28. Heroes and Leaders

Dear London Fire Snake Scorpio,

I know it seems like I am complaining about my kids lately and how they treat me. And, yesterday, telling you about little Mycroft’s teen betrayal, you probably are primed by now to see me and my world as one of the righteous, resentful elders. So, today we will talk about a sensitive topic — the power dynamics in the house.

First of all, and before we continue to anything else, let’s talk about the soul merger between you and me. In my world, my children live under the branches of my Wooden nature — they are mine to shelter, to protect, to nurture and to gore the F out of anyone who even looks at them funny. Mine. Period.

You and me, that’s a different story. You are my roots and my sun. So you are the one I turn to for my own refills of energy and safety. Of course, this does not mean that I will be any less protective of you. But I usually will fume on the borders rather than gore anyone for you, respecting your autonomy. So far so good, ainit?

The problem begins when your natural need to protect your woman will be directed against those little MFs who sharpen their teeth on me. It is, after all, their job. And it is my job to teach them how a mother should (at least 75% of the time) be tolerant of it. I know that while reading Siege, there was a part of you — that arrogant, decisive, defending hero side that honestly makes me melt in every other direction, was itching.

You probably thought “I would have ended that with a word” or “I would have stood at the door to let her rest” — and I am not saying it’s impossible to do. But it’s a delicate, delicate balance. There’s only one thing in this world you can do that will make me turn my horns on you, my love, and that is turning your Scorpio sting on my kids. Frighten them, strike at them, limit their free spirits or stand between them and me — and we have a problem.

It will break my heart, my love, but my duty, responsibility, and love to my children will always be the choice if you make me choose. I am an Ox. I can survive anything. You are a Snake; you have scales to protect your gentle skin. My kids are kids. They need me, and I will stand by them even if it will kill my soul.

Now, lucky for all of us, you ARE a Snake, so finesse, politics, and manipulation are not foreign to you. I do not mind you stopping Piggy’s intrusions on my body with a word, as long as that word does not use fear but gain cooperation. I do not mind you standing at the door to defend my rest, as long as the narrative is not “mom needs a break from you people” but “let’s go do something fun while she is not looking and cannot stop us.” Wait, that’s a lie. It’s not that I do not mind, it’s that I crave it.

In a house full of big feelings, big emotions, and big personalities — what we need is a precision tool that holds the current and gently leads it to the sea rather than another Ox. Trust me, one of me is definitely more than enough.

And, hon, I carried this tribe so far, and will carry it on my own for a few more good years — but I am not too proud to admit that we are missing key ingredients here. I might be the one to nurture and supply all their needs, and that is not going to change, but I cannot teach them finesse; I cannot teach them diplomacy. Haha, the mere thought of me being diplomatic is ludicrous. I will sooner tell you what I truly think of you and the situation, sigh.

But being a smart businesswoman, a smart human in general, I suppose, is one who knows their abilities and their limits, and instead of fighting it, supplies it in another way. I am a provider; what I lack, I outsource.

So expect to be in charge of defusing the situation with finesse when I dig my heels in and start shouting, and to be in charge of the football talk (I called it soccer last time and could almost feel you recoil while reading it, haha). Expect to be the one who smooths the surfaces of my raffled feathers as I grow big and tunnel visioned.

Expect to be physical with Piggy; she needs the tickles and bounces that I usually supply, but can do less and less with this year’s rotten health. Expect to be the safe harbour for Wolfy when I lose my shit, and the one who teaches her integrity and honour (qualities I have inherently and do not know how to articulate properly) — because let me tell you, these are not things you can “hammer” into a human, and are my biggest challenges with her.

Expect to be a sparring partner and a challenger to Drago. Once she respects you, she will come to you for advice as she does to me. And I want to believe I meet her properly most of the time. But a Dragon is a social, elegant, political creature — and even though I tell her many times that what I would do is not necessarily what she should, it would be better for her to talk to a fellow social architect.

And Stallion. Expect to reinforce his beautiful, loving nature. Out of all of them, he needs you more than anyone. He is living in a house with 4 very dominant females, a world with a legacy of men as aggressors (and a world where today’s young men are beaten into the ground as retribution… We should have a proper conversation about that topic too), world pressure to stop being aggressive and toxic masculinity from every corner that worships violence. And … that as a father.

Your nature, the one we spoke of in our very first letter, to goof around, to break rigid rules of decorum when they make no sense to you and box you in, and be secure in your masculinity, is the antidote to all this.

You will notice that I made the distinction between aggression and violence. I am a warrior with a warrior’s blood, and for many, many, MANY years, I was beaten into submission in every way possible because I was born “a girl”. The sentence “But you are a girl!” was hammered at me every time I showed any type of aggression or passion. Except for the only person in my surroundings who respects intensity — my dad. Never once have I heard him say “but you are a girl.”

Without aggression, you care for nothing. You protect nothing. You demand nothing. Or at least I don’t. Mellow people do not see the difference between aggression and violence. And for many years, being called violent for aggression, I myself blurred the lines. And seeing my boy go through the same process is so hard for me.

I try. I try to explain to him that being competitive on the football field is not “bad behaviour” as his “friends” (especially when they lose) tell him. I try to tell him that standing tall and staring down a person, even an adult, who is aggravating them, is legit. But my aggression is direct and hot. He is a Wood Horse Pisces, and something in this combo makes him more avert, almost with finesse. He would rather poke, annoy or outsmart someone, whereas I would just strip them bare.

Yesterday, for example, Stallion (12 years old), the Wood Horse Pisces, and Wolfy, an Earth Dog Gemini (7 years old), sat at the dinner table last and roasted each other. They kept coming at each other while I was sitting, and slowly boiling over. Slowly poking each other for the sake of social interaction is not something a stand-alone creature like me understands, and their age gap pushes my nerves to the limit. I should have probably shut up and let it be, sigh, but I am an Ox, and I laid hard on him for being the big brother and calling his sister stupid or whatnot.

At 9 pm, Wolfy suddenly remembered that she hadn’t written in her diary and asked me, with that horror of an anxiety of hers, to do it then, but I refused. She needs the rules, letting her off the bed after we settled would have made Piggy get out too (and she is SO hard to settle), and the pen she simply must use was buried somewhere in the living room, where I just separated the birds and didn’t want to jar them with light. It was a systemic decision. And it was the right one. But it still made me feel like shit when she went up, cuddled in her bed and cried angry tears.

I was standing at the bottom of the stairs, calming my breath, trying to decide on the next move. Calculating yet again if that was the right move, when I heard it. The floorboard creaks from his room to the girls’. He went to her bed and held her for a solid 7 minutes until she came down. And then he didn’t go to his bed; he went to Piggy’s, so she wouldn’t be jealous, and settled with her for a few minutes too. What an amazing soul this one has, eh?

I try, but I am an Ox. And in moments like this, I feel like a bull in a china shop. Yes, I am a wall of protection, but what he gave her yesterday, I could not. And I am a woman. He does not see himself in me. Sigh. What I am trying to say is that your sharpness, your finesse, will take the burden of being the man of the house at 12 just for the refinement of it.

Look, I don’t know if I’m explaining myself successfully here. I do not beg for your damn help, and I am more than capable of caring for my children, thank you very much. All their damn needs.

Fine. Got a little hot there under the collar. I am a proud creature; I cannot change that.

But I will burn my pride to supply my children with what they truly need. And they need you. Now, let’s be very clear, sir. Say you decide that this is too much work, or fail me as we spoke before, forgetting why I am your match and getting too damn comfortable — driving me to leave you — I will find other ways.

I’ll hire tutors, teachers, coaches, and house staff. I will look for the right influence and bring it into their orbit, because that is my job. This, this place, this seat I am keeping for you at my table, it’s a damn privilege, a puzzle piece that makes the harmony of your, my and all 4 of their lives a launching pad for the true self that we all have to bring to this world to enrich it.

So consider me crossing my arms, tapping my foot and staring at your eyes with a damn challenge as I finish this letter. 
Well? Are you a damn man enough to step into these shoes? 
Quit smirking, or I swear I am smashing you to that wall and have my way with you right here and now.

Sigh. 
Yes, a lot of our conversations will end up heated because of my pride. 
I cannot turn it off. My pride is what kept me alive all these years.
I love you, 
Talk again soon.
Yours,
Oxy. 
April 3, 2026

Help me find him: Have you seen this man?