courage
loving being lost.
Most of the women in the current dance session have heard me speak of my neighbour Betty. My wonderful, strong neighbour named Betty who woke up on Friday February 3rd, walked the few hundred feet from our homes to Broadway Avenue on her way to work, and was struck by a speeding vehicle. We joke in our culture when speak about cherishing life because "one day you could be walking down the street and get hit by a bus." Well, this is what happened to her. Not only was she struck down in her 68th year of life, but the assailant kept driving, leaving her alone on the snowy, frozen winter road. Abandoned. Left. Lost.
What you might not know about this Woman is that she has the determination, grit and mental strength of a ferocious lioness. Having lived next to this wonderful lady for almost a decade, it didn't take me to long to see that her beautifully kept home and blooming flowers pots and gardens were the product of a disciplined and hard-working human being. It was this strength of character that made me want to share a bit of Betty in the MommaGO-GO class the following week. Even though we are tired with our small children, I think it's good to be reminded of our blessed circumstances and that day in class we dedicate all of our hip-shaking to Betty! She is never one to pass up the opportunity to find something good in every situation. Even while my heart was hurting for my Friend, I knew the best thing I could do was to pass along a word of encouragement to the moms around me.
Over the years it was not uncommon to end up chatting over the fence, getting to know one another. Then the babies came. Our babies. Betty came to meet Charlotte in December of 2006, bearing the gift of a pink bunny with the word "BABY" written on his large rear hopping foot. If you've ever met our daughter, you've likely met "Conky Conejo" [spanish word for rabbit pronouced coe-nay-ho]. Her childhood companion, Conky, is the gifting from a kind neighbour delivering a cuddly toy for our new baby girl - and he has been the steady joy in her life. He comforts, entertains, cuddles and accepts all physical challenges she presents to him. It's not uncommon to find Conky in a predicament that involves being stuffed into small containers, wrapped in ribbons or being thrown from heights that would make any human faint...and he takes it all in stride.
Back to Betty...
She currently faces months of rehabilitation and has gone from 68 years of physical freedom to being at the mercy of her caregivers while she recuperates from this massive violation to her person. From her own mouth and those of our neighbours, we've all struggled to understand the how and why of these circumstances. Such a tremendous challenge that produces moments where all seems lost for this wonderful woman I've grown to care about. And you know what, I cannot do a darn thing to change her physical circumstances, not one. So I've done the best that I know how to do which is to stop in, give a hug, listen and then take the remnants of those visits and pray for my friend.
Now to you...and me...
Betty has raised her children, and they are with her now, by her side, caring and providing. And how did a woman raise such children? Let me tell you, the hard-working, big-hearted habitual way of living began for her many years ago when her children were small...and these are the little snippets that she's given to me as a young mom. She's never once made light of my fatigue or the demands that I face in rearing small humans. She's been empathetic, encouraging and always has a kind word of story reflective of how she made the best and continues to make the best out of life's challenges.
So we come to loving being lost.
Experiencing feelings of loss, discomfort and pain is hard; quite frankly, it is terrible. But what I'm realizing is that we cannot know these pains unless we've come from a place of safety, comfort and joy. To be removed from pleasure and peace temporarily is not the end of life as we know it...it's a measuring stick.
There have been many days where I've felt lost in my mothering journey, overwhelmed by the responsibility and constant care required by these tiny human beings. Then I see Conky Conejo and remember my Friend Betty...telling me to hug the kids lots and just enjoy the simple things with them. Kids don't need expensive toys or fancy trips. Give 'em a box, a plastic container, a spoon and a pot, if they're happy playing with 8 plastic straws then by all means, let them do it. Give yourself a break, take a moment to breathe, and let that lost moment pass you by. Below is a pic of the kids in a little tent Betty gave us a couple of years ago. Someone was about to throw it out and she thought of my us and said it was a perfect little play place for little children. We use it all the time!
While increasingly rare these days, I have had several moments (even a period of several years following the birth of my daughter) where I was convinced that my parenting had become so weak, ineffective, almost neglectful and/or damaging to my child...and I would despair. I would lose all hope for any health or love remaining for our future relationships. It was lonely, embarrassing and a dark place to travel and an even darker place to live in.
As it turns out, it is a path well known by many parents. This journey however, is not one we want to share with those around us. Unlike a rewarding and pleasure-filled trip to a tropical climate, arriving to destination "lost" is accompanied by incessant internal dialogue laying blame, fault and pre-determined failure. "You SUCK! You're ruining your child! What a LOSER you are! Can't you do it better than THAT?" That's what we tell ourselves, or at least I did. I referred to myself as a garbage parent. My life was past recycling, past being "someone else's treasure" - just a heap of waste with no functional use in my given environment.
I'm learning something though, that couldn't be farther from the truth. On a particularly down day a wise and knowing friend told me that she didn't think I was stuck in a valley. In fact, she believed I was wandering a familiar path from mountain top to valley AND, here's the clincher, I was meeting other people in those valleys. Revisiting former "lost places" is not the landmark site of permanent failure, but rather a place to stop, look around and perhaps meet others who happen to be in the exact same place!
While depression, grief and loss are heart-crushing, I cannot help but believe there is inherent value of being able to relate to another fellow human being. Allowing another person to see a glimpse of normalcy maybe even hope in their private chaotic state of heart and mind makes those dark days worth it.
There can be no limit to the worth of a kind word or an encouraging hug. I'm determined not to let my past hurts go to waste. Carrying the burden of shame for my "lost places" is like trying to drive home from a holiday on a flat tire and a bent rim. You might get there, but it will be painfully slow and can often cause more damage to the whole of the vehicle. Repair costs go up and often take longer than initially expected. The frustration of a bad moment or an event is painfully dragged out. Rather than tough it out until you "get to a better place" its wise to stop, take a moment and ask for help. It doesn't mean the pain or problem goes away, but you've got someone there to help alleviate and minimize the damage.I've also learned that when I extend kindness to others it has shown my children a vital survival skill...we need other people in our lives to support and encourage us. And as a parent that has been "lost" many times, it is a great reward to see the fruits of kindness and compassion being grown in a home where I once saw nothing but barren, empty landscape.
This was brought to my attention again as Betty uttered the same words a couple of weeks ago while lying in her hospital bed, waiting anxiously for her body to recover. One thing I’m sure of, with a strong heart and mind like that, she is sure to come out of this stronger than ever. Please be encouraged today Friend!
~Kirsty
cravings.
This is about pregnancy, childbirth and the days, months and now years that have passed since the arrival my children. I had cravings, but not the kind that involve the stereotypical pickles and ice cream of pregnancy. They were soul cravings. They were cravings of abolishing fears that had gripped me for as long as I can remember. Cravings that I would be the kind of parent that would be able to instill health, self-esteem and wellness in my children's lives. At the time of my first pregnancy, I did not believe I had satisfied these cravings.
In a prenatal class the instructor asked, "what are your fears about giving birth?" Instantly I thought, tearing my perineum and having stitches in my crotch. I've spoken quite a bit about this in other birth-related writings, but here I want to go a bit deeper. This simple question posed changed the course of my life forever.
With the help, experience and knowledge of my childbirth educators, I began to uncover real and tangible methods to prevent tearing of the perineum during vaginal delivery. WONDERFUL!
Afraid of tearing.
Don't birth on my back.
OK, I'm NOT gonna do that.
and maybe TMI, but FYI, I birthed in alternate positions and I did NOT tear...
Next set of fears...ummm...that's a bit more tricky, doctors...and ummm...hospitals...dealing with this was much more difficult as there were no regulated midwives, only private practices and we did not have the money nor was I particularly interested in midwifery care at this point. That was a world away in my mind.
However, in this same prenatal class I began to look more carefully at my fear of medical environments. Now to be honest, I have a much more expanded version of this in my personal birth story of the day our daughter was born, but for this post, those details do not need to be expanded upon...and also, I'm not quite ready to share it publicly.
There was in my lifetime, a series of physical ailments that I suffered from as a young child into my early adulthood: immensely long headaches often lasting for days at a time, crippling stomach pains, heart and chest pains that would affect my ability to breath and function and an overall longterm feeling of lethargy and exhaustion. While I did share some of these with my parents, usually I kept to myself and just became used to living in this uncomfortably strange state.
As a young person, you lack the ability to understand that your own life experiences may be entirely different than those around you. I wrongly assumed for many years that living with physical pain was the average experience of children and teenagers.
When I was sixteen, I began dating a handsome and gentle young man and it was in spending time with him and his family that I started to uncover that my view of the world was skewed. His home was so peaceful, he was so kind and in getting to know him more, I discovered that he could wake up feeling refreshed and ready to tackle the day. I don't EVER remember feeling like that. NOT ONCE. I began to feel like a bit of an anomaly as I entered my early adulthood.
It wasn't long before I began to explore the strange state of my physical exhaustion and all attempts to find health were met with more unanswered questions. I specifically remember a Doctor prescribing Ativan and telling me to place it under my tongue. At the time it seemed like the stupidest thing, how would sticking this little disolvable tablet in my mouth erase years of exhaustion? Well, short story, it didn't. And neither did any of the other prescribed or suggested treatments. So I gave up.
It was shortly after highschool ended that I threw myself into my dance career. Being in the studio was the first time I experienced any type of physiological peace. After classes my eyes would sparkle and I would feel awake and alive. It was quite simply, the most effective treatment to the sleepiness I had known my entire life. It was beautiful and liberating and addictive...and it kept me alive as I began to unfold the roots of my seemingly odd existence; I had been molested as a very small girl by an extended family member.
After what felt like a failed attempt to disclose my childhood sexual abuse to a loved one, I shut down that part of my brain entirely...that is when my chest pain began to increase. I remember having a friend over late one night and I began to experience such intense pain that I thought my heart was seizing. Yelling for my parents, they called an ambulance, which must have been a horrible moment for them as we lived about 25 minutes from the nearest city. I kept crying at my Dad saying, "my heart hurts, MY HEART HURTS," and it did, but not my physical heart...it was the heart of my soul collapsing in on itself.
That night was a turning point for me. In the end my parents cancelled the ambulance and drove me into the local hospital where they could find nothing physically wrong with me other than what could only be described as an intense anxiety attack. But I knew. I knew without a doubt that my body was screaming to me, "start. start now. there is an end to this pain, and it will be hard, but you must start now. start on this very night" And I did.
I never told a soul what I discovered that night...my body was fearfully and wonderfully made and it had been speaking truth to me for years until I was mature enough to see what was in front of me. I was about to begin climbing a mountain with seemingly endless, painful, exhausting pathways that would take me to it's liberating peak. From this peak I clung to the knowledge that upon reaching the summit I would see clearly that there were thousands upon thousands of survivors that had created the tread to the peak and were well on their way down the other side of the mountain. Conversely, there were thousands upon thousands who were behind me, some still lying at the base of the mountain, perhaps still to young to understand what had brought them there in the first place. For those behind me, I pray.
Childhood sexual abuse.
What a shameful dirty secret we harbour in our culture...but have hope, there have been and will continue to be people who will speak the truth about these things.
Coming back to the original title, cravings. You see, one week before delivering my daughter I realized that I had been listening to a song titled, "Charlotte" and in it was the devastating story of a woman set on the wrong path. That name coupled with those lyrics were a small grace as I was just days away from holding my very own Charlotte. It was in her first four years that I would battle my final demons of childhood sexual abuse.
The desire to birth my child naturally and without the slightest intervention didn't come from a "best for baby" or "vaginal/intervention and drug-free births are superior" perspective, although I do believe it can be one of the most beautiful ways for baby and mom to meet face to face first time: alert and awake with less emphasis on the often uncomfortable postpartum physical recovery. The birthing hopes I had stemmed from years of counseling and battlling with sheer determination and grit to seek health that I could pass along to my children.
It upsets me to no end when there is criticism of how people choose to birth. Instinctively, I believed that a key part of my survival and recovery was to birth my child in this manner. You must remember, for years I lived in physical pain and sought to abolish it, but in reality, it was that pain which held the key to my freedom. It pointed me in a truthful direction. While I lived with many discomforts, I came to embrace physical pain as a crucial stepping stone in my healing journey.It took almost 30 years to uncover this about myself. Victims of sexual abuse (and possibly other forms) come to believe that their needs, thoughts and instincts are of little value, but as parents, we come to learn that following these instincts can be our greatest parenting tool. Parental decisions are the foundations upon which our children's futures are built. We hope we've given them the best before we have to release them into the challenging and often intimidating world from which we've tried to protect them.
As I experienced profound healing, so might others experience vital victories in welcoming their children in other manners. There are women who require full epidurals as their body memories are too great for them to experience physical waves of contractions. There are those who request cesarean birth as the trauma they experienced vaginally is too crippling. And then like myself, there are those who go on to choose homebirth for subsequent births. These were not decisions made strictly with emotion or intellect, but it was a culmination of the many complex facets that accompany and challenge the birthing practices we have in our current culture.
The homebirth of my son three and half years later was a beautiful event. It did take some time for me to provide my husband with the real reason I felt so compelled to birth at home. Aside from the fact that this was my second smooth and extremely healthy pregnancy, there was a much deeper reason I wanted our son to make his arrival in the quiet safety of our home. For years I had battled the painful memories and often tortuous reality of how sexual abuse forever changed my life. I was blessed and able to welcome a new young gentleman in the same corners of my home that had been my battle ground against the demons and memories born of an abuse experience. A new generation of males had been born in my bloodline, this was a fresh start for me. Rather than feel deconstructed by a man, I was going to have the honour and privilege to raise up a young man with the help of my loving husband and alongside our sweet girl.
As an aside, my son was born a couple of weeks early. He quickly and efficiently entered the world on July 4th, 2010, better known as Independence Day. It was an important victory for my family and one we are forever grateful to have shared with our beloved friend and Doula and the care of two local midwives.
I respectfully ackowledge that we are a rich, rich country and it is with relative ease that we have access to tremendous care in our childbearing years. It is no small feat to beat death and preserve life. Medically speaking, this has been done triumphantly time and time again. But might I challenge you to consider the a task we have yet to fully articulate and embrace, and that is finding other successful methodologies for preserving and protecting the mental, emotional and spiritual side of life as well. I cannot speak to numbers or statistics, but I think we are all aware of the cost to our system in dealing with mental health issues. There is in fact a cost to treat these very real conditions, and they are no less important to our societal health.
Just recently I spent several hours in the local ER (seeking help for a constipated baby) when I watched the eye-rolling of the nurses as they wheeled in a young woman who was a "repeat customer" experiencing yet another anxiety attack. There are still so many stigmas attached to mental illness and we as a society are struggling to find longterm solutions.
What do our women need in order to make their first days as mothers better? What impact do our local birthing options have in the longterm health of our families? Why do we continue to try and separate the mental, emotional, physical and spiritual aspect of health during pregnancy and birth? These are important questions that require thoughtful answers.
While I accept the grand importance of considering the baby's experience in birth, we must also be compassionate to embrace the mother's and fathers who are to raise them. Our families deserve a good start, we will be in better health as a whole if we remember the value of nurturing parent's as well. It is not selfish, nor is it wrong to advocate for birthing options that take into consideration the importance of wholistic health and wellness.
I often wish people would think twice before contributing comments to an already divisive and greatly misunderstood area of societal health. These are life-changing moments and they deserve the utmost care as we all seek to find solutions to the wide array of needs within in our communities.
A couple of months ago my daughter and I had the privilege to attend the Cirque de Soleil Immortal tour. One of the numbers boasts a hot air balloon flying over the crowd as Michael Jackson sings in the backgroud, "have you seen my childhood?...." Driving home Charlotte tells me this was her favourite song. "Where did his childhood go Momma? Why was he looking for it?" Let me tell you, that was an interesting conversation...and it makes me so grateful to be at this stage of my life. I can answer my five-year-olds question with sincerity and joy. She also asked me the other day, "are we rich Momma?" to which I replied, "absolutely Lovie. We are rich and I have all that I could ever ask or hope for!"This is a photo from our night out and at my feet stand two of the most important people I've ever had the pleasure to know. What you don't see in this photo is the years of hard work, counseling, grit and determination to find value in myself. I did it for me, and my children are the beneficiaries of this hard work. Women need to know that it's not only okay, but it is vitally important that they take care of themselves as well. Peace within the home is not something to be underrated, in fact, I wish it was valued on the top of the list. The pathway to that peace is not something to be determined by societal trends or top-ranked "steps to wellness" but rather, I believe it is a deep-rooted desire and instinct that we all have within us to live a life in which we can love and be loved. Your needs matter, and it's okay to take a moment to consider what those needs are. Grab a hot cup of coffee, take a deep breath and think on that for a quiet moment. Warmly~Kirsty
meet the woman who...
I think there is a moment in every mother's life, weeks after giving birth, where she takes a moment and realizes that things will never be the same. As I welcome women into the studio this week I am keenly aware I have the opportunity to give voice and weight to the multitude of changes: schedules, social lives, relationships, thought lives and the big one for many women...their body.
Working with postpartum clients has taught me one of the best ways to support women and meet their needs is to simply observe and listen and then respond lovingly to them utilizing my odd methodology of care, dancing!
While we can find humour and camaraderie in how our lives and bodies have changed, behind those jokes are real people trying to adjust to their new lives, sometimes even struggling.
This fact remains, regardless of how a woman has journeyed through pregnancy and birth, she has now joined the ranks of people who have little to no experience in the awesome madness that is parenthood! Even those who are welcoming a second, third or fourth are still faced with unexpected surprises and challenges.
The dance studio has come to be a point of intersection for a great diversity of experiences. If you were to sit down in a group of new mothers you would meet the woman who:
- loved giving birth
- hated giving birth
- holds a baby after years of infertility
- holds a "surprise" baby that she really didn't believe she could want or love
- holds a baby after having beaten cancer
- holds a baby after having lost her previous child
- holds twins
- desperately hates pain and begged for her epidural
- wanted to experience every wave and contraction of childbirth
- planned her third c-section
- planned a homebirth
- has not been able to make love to her partner for 8 months due to fourth-degree tearing
- gained 97 pounds and is disappointed she only lost 12 of those the day she delivered her baby
- lost all her baby weight in the first six weeks and feels amazing
- is in the midst of a messy relationship breakup
- just buried a loved one
- just immigrated from another country or moved into the Province and hasn't met friends yet but really needs that support and encouragement
- could not be happier with her life
- drags herself out of the house despite battling postpartum depression and suicidal tendencies
- has been told she's not a "good mother" by her inlaws
- is battling an eating disorder
- is finishing her masters degree
All of those listings represent real women who have graced our studio floor, but you would never know which one she was unless you had time to sit and listen to her story.
As I sit and ponder my return to the studio this week I am overwhelmed with gratitude for having been able to put myself in a position where I have the time and ability to get to know each woman better and talk with their babies, umm, that is when I'm not running after my own perfectly busy child...
There was a time, not too long ago, where I experienced tremendous disappointment at not being able to "do more" for families with my business. Now that I have time to catch up with past clients and welcome new ones into what I hope is a friendly atmosphere I am understanding of the fact that being present is in fact doing more of what I originally had hoped to accomplish when I first started out.
A friend asked me how the first week of classes going...and I told her the first one went well...I only started to cry a bit once =) Even after teaching for 15 years, I still get a little nervous before a new class starts hoping that the women will enjoy their time out and feel refreshed and cared for.
The other day Charlotte was planning our garden (which if you've ever been to our home you would realize our 'garden' is actually 5 big flower pots and a couple of flower beds that rely heavily on nature's cycle for watering). She is so delighted and excited to begin growing food and flowers. With her big brown eyes looking beyond the wall in front of her she says with confidence, "all the plants will need to grow is some sunshine, some rain and a whole bunch of LOVE!" I agreed, (we'll borrow a library book and I'll fill her in later this winter.)
That's kind of how I feel about these classes...we take the best and worst of our situations and try to keep it all bathed in love and after a few dances we realize how much we all have in common and we all leave feeling a bit more blessed by having created some great memories while leaving the studio a bountiful buzz in seratonin and endorphins.
So once again my children and I will traipse into the studio to welcome another group of 16 beautiful mothers and 16 lovely babies. It just so happens that one of the songs we'll be dancing to boasts these lyrics, "music is the answer...to everybody's problems..." but even if isn't, we are still going to have fun!
you make me brave.
"The bravest are surely those who have the clearest vision of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and yet notwithstanding, go out to meet it" -Thucydides, Ancient Greek Historian 460-404BCAs I continue to move forward with my little business, I had a chance to say my goodbyes to a little studio that started me on a journey I would never have predicted.
Just five years ago, I entered this exact studio with a growing pregnant belly to dance with my in utero babe into a new life. I had carefully chosen from my closet my traditional dancing head scarf, a beautiful white & red fabric woven with silver thread and wrapped it around my hair.
What you might not know is donning that scarf to dance again was a courageous undertaking as it represented a multitude of valleys for me in my life as a young Woman. As some recall memories with the inhaling of a scent, I experienced jarring emotional memories as I moved my body through the expressions of dance...and for a period of time, I could not dance, it was just too painful to think on the past.
Not many years before this I was working full-time as a dance professional pursuing my dreams...or so I thought. Having been generously nurtured by one of my favourite dance Instructors, the lovely Ms. Renee Skeoch, I made a huge leap to see where I would land. As it turns out, the road to success had a few bumps in the road.
As I devoted 40+ hours a week to advancing my dance skills and instructing little ones who aspired to follow my steps I was oblivious to the dire state my personal life was in.The strength and freedom I felt while I was dancing served to distract me from the harsh truth. One night I reached the breaking point, and while it sounds near to impossible, I realized I had gone two weeks without a meal. My dancing schedule made it easy to justify grabbing a quick orange juice to "sugar me up" and give me a boost until I could eat...only that never happened.
When I look at myself today I am really happy with my shape and condition and can hardly believe that at my lowest point I was, brace yourself...almost 50 lbs less than I am today. FIFTY POUNDS. 5-0. Can you believe that??? It still shocks me to look at old pictures and see just how sad that young woman looks.
That night marked a turning point for me. Shortly after this, I resigned from my teaching position and went into a period of aggressive recovery. It was here that I began to deal with choices and events that led me to this dark place in my young life.
Fast forward to 2006: when I crossed the threshold into the Birth Rhythms studio as a first-time pregnant mother wearing my old dance scarf, it was a symbolic act of reclaiming my life. Embraced by the loving women around me I began my dancing journey again, this time towards freedom and hope.
I have learned so much about facing fears and embracing challenges, but all of those lessons were expedited when I reached down and lifted my newborn daughter onto my chest for the first time. This little person had been given to me and my husband. We were, we are responsible for modeling the character and strength that we one day hope she will have. One of the reasons I needed to close my business doors last year was when I came to the realization that the choices I made had more to with serving clients as opposed to my own family. I made myself a promise when I first started Snowsellberryhead Productions and it was this: I would stop the business if it meant that planning and creating meaningful experiences and memories for other families was at the expense of my own...and that's exactly what happened.
It was far easier to work myself into exhaustion and oblivion than it was to admit that I was depriving my family of the mother they needed. Tremendous stress with business contracts and expansion plans left me irritable, miserable, exhausted, physically ill and unable to give to my family.
When I got home last night I found a beautifully written reminder to the women of our local birthing community that stated this, "We always think we are really good at helping others based on the short term of the relationship....but the long term relationships are often suffering in the background." - Carla Hartley, Director of Ancient Art Midwifery. So beautifully said, and so true.
Admitting my weakness, prioritizing my needs and taking responsibility for how my choices were shaping the chaos in my own home was very eye-opening as a mother. I sat down, held my children in my arms and envisioned what our life would be like if I were to carry on in the same manner, making the same choices, ignoring the very real and costly consequences.
As I nurture my daughter into her future, I feel so much more honest when I tell her that its okay to make mistakes. I don't want to her live a life trying to achieve perfection. I want to her to live a life of courage and bravery. One day she'll take her leap, and I hope she flies...but if she falls flat on her face and breaks a few bones along the way then maybe, just maybe, she'll have learned that the recovery and relaunch are just as important.
carpe diem catches up to me.
Oh the laundry can wait!
Play with the children! Read to the children! ENJOY THE CHILDREN!
They're only little for so long...
So I do.
Then this happens...
All of the "carpe diem" embracing I did earlier in the week catches up to me. While I would love to pretend that putting off chores to spend time with the kids is all about the kids, it's not entirely true. I also happen to hate folding laundry. See...
And then when everyone is running around the house in a mad dash looking for socks and underwear, my grande plan of "seizing the day" seems less grande. All of the joy and serenity we had achieved in our whimsical wonder dissolves into a race of half-dressed, agitated family members sporting furrowed brows and wrinkled attire.
This becomes the moment where I'm convinced the kids will only remember the stress of our lives and forget the impulsive, fun adventures earlier in the week. Sigh...
Determining the benefit of carpe diem is one experiment I am willing to participate in until I have a solid conclusion. In the very least it opens door to have discussions about the importance of being brave enough to try things, in the face of potentially making a mistake or getting things wrong. In our house it is the thought that counts...or at least, that's we are working on. Funny thing is, I think I might be learning more than my kids!
ps...I say it's a funny thing, but it is never funny at the time.
'no' spoken is time ensured.
I wish I could have...
I am sorry, but we have plans already...
If only I hadn't agreed to...
One day I am going to...
Thanksgiving Day invites us to take a moment to reflect on all we are thankful for. I have a hard and fast rule about not working on weekends anymore, yet somehow this post needs to come today, as the punctuation on an already thoughtful few days.
Last year at this time I rambled off the standard, "good health, beautiful children, a home to call our own, etc..." and yet at the end of it all, there was a lingering hole in my heart. I chastised myself for having any hard feelings at the end of the day, almost carrying a sense of shame for wanting more. So what was it?
Time.I simply wanted more time.
Time with my family.
Time in my home.
Time investing in the foundation I longed to give my kids.
So rather than lament, I took a long, hard look at where my time was going and decided to make some drastic changes. I talked my way through the decision process with friends and we all mirrored each other in that we longed to cherish these days with our little ones. It does go very fast...too fast for anyone's liking. Add to that the constant chorus of more seasoned parents peppering us with knowledgable warnings of life's breakneck progression and you have a recipe for women striving to create and preserve an endless supply of experiences and memories upon which we will one day reflect with great joy and warmth.
So exhausting.
There has been a tremendous amount of loss in my life, and specifically the loss of young people who died far too soon to be fair. It has always prompted me to question how I spend the days of my life, even before I had children. Why is it that when we think of things in terms of "how would you spend the last days of your life" our daily picture looks so differently in the mind's eye?
I decided on my last birthday that I would practice the art of saying no. What that entailed was a lengthy process of evaluating every opportunity that presented itself and how it stacked up against what the vision for my family was. Admittedly, it made me very panicky and anxious because I realized I had willingly entered a state of living that was fluid and quickly-moving. Rather than being aboard a chosen boat atop the rapid waters of life, I was that person who had fallen out of the boat with a lifejacket and an orange helmet and was frantically flailing within the white water dodging rocks and debris and trying to keep my lungs filled with air. It was terrifying. And exhausting.
Little by little I found my way to the end of that experience. It was partially due to my determination to survive while reaching out for the helping hands of friends and loved ones who knew exactly what path I was trying to get on as the maternal heart of our home.
With trepidation I began to say no to a variety of opportunities, exciting and interesting opportunities. An interesting thing happened...small moments of quiet and stillness. I began to read a bit, hold my kids more, get on the floor to look them in the eyes and truly observe how the world looked to them. For the most part it was delightful, but sometimes it was scary because I began to see that there were some significant holes in the pattern I was knitting for my family...holes that I believe would allow my children to fall through if I weren't more conscientious.
After a year of practicing this newfound skill of saying no, I discovered that 'no' spoken is time ensured. There are a lot of things that get set aside, the house is definitely messy, the to-do list will always have things on it, but I'm okay with that. At the end of my life I'll never regret saying no to being involved in more meetings, committees or activities.
Having time allows me to teach my children the value of peace and quiet. They are so much happier when they are well-rested, and so am I. As the mother, I need to know how my kids are doing, their hearts, their minds, their spirits and their relationships.
I simply must make the time to build a solid foundation to prepare them to springboard out into the world as mindful, caring adults. This also means I must develop relationships with other families and women who support my personal vision and respect the choices I make in my lifetime.
Saying 'no' has meant letting go of some unhealthy habits and relationship, and that requires strength and courage. I am thankful to be surrounded by people who understand these complex, precious times. Not only have I freed up hours in my schedule, I am released from hours of mental and emotional clutter that I can now devote to enjoying what is right in front of me. Two beautiful little people who deserve the very best. I'm not going to wait until someone tells me that time is running out. At the end of my life I will surely look back and smile for all of the hours I spent gazing up these two special blessings and breathing in the goodness that is our life.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
birthing parents.
First pregnancy.
Got my book.
I remember excitedly noting baby's growth, week 12...week 22...week 27...
Third trimester.
Baby's arrival seems imminent.
Weeks away from a forever changed life.
What am I doing?
How can I handle a whole baby coming out through my VAGINA?
I don't know about you, but it took me MONTHS to work up the courage to read about the mechanics of delivery, because quite frankly, that's all it was, a mechanical means to the end. I was terrified...and extremely motivated to uncover one crucial thing...and that was how to avoid the tearing of my bottom. Gag. Oh My. Holy Capoly. Stop the train. Tear my what??? Ummm...no...this must not happen. Hot flashes of fear. Hyperventilation. PAAAAAAANIIICCCC.
While I lacked a concrete plan there was one thing I always knew I would do, and that was to sign up for the Birth Rhythms pregnancy dance class* which claimed I could "have some fun with that belly while you can!" SOLD! Totally signed up. Little did I know that it would open up a world I had never known, and one that would change the way I would view my role as a mother.
Some dancing, some talking, a lot of bellies around me and then all of a sudden the Holy Grail of my birthing world was revealed to me...I started to discover there were IN FACT some things I could do during the birthing process to protect my precious perineum. UMMMM...SIGN ME UP A MILLION TIMES OVER BIRTH RHYTHMS LADIES...TELL ME THAT GOODNESS AGAIN?!!!!
I was shocked to discover that positional changes during the pushing phase could actually decrease (DEEEEE-CREAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSE) my chances of tearing. I'm pretty sure I left that class with the solid conviction that I would NOT be lying on my back and looked forward to speaking with my Doctor about this all the while wondering why on earth this had not been discussed at prenatal appointments or with any of my health providers for that matter. Seemed like a gaping hole (pardon the pun) in the entire prenatal education section as far as I was concerned. Put extra pressure on my perineum, NO THANK YOU.
(And yes, it's okay to note that my concern was primarily for my self at this point and not my unborn child...in my naivety I assumed that it was my job to push the baby out and hadn't actually considered that this wee babe in utero had a role to play in this dramatic entrance. I was still entirely me, only Kirsty, not a mother, certainly not responsible for an entire human being. Seems dumb writing that now, even a little sad, but I was not the most "connected" to my child during pregnancy. Don't worry, we've turned out very well...just this evening she professed her love by declaring I was her best Momma. It goes without saying that she's my best girl. Phew, while the in utero relationship is important, don't panic...it doesn't "ruin" your ability to love that baby once they leave the womb!)
Anyway, back to the post...there was one other thing I was (no, still AM) afraid of, and that was needles. It was my understanding that as soon as a woman got settled at the hospital she was to receive an IV. Shudder. Terrifying. I was less terrified of labour than I was of that. Contractions, yes. Needles, umm, no. The thought of being poked in my hand still makes me shiver and tighten up. There are reasons for that, but for this telling, we'll just leave it be.
One thing became clear to me. I was running out of time.
Babies don't stay in the womb forever (in spite of how full term pregnancy feels to many women). There is a quote on the Birth Rhythms site that says, "then the time came when the risk it took to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blosssom!" ~ Anais Nin. I prayed that I would reach the point where I would be more consumed by ending pregnancy than avoiding birthing. In the meantime, I began to seek out information that would speak to my fears, concerns and questions. And then all of a sudden it hit me; while I was preparing for the birth of our baby, our baby was preparing for the birth of her parents.
Given that I had yet to experience birth, I realized something profound...educating myself and facing my fears was the first loving parental decision I had ever made for my child. Of course there were a lot of unknowns, but rather than pace back and forth in a state of anxiety, I began to address my fears one by one...and as I did that, I found a circle of supporters who would be both present and prepared to help me navigate these uncharted waters.
What I gained from my time in Birth Rhythms was so much more than the mechanics and anatomy of birth. Having a dedicated weekly time to focus on and prepare for our child's arrival showed me the inherent value of caring for myself. It modeled a simple but vital approach that would keep me actively engaged in my parenting journey. Those small snippets of reflective time were the seeds sown into my maternal habitual life that have continually protected my heart and children from roots of frustration, anxiety and resentment.
I have discovered that the birthing process of becoming a parent and each day after that involves honesty, fear, courage, love, thoughtfulness, faith, knowledge, teamwork, and perseverance.
It seems so simple to say that I wanted to take a movement class, and what transpired was the first few steps in the dance of a lifetime with my beautiful Charlotte Ann. Lead me on little Lady, I might step on your toes, but I'll always be near and my eyes will be on you the whole time!
*Birth Rhythms now offers a variety of fitness and childbirth education classes for expectant parents.
as her motherhood forms.
As her motherhood forms her mind expands, accommodating the needs and dreams of the child forming inside. The feminine thought structure begins the dance of remaining fully present while being mindful of what is to come.
I recently had the privilege to sit in the living room of a newly expanded family. Three women: Grandmother, mom and baby girl. This mother is the same age as I was when I graduated high school...but in listening to her there was no talk of childish things, but instead, I listened to the pride and joy of a new mother basking in the wonder of her new little baby.They graciously shared their birth photography and a video of the third stage of labour. With child on her chest, this young woman finished her delivery. It was humbling to hear her speak her thoughts as she watched her own mother cut the umbilical cord, recognizing the moment when this small child became her full responsibility.
We all start the same, don't we? The true test of motherhood comes when we enter into the world and face the barrage of information, opinion and unwelcome observation. Every mother will face critical decisions, uncertainty and challenge.
Your child's life began surrounded and protected from the world. This was done by caring solely for the physical, mental and emotional needs of the mother. This should not change when the child exits the womb. In fact, it should increase.
A mother needs sustenance and strength in order to raise her child up. Picture yourself lifting your child into the air...this requires effort. Womans, take care of yourselves, for who will raise your child up if you are unwell? As your motherhood continues to form, I hope you remember this.
Consider yourself and consider the other mother. Be kind to both today.