The Myth of the Self-made Plot: glimpsing a rewilded ecosystem through the eyes of a mother. (And why there’s a bit of broccoli in my coffee)

In mid-life, I’m noticing a new kind of luxury. One I’ve always valued, but now cherishing with every bone in my body. It’s the quiet, uninterrupted weekend morning- a space to think, reflect and write. There’s comfort in the awareness of a sleeping adult child upstairs, a postponed mess in the kitchen, opened books, half-finished notes and soft sheets punctuated by cats. 

It’s maybe only now, I feel I can appreciate it all more clearly, because momentarily life has slowed down just a fraction. There are of course new and recurring hurdles, urgencies and stresses, but it’s this luxury of an open snippet of time, embedded in a momentary feeling of wholeness that reminds me how valuable things like time, space and sense of belonging really are. 

Culturally, politically and economically, we need an overhaul of how we identify, measure and value resources. 

The framing of self-made individualism is all around. It shows up in our workplaces, our homes and gardens and slides dangerously into our personal conversations. Notions of ‘working hard’, ‘deserving’, ‘effort’, ‘reward’ and ‘earned wealth’.

But perhaps one of our most valuable assets (if we’re going to talk in that language), is time. And time, when given market value in a corporate setting, gives people power and freedom to buy out from the daily frictions of life. It’s a blessing and a curse. 

In market terms, a mother’s time is valued at zero, yet her labour forms the foundation that allows the rest of society to function. The proclaimed ‘self-made’ individual relies on a hidden network of personal assistants, cleaners and project managers to keep their life running. Roles that are often internalised by a mother every day without a budget to ease the flow. Success can't exist as a solitary achievement built on merit, it’s stacked on the efforts of lower-paid workers who handle the logistics. It relies on someone confronting the messy, human realities of life. It is affected by varying starting points, some with inherited privileges and others without. If wealth truly followed effort, single mothers would be the richest people on earth. 

While the economic system exploits the single mum, the human system rewards a profound, uncommodifiable sense of belonging which cannot be bought. If status and community are tied to net worth and position, the loss of a job or money exposes the fragility of the support network and it disintegrates. If security is threatened through financial hardship, emotional bonding becomes strained. Mothering, by definition, shows how belonging is forged through rawness and unvarnished human needs, but this demands an environment of safety not economic fragility. Bonds with children aren’t based on what can be bought, but on being an emotional anchor. This creates a deep, unshakable root system that can’t be indexed by a market. ‘Home’ is created through emotional labour and presence. The reward is an authentic sanctuary, not an asset.

The thing about abstract legacies is that they’re unmistakably replaceable. It's sobering to confront, that when we step down from a corporate role, the workplace moves on. The role of a mother represents an ultimate form of human security. The ‘work’ is actively shaping the resilience, empathy and psyche of the next generation. You can’t fire a mother from her role or escape the impact.

This all-consuming, exhausting work can’t be switched off. And it's these daily rituals and the presence of the unfiltered truth of family life which forms the nature of our sense of belonging.

Putting the capitalist framework aside, the contrast between a self-made individual and mother shifts dramatically. Mothering highlights the real value of relational wealth. We live in a time where people feel justified in collecting real estate to prove worth instead of creating authentic sanctuaries. Real wealth isn’t measured by what you can exploit or buy, but how deeply you are rooted, irreplaceable and present in the lives of those who matter. Life isn't about accumulating dead capital, but sustaining living connection.This is the ultimate equity.

This is a truth seen clearly by stepping into a garden. In heavily landscaped gardens, dominated by imported materials and plants, the manicured showcased image hides the hard work of an army of landscapers, contractors and gardeners. Wealth buys the appearance of growth, while creating a garden which is fragile. This garden is a high-maintenance illusion, dependent on an uninterrupted flow of external capital. The person who inhabits the garden becomes a spectator not a creator. It becomes an artificial display of control, not a living habitat.

Ultimately, it’s our children (and future generations) who best understand the value of our landscapes. Without presence and shared time, our environments become structurally hollow. The legacy we want to be leaving isn’t an asset to be managed, but a landscape to be felt.

If our focus is on creating pristine spaces, children learn to interact with their environments through performance and achievement rather than exploring safe vulnerability and risk taking. We need to honour the spaces for raw, messy, organic growth. A space without the pressure to be perfect, but rooted in attunement and presence, provides the ultimate psychological safety. When the infrastructure of daily life is constantly outsourced to paid help, children learn that care is transactional. The child’s sense of belonging is tied to the preservation of aesthetics and a legacy of performance. 

Looking through the eyes of a mother shifts the narrative from observation to immersion. It opens up a pathway where belonging is unconditional rather than transactional. It makes possible the radical rewilding of a system currently dependent on external validation. A reminder to sit in the wild, exhausting, uncompensated chaos and celebrate the choice to build communities rather than monetize them. 

I’m absentmindedly trying to extract a piece of broccoli from my coffee while thinking how to finish this off. Mildly aware that this little piece of swirling vegetable represents my privilege- to choose to leave the washing up for now, just make a coffee and sit and write. And to enjoy the quiet, reflective morning while my now 18 year old is still sleeping, accompanied by the anticipation of him waking up and sharing (predictably) more profound insights on the world than me!

I don't think mothering is an identity that has to be shared in order to understand the value of wealth. Or an exclusive pathway to reaching some of these conclusions. But the experience teaches me something everyday. And the importance of listening with curiosity to the plethora of emotions brought up, of tenderness, awe, responsibility, rage, compassion, fear and guilt. Feeling money poor but life rich. And grateful for my little piece of wild.