

To be clear: we’re not asking for praise, trophies, or a return to housekeeping rolls. We’re asking for recognition of skill, value, and co-responsibility. We’re asking for mental clarity, access to motivating rhythms, and the chance to spark innovation from a grounded place.

So. What do we do with domestic? First, we refuse its binaries. We refuse shame and gloss. We excavate its history—its ancestral rites, intergenerational care, communal seeds. Then, we keep what works. We discard what limits. We call it what it is. And we demand shared ownership and shared benefit.

It’s time to bring domestic into the light—with intention and creative mastery—so it no longer signals smallness, but foundation. A foundation that holds our tired bodies, our creative ideas, our communal worth. That, to us, is true power.