While I ride through this heartbreaking life: necessary writing on staying centered through pain.

The long stretch of neglect from ignoring the will to create has an accumulating effect on happiness.  The longer the stretch is prolonged, the heavier the weight of it, compounding the maintenance of that happiness.  I can't stand much longer of ignoring the need to write, to make ritual of my body and my mind.  My heart can only take so much trotting along on worn out paths of grief and minutia, time spent only half rooted to the sacred ground I stand on.  If I don't stop to take notice of the always-available power I have to get through this shit, I lose it.  I end up right where I am right now- slipping off of the edge of the mountain.  I'm clinging to grass as the mother takes off with me on her back, grasping onto her hair as she takes me away.  

How do we come back to center when our whole world turns upside down?  Or when our meticulously designed routines are upended, or our stabilizers disperse?  The hardest thing can be remaining in clear sight of our truths when everything we've placed around us to stay in identity with those truths is in altered alignment.  What has become increasingly clear to me is that I'm too identified with the things outside of me- reliant on my beau, my home, and my ways to keep me rooted in what is ultimately designed to come from within.  I'm resistant to imagining myself as isolated and floating out in space somewhere in a vacuum of meeting my own needs all the time, and crave a balance between personal power and union, connection.  When grief strikes and I am forced to turn within, how is it possible to see through the fog of brokenness to the wholeness of me?  

I'm in the throes of this, so I won't put out any lofty answers involving personal practice, meditation, mindfulness, et cetera, although it's certain that they are involved.  There's a bigger picture for me.  Back to riding on the mother's back, riding the ground as it's tossed through time and space and getting a good enough grip on the roots of her hair for the leverage to wrap my thighs around her waist and get back on the saddle.  Mindfulness- seeing through the fog- is that leverage, among the many tools at my disposal.  Seeing the fog for what it is and not mistaking it for what is inside of this mother's heart and mine.  And keeping that feeling in my heart, the feeling of the wild abandon and safety of being secured on her hip, held close to her breath and the scent of her while I ride through this heartbreaking life.

An open letter to our men.

It's too soon to put us on the spot and start demanding solutions.  There are too many wounds to heal, too much trust to mend, too much power still left to reclaim from having demands and solutions thrust upon us.  Not enough time has passed where our men have simply put down their tools and listened, shown us that they are willing to sit through and bear witness to the pain and anger, to sit still in the rising tide of the mother returning to her power because of their deep knowing that after the storm, the fury, is the most complete beauty they will ever know.  Only then, when she has been shown who is still with her, will it be time to pick back up your tools.

Be very conscious of how terrifying it is for your woman to be truly seen in the world.  Honor her walls- they have served a great purpose.  Know the paradox that is integral to the essence of the feminine- you will only be heard if you whisper, the walls will only become stronger if you try to take them down yourself.  The only way she will fell truly safe- with you and with the world- is if she is the one that takes them down.  But you, our men, you must sit on your hands and watch.  You must be able to see when there are bricks coming down, when we are creating openings for us to shine through to you.  Never is this permission to jump in and help us.  We don't need rescuing.  We need- your woman needs- to see your patience and faith that more will come, your appreciation of what is being shared, the beauty that is slowly coming through.  

Your woman is desperate to trust you, to feel safe.  But everything you have been taught to do or be as a man has kept this mystery in hiding.  The lesson is now the unknown.  Can you sit without the security of tools or solutions, and just listen?  Can you relish in your goddess's glory and beauty without giving her guidance?  Can you trust that we will love you, appreciate your gifts as they come to us in clear sight and intention?

First, you must stop what you are doing and truly, deeply see your woman.  Don't come at her with tools- she's worn and beaten down from that.  Show her you trust her way of knowing by leaning into the discomfort of your uncertainty.  It's much more important than clinging desperately to what you know.  

polluted by pain

Not going to pretend like this is some grandiose manifestation of what I thought I could be, because the truth right now is that I'm in a self-limiting place, one where I can only see the fault lines in my psyche and soul.  Coming out on the other side is no hope at all because I always dip right back into despair.  My depression seems inevitable.  

My mother tells me that people say nothing but kind things about me and love to learn that her daughter is me, like this persona or contortion of a memory in my hometown.  I don't know how to feel about it, whether I should identify with that or brush it off as a projection.  It's sort of maddening to know that I don't see it in myself. 

I feel the rage and sadness and pain on a cellular level.  I feel like bashing someone's teeth in, throwing a canning jar at someone's head.  I feel years of abuse and disgracing my body trying to escape through my pores.  My skin is crawling constantly.  I'm just dying to get out.  

And sometimes I want to just die.  

I'm so sick of landing here as if the weeks of beauty and laughter never exist.  I'm left wondering if I'm just faking it, on my best behavior.  I'm tired of trying to buy in to some spirituality I don't feel from the inside out, putting patches on my broken soul.  I feel like I need the company of other broken people to feel any love at all.  Maybe that's why I don't care about breaking the people around me.  I don't know.  

There is such a profound difference between feeling and knowing.  But right now I can't tell what is what.  There is too much rotting around my heart to know if there's anything pure left on the inside, or if there will be anything left if I scrape those parts off.  I think my fear of that is keeping me from letting go.  The fear of being seen, the fear of not existing or existing in a pure form only to be polluted by pain all over again.  

I can't think my way out of this.  But I don't think there is a way out of it.  I've been telling myself that I can only go through it, but I'm so tired.  Right now I just want to check out, stop thinking, stop dealing.

But then what?  

Maybe if I felt worthy of the beauty that is my children, my life, then I could live up to it.  I just don't know how to wrap my head around the transient nature of change and the fear of having nothing in the end.  I'm always left wondering, what's the point?  

What's the point of loving if I can't ever feel loved??

My herbal ally, Motherwort.

Motherwort, or leonurus cardiaca, is a beautiful wild plant, found in my prairie homeland in the Midwest in abundance.  This plant has an affinity for women's health, postpartum healing, but as its latin name indicates, it has profound effects on afflictions of the heart.  There is an abundance of information on this plant on the internet, including where it can be found, how it grows and is propogated, its plant relatives (it's a member of the mint family, as can be told by its square-shaped stems), and its other uses for ailments, but here I will discuss my relationship with motherwort and what I know experientially.  

As a doula and women's health educator, this herb comes up in my mind as a safe herb to turn to in order to address the anxiety felt in association to the burden many women carry.  Motherwort is a strong sister for the deep sorrows that wise women feel, which often manifest as anxiety, panic attacks, anger, a feeling of tightness in the chest, and depression.  

Susun Weed, my mentor and author of the Wise Woman Herbals, cautions that motherwort should be taken as needed, or PRN, as one can form a dependency on its effectiveness.  This is why I find it to be a wonderful alternative to pharmaceutical anxiety medication.  I recommend taking it in tincture form, as the tea is very bitter, in small doses (5-10 drops) in 15 minute increments until symptoms subside.  

Personally, I've turned to motherwort for historically violent mood swings, postpartum depression, heart chakra crushing anxiety, and weepiness.  I'm currently using it in combination with lemon balm tincture, another mint, to bring in a little bit more sunshine and carry me through very difficult emotional transitions.  Since moving to the Black Hills, I've missed being able to walk out to the gravel road behind my house, or the pasture at my child's school, and lop off the flowering tops each May, but luckily, since motherwort was in such abundance in my hometown, I made many ounces of tincture, some of which I am still using, and some of which I pass on to other ladies in need (mostly new mamas and PMSing women).  

For cross-referencing purposes, here is a list of motherwort uses and indications as described in Susun Weed's "Wise Woman Herbal for the Childbearing Year".  (Note:  The descriptor "childbearing year" is any fertile time in a woman's life, but you will find many uses for pregnancy, birth, and beyond.)

• Motherwort is an emmenogogue (brings on stalled mentrual flow) when taken as an infusion (1oz dried herb in a covered quart jar with boiling hot water, steeped overnight).  This will be BITTER, but if you want to bleed bad enough, you will do it!  Warm it and sweeten with a natural sweetner (honey, maple syrup..)
• For "even emotions", Susun says that it "calms without drowsiness, making it ideal as an ally at work and at home, whenever pressure and stress threaten to overwhelm you."
• Motherwort is an antispasmodic, making it very useful for cramps as well as early labor contractions.
• Because of its slightly sedative action, it is effective for taking the edge off of active labor pains.  Take 5 drops of tincture in a glass of water.
• Although antispasmodic, it acts as a uterine toner as well, and is known to be given routinely by traditional midwives immediately after birth to prevent postpartum hemorrhage. 
• Motherwort is AMAZING for postpartum afterpains.  Susun says it "helps tone the uterus and ease the nervous system."
• It's a strong ally for exhaustion and tension.

Sometimes I meet women and I think, "Can I just give you some motherwort??"  Seriously, my relationship with this plant has been profound and is still evolving.  Her personality is one of a much older, wiser sister- she mothers me when I need mothering, when I need to tend to my wounds, and when my pain-body is stealing my attention.  

If you are interested in purchasing an ounce of motherwort tincture from my beloved stands in Nebraska, mindfully and sustainably harvested from the wild by yours truly, email sweetgrassemporium@gmail.com.  

Why I Wear Makeup

Because I recognize the person I was pretending to be for so long.

Because my inner beauty is sacred and sharing it is scary.

Because I hardly leave the house.  

Because my lover tells me I'm beautiful anyway.

Because of the reflection, literally.

Because I maybe I won't look so damned tired.

Because then I'm more than a mother.  

Because it's just mascara and lipstick.

Because I don't have to.  Because I want to.

Because then people are surprised at how well I'm doing.

Because I can hide how much I have to do.  

Because I can look busy, important.  

Because babies don't care.  

Because for a moment, I feel like another kind of woman. 

What is the MOTHER FRONT?

The relevance of this outlet has grown for me lately, causing me to evaluate what exactly my intentions are with the corner of the world I inhabit.  I've always saddled the line between professionalism and profanity, needing my blog to be a safe space for both.  I've felt a drive lately to dig deeper, and have a space where I can offer what's truly going on inside of me, to offer what it is that I want to share and do so in a way that I feel confident developing it into it's fullest potential.

I have so many ideas for this space.  And it turns out that people might be paying attention.

So I'm going to go ahead and answer the big question:

What is the MOTHER FRONT??

It is the space of consciousness that our earliest memories exist.  Earlier than time allows, earlier than we, as we know ourselves, were awake.

It is the place where the beauty within and the violence of this age collide, where we battle constantly to hear the truth of our own voices. 

It is the place where it is safe to cry in front of others.  To admit that we feel too much in a world that feels too little. 

It is what it means to be home.

In my work with child-bearing families, the most beautiful moments are the ones where I witness people finding this place within themselves.  Where people walk into their own power as fully embodied physical and spiritual beings.  And in the work I do with myself, I am constantly seeking the safety of this space, the refuge of my power.  I want to share this in a deep way.  I have a deep need to help heal humanity in my own subtle way.  

What does this look like?

Of course, it's political.

But it's a truth being hidden in the essence of ourselves, and we can all have a piece/peace of it if we give ourselves the tools.

Movement, meditation, relaxation.

Feeding ourselves purely, physically and spiritually.

And the honoring of the traditions of humanity.

Through our children.

Mother to mother.

People to people.

It's healing the lost art of love.

So watch out.  In the next few moths, I want to do something I've never done before, and that is to commit, full- and open-hearted, to this process and offer everything I know about how to do it.  This includes gentle parenting, primal motherhood and birth, guided meditations (which I'm really excited about recording and possibly broadcasting), and complimentary medicine lessons in bodywork, herbalism, and energy healing.  I will still journal here from time to time, and always post the tools that are relevant to me in the moment with honesty and emotion, but expect to see a major shift, because it's already happening.  

I'm excited to make this next step, to make the Mother Front a tangible thing in my life, and perhaps even possibly yours.

Loafing and wisdom of third trimester fitness.

Despite having basically no income (I'm at the bottom of the barrel of student loan money), I made some investments in my pregnancy that are probably pretty necessary, somewhat out of fear.  Eh.  Sometimes it's a good motivator- when you see yourself moving quickly towards an unattractive demise (i.e. a midwife chastising you for gaining too much weight for the second time, a second degree tear, a nearly nine pound baby, and severe diastasis), the best thing to do is turn around FAST in the other direction.  

First, I purchased one of the lovely books that Juliette de Bairacli Levy, the famed Gypsy herbalist that has had such a profound influence on other healers I've come to love, called Nature's Children.  I had to buy it after peeking inside it on Amazon late last night and reading her wisdom on pregnancy and motherhood.  It's simple.  A family is only as healthy as the mother.  She shares beautifully from her experience instead of theory her thoughts that a robust pregnancy, one where the mother stays physically active and alive, sleeps well, eats well, breathes fresh air and spends most of her time outdoors (such as the nomads she lived and birthed with) leads to a quick, often painless birth, as well as babies who are healthy and robust themselves.  

Here she is with her Afghan hound, the breed she always kept by her side.

Ah, a breath of fresh air!  What a philosophy to get behind.  So simple, yet so removed from the lifestyle I've adapted even up here in the Black Hills, overwintering, sometimes over-eating, and generally loafing around. 

So this morning I was determined to get up and get real, but of course, I perceived obstacles.  I'm not in the frame of mind quite yet to fully appreciate walks alone around the ranch (perhaps when I have more of my own projects going on, the garden growing, the chickens scratching around..)  The biggest piece of Julliete's wisdom I've taken to heart, mainly because I can actually FEEL the effects of having not, is exercise.  My 30-week belly has really been pulling me down lately, but I've let it.  Earlier, my solution was GaiamTV and the prenatal videos they offer, but when I went to renew my lapsed subscription, I found that- NOO!!- they don't play the beloved prenatal yoga video I found myself going back to over and over again.  While they have gobs of other amazing content (like recordings of my favorite spiritual teachers such as Michael Beckwith and Marianne Williamson, plus, um, Jillian Michaels), I knew what I wanted and I wanted it NOW.  

And I am PICKY when it comes to fitness/yoga recording.  Any slightly annoying inflection of a host's voice and I'm out.  I wasn't sticking around on GaiamTV if they didn't have what I wanted, to I went back to Amazon and just bought it.  Fuck it.  I'm worth it (and so is this little one).  

That said, I really can't say enough good things about Hala Khouri's Radiant Pregnancy.  As a doula and childbirth educator, I think that her approach to the sacred nature of pregnancy is gentle and not patronizing, and allows plenty of space for a mama to feel her way through her own experience (which is what a good yoga teacher does anyway).  Plus she's a generally bad-ass lady.  Here she is:

Now, if you can't get behind that, I don't know what you're doing on my blog in the first place (just kidding!  welcome!!).  I'm generally attracted to down-to-earth, fearless people, so I'm excited for Friday, when Hala Khouri will show up in the mail.  I'll let y'all know how I'm feeling in about a week.  My guess is that things can only improve.

Until then, I'm going to get dressed, get outside, and go shovel aged cow manure into buckets for my compost pile!  I think Juliette would be proud. 

On having a daughter.

This second pregnancy has been smoother, faster, and healthier.  I feel less chaotic and psychotic than my first, in which I did a lot of crying, a lot of yelling.  I wasn't nearly this balanced with Elijah, and suffered from pretty profound postpartum depression (if you've read my blog before, you may know this).  My psychosis and anxiety ran so deep that it was one of the only reasons I considered not going through with a future accidental pregnancy.  I had a deep fear of myself after what I went through with Elijah, and so the way this pregnancy has gone is a sigh of deep relief.  

When I found out, I immediately connected with the little rose bud inside of me.  I smiled mistily in disbelief and gratitude, and held on to the belly that lingered from this one's brother.  That day, I put myself on a path to ground myself in wellness (which I have done better with at times than others) and self appreciation.  I've been able to connect with this light body inside of my belly in a demystified way that can only come with the veil having been lifted through the birth of a previous child.  This second pregnancy is profoundly different.  I've been so grateful.

But now I am terrified.

Elijah predicted this.  Of course, I'm not surprised that my utterly intuitive three-year-old knew the nature of this baby- he's been nothing but gushing over his "baby sister", but I only indulged him.  I could care less, or so I thought.  After all, I didn't with him.  With him, I thought I wanted a girl, and when he was a boy instead and I realized the joy of mothering a sweet little man, the whole thing became arbitrary.  And theoretically speaking, the sex of a baby makes not a damn bit of difference.  I'm not interested in the cultural indoctrination of gender.  

But suffice it to say, at the risk of political correctness, the reveal of this baby's sex, one that happened due to my aforementioned ambivalence and the excitement of said three-year-old, has made a drastic shift in my perception.  Due to a combination of several factors, including an intensely unhealthy relationship with my own mother, my spiritual beliefs regarding the power of women, and deeply held political ideologies, the weight of having a daughter is heavy to my soul.  My ex mother-in-law always talked about how much "easier" boys were- how they always loved on and supported their mothers- but how daughters would tear your guts out without even blinking, how vicious they could be, and I would laugh knowingly, looking back on my relationship with my mother and how awful and vicious I was to her, the deep anger I held and acted out toward her and how aware I was of it without caring at all.  I was deeply wounded as a child because my mother didn't have a "mother" of her own, in any known sense of the word, and so no examples were given her of stability, of emotional availability or gentle nurturing.  

So these deep fears have come up, and I'm in the private process of bracing myself not against a wall, but against solutions, tools.  I am a gentle mother to Elijah, despite having put him in the unfortunate position of being "motherless" for part of the time, so most of the fear of myself as a mother has no place.  But the chain remains unbroken- my mother and I are taking our own chips at it but it really is much bigger than us sometimes.  It's a long lineage of resentment, jealousy, and just plain meanness.  I feel like I'm going to be too tough on her, that I'm going to be awkward and unavailable, or conversely dependent on her validation of my worth as a woman.  I'm afraid of being ripped apart and being simply not good enough.  I can't imagine a greater vulnerability.  

And now the pressure is really on.  All of the ways I've been meaning to embody The Mother, the great goddess or what have you, can no longer wait.  I've been able to put them off until now.  But raising daughters, I believe, is serious business.  It's a scary world for them, and there's so much healing to do.  (It should be noted, of course, that all forms of motherhood, and parenthood for that matter, is serious business, and I take raising my son no less to heart, but my feelings are clearly so different.  Elijah has taught me the depths of compassion that must be opened up for him as a future man in the world.  As much as I wish it weren't, this is much different.)  

I wish I didn't feel a distinction.  I wish I could just raise my children in their fully appreciated selves without regard to what I thought to be arbitrary news.  And really, still, at the end of the day, I could give two shits about having boys or girls (in the way people want one or the other).  But the emotions in me are undeniable, and for the sake of future vulnerability, honesty, and heartfelt discomfort, here they are.  

I have faith that all of my children will be fully realized versions of the beautiful beings they are sent here to be.  It's just scarier than hell to know how much of that rests on me.  

Little hen all cooped up.

I've had the compulsion today toward writing, catching up.  Perhaps even taking the plunge and committing myself to the craft I used to identify with so well.  I give up on it like every other self-doubting artist, sacrificing creativity for perfection, which can never be achieved or even approached without mistake.  So here I go.

Lots of catching up on life to do, but it's hardly necessary.  The point is that I'm probably happier than I've ever been.  Living in the Black Hills now, gaining the weight of a progressing second pregnancy that delights me in ways I was unaware of or held back from with the first.  I feel more close to myself and not like some anomaly of nature.  I feel closer to nature, even though I spend most of my days inside while the sun shines brightly through the windows and the pines whisper my name.  It was kind of silly to move to such a remote, Northern place in late autumn, but a large part of me needed a cut off, really needed a reason to stop and breathe.  I've been immersed in school work, trying to make much needed progress on my nursing degree, taking the plunge off of the double-edged sword of that commitment, not really knowing how it will balance but trusting in my huge faith that it will.

So for once in my life, I'm okay with being a little hen all cooped up.  In my hometown I was so lost.  I didn't feel like a mother hen at all.  I felt like a rat, running and sniffing around for the next opportunity with no real agenda, just a fear of not looking busy.  Now I can just sit around and fluff my feathers and keep myself warm to incubate this egg.  I feel broody and proud.  For once in my life, I feel safe.

An Open Letter to the Lincoln Community

After much trepidation, consideration, and sadness, a consensus has been made to put an indefinite pause on the project known as Sycamore Family Resource Center.  Although it's been an interesting and informative year of starts and stops, it turns out to be the next logical step for us to take a big step back, reassess, and focus our energies in other ways that benefit our community.

This decision is in no way a reflection of the importance of providing diverse resources for families in Lincoln. I started this project as an opportunity to address the need for resources for expecting families who had little access to alternatives.  Sycamore Center started with a great vision of celebrating the families in our community, as Lincoln has a beautiful variety of people with different needs.  By building on this vision, I came to learn that my passion for community and women’s health is most effective in focused, collaborative projects.  I had the wonderful chance to train with the Office of Women’s Health as a Community Health Worker, and I am excited to build on my experience as a birth worker and activist for health equity and reproductive rights.  I’m grateful for the learning experience this has been and hope to continue working with you all in the future.

It would be a shame not to shed all of our light on the amazing investment of time, encouragement, and money we've received from our community.  A huge thanks to:

• Alene Swinehart for the beautiful space to dream this project up in
• Chris Funk and Ann Seacrest for meeting with me early on to share their expertise
• Olivia Garza, Carol Dicks, Kitty Fynbu, Julia Slagle and the lovely Lauren Turner for their organizational support
• the ladies at A Novel Idea for knowing their stuff
• Adam Hintz at Meadowlark Coffee & Espresso for the ever-abundance of free coffee
• Alex Svoboda for talking about herbs
• Katie Briggs for her lovely graphic designs skills
• Elbeth Magilton for her legal knowledge and direction
• Eric Shanks whose experience is invaluable for creating change
• Jean Krejci for being a total joy and inspiration to work with and keeping the fire alive
• Hilary Stohs Krause for rocking the universe
• Gerardo Mesa, HoneyBee & Hers, All Young Girls Are Machine Guns, and Black Cohosh for providing the spell-binding entertainment for our benefit and making it a success
• the exquisite Samantha McCulloch with Hannaya Healing
• Trina Derickson for reading Tarot
• Shannon Claire with B-Sides Photography  
• all of the dozens of donors for our silent auction and raffle, which were too numerous to mention- your donations were an incredible act of generosity and faith.

A few loose ends that need to be tied up include our finances- we have a balance of roughly $350 that we need to make a decision about.  If you consider yourself a stakeholder in this community bucket, please access our Facebook page to find a poll to help us decide how to spend it.  We will post it on August 31, 2012, and make a final decision for these funds on September 15, 2012.  

Also, we have a collection of feminist and health literature, homeschooling supplies, and children's books and toys that will be still be accessible to the Lincoln community by contacting me, Stephanie Dank, at 402-309-0470, or emailing Olivia Garza at electricgarza@gmail.com.  

If you have any questions or concerns, please contact us through our email: sycamorefrcenter@gmail.com.  This email address will remain active until January 1st, 2013.  If you are interested in staying up to date about my work as a Community Health Worker and Doula, follow my blog: motherfront.blogspot.com

Many blessings,
Stephanie Dank

Disparities in the Doula Model of Care

After the Community Health Worker training that ended today, I'm faced with the reality of how many gaps there are in not just health care, but doula care.  Health disparities are everywhere, and there are amazing organizations and agencies out there gathering funding to provide free preventative health care to the under- and uninsured.  When it comes to doula care, however, access is limited to those who can pay out-of-pocket.  Painfully ironic is the fact that those who can afford it are in need of it the least.  

That's not to say that the privileged pregnancies that are on the receiving end of a doula do not deserve it.  But populations, particularly teens and women of color, who see the most health disparity and the worst maternal and infant health outcomes, are the most underserved by doulas.  How do we, as doulas, approach this?  Many of us offer our services for much less than what we should be making even for our full-paying clients.  If we have a particular interest in working to solve health disparities and applying social justice to our work, we work for next to nothing.  I've done many births where, in the end, I was getting paid a shocking hourly wage for expert advise, 24 hour on-call availability for weeks on end, and physically strenuous overnight hours- much less than minimum wage in the end.  This is not rare.  Ask the doula next to you if this is the case and you will likely get an emphatic "YES".  

What is the root of this?  My belief is that it stems from doula care existing in a for-profit model (as much of health care is, but that's another blog post).  That doulas have settled on charging their clients directly undercuts the potential of doula care- applying the benefits of doula care on populations that see the worst outcomes in order to make the most amount of change.  Taking a new approach is critical in improving outcomes.  But it will require doulas rejecting the for-profit model that so much of us have accepted.  We need to explore new options in receiving funding for our work, to generate public and private interest in doula care from stakeholders in maternal and infant health, and to work together, and not in competition like so much of the for-profit model encourages, to make our work sustainable for not only our clients but ourselves.

We know the benefits of our work.  It's time for doulas to get out of our comfort zones, advocate for those benefits, and start creating change.  We are at the forefront of improving outcomes with our unique advantage to spend time educating and empowering patients.  A public health approach to doula care is desperately needed if we actually want to see our work make a difference.

(If you know of a fabulous community doula project, or have seen doulas used by public health agencies, please leave some information in the comments!!)

Getting It Done

Wow!!  Inspired today by so much awesomeness.  Women rule.

I'm starting to see myself as an instrument of change.  The good news is that I don't have to play the whole band at once!  Activist birth work is becoming more reachable in my mind- the training I'm at now is empowering me with lots of tools to use to keep me focused, connected, and effective.

The training is through an extension of HHS's (Health and Human Services) Office of Women's Health called the Women's Health Leadership Institute (hell yea), and I got here because I'm a doula.  It's part of an initiative to introduce more Community Health Workers (CHWs) to the health field.  We get to directly interface with the community around us and have an impact on health disparities based on gender, socioeconomic status, and race.  The training group is about one third cornfed Midwestern ladies like myself, one third African American (a couple of ladies in maternal health in Omaha), and the rest are Latina.  There's a young mama who's an educator at Planned Parenthood, lots of women older than my mother, and the trainers are both cute and funny.  At the end of Thursday, I'm not going to want it to end.  We're all bringing so much to the table and learning so much at the same time.  I already have ideas churning on what my project will be (we all have to carry out and document some community health project once we're finished with the training).  What a blessing it's been so far (even if the internet at the hotel ain't free).

This kind of sisterhood can't happen enough.  This is how this shit's gonna get done.

This Self-Assuredly Strange Life

(In this post, I'm including pictures from a dreamy photo shoot I did with some lovely Denver ladies back in March outside of Red Rocks, as promised.  Enjoy.)

The lifestyle I've always dreamed of is finally, and strangely, taking shape.  A nomadic path bridging city and country life, uprooted in order to respond to any breeze or need.  I've been sleeping in a cozy four-person tent, bought cheap from Walmart, in my dear friend Amy's backyard.  Picture her city lot full of fruit trees, elderberry bushes, volunteer vegetable plants and perennial herbs surrounding a fire pit, just before entering the back half of wooded territory, which I have made my little grotto.  I've hung my hammock, although it's much too humid to avoid the mosquitoes.  I have a basket for linens, a crate of clothing, a drum, a book, and a rain fly.  My cooking tools and supplies are up by the house and my bulk herbs are in the garage.  The rest of my necessities are packed down in my Chevy Venture.  

Things as a medical professional are exploding.  I was just accepted to the Office of Women's Health and Women's Health Leadership Institute's Community Health Worker (CHW) training, which admittedly changes everything.  It impacts my doula work in a huge way, as CHWs are essentially public health "doulas" in a more broad sense in that they provide education and advocacy for a variety of different health conditions and populations (not just pregnancy and birth).  This means that I will be able to widen my services to include many aspects of reproductive health.  CHWs also have an interesting and critical role as their work places a heavy emphasis on culturally competent care- that is, providing it themselves as well as enforcing it from medical care providers.  Part of this particular training is getting set up with a supervisor who helps the trainee execute a community project in their home community.  So Sycamore Center will be heavily impacted by this, and it may even prove to give shape to the organization completely.  

I've also started my volunteerism with the American Red Cross.  I have distant dreams of being deployed in the face of natural disaster to set up mobile birth units, and I figure that climbing their ladder and getting trained in mass food distribution as well as shelter management is the best free way to do it (no degree!!  woo!!).

 

And I've also met the man of my dreams.  There's no other way to put that, really.  He feeds my vision of escaping the troubles of the world to high atop a Black Hill-side, feeding my goats and staring up at the clouds with nothing but the wind to hear.  Waiting patiently for the next mother to go into labor as I cultivate my herb garden, smoke out a hive of bees, or help him haul in the next project.  He calls me his goddess, Nefer, and perhaps someday I will be his queen, yelling at kids from the porch he built.  Through all of the hard work I'm doing these days, I'm walking on Cloud 99.

But tonight, with all of this spiraling around me (and not out of control, mind you, but part of the ever-changing cycle of my life which right now is busy, busy, busy), I am trying to stay mindful of the simple things.  Sage infusing in white wine vinegar.  Slow eating.  Choosing to stay in one place for the moment.  Walking barefoot on the earth.  I need that reminder to be here now, but being on the right path makes it easier to give to myself.  

I've never felt this self-assured of my own joy.  It's pretty wonderful.

trees of fate

i may move out

without a trace

of life

before

i knew you

out of the mound

the hole in the ground

dug before

the truth

came out

i may travel

miles and miles

just to fill my 

senses

with the sounds and 

scents of time

before

the trees of fate

had fallen

before this life 

took me away 

from you

and put me in

a place

where truth was found.

Overcoming My Fear of Rejection, or Accepting Acceptance

The past day or so has been rough.  It's hard to know where to start with this enormous project, where to most effectively spend my energy (and other funds), and sometimes it feels like I'm just leaking out the sides.  A wave of depression came rolling through, which always makes my ears prick up a little, listening for the sound of intuition, of something out of place.  I come to my senses.  I journaled and broke through the crying barrier last night, so there's not a terrible amount to divulge.  But the issues of rejection, acceptance, and unconditional self-love need to be spoken on.  

For as long as I can remember, I've been caught in a cycle of desperately needing acceptance due to rejection I felt as a child growing up with an incarcerated and addicted father, pushing people away who know their limitations of what they can and can't give me, furthering my sense of rejection, thus my deep need for acceptance.  This has played out in every relationship, several friendships, and my connection to myself.  


I've attempted to open my heart recently, only to become aware of this stuff once again.  Natalie writes an amazing piece on this over at Baggage Reclaim:

From the moment that someone decides that they no longer want you or that they no longer value you or the relationship enough to want to try and they make the decision to opt out, you need to start working towards not wanting them either.

Wanting people that don’t want you, nevermind respect, value, love, or care about you, is a surefire sign that you have lost your way.

I definitely felt lost yesterday.  To lay it out, I've got several fishing poles out on the dating scene, and the way I've been feeling has made me want to pull them all in.  I'm not sure if I can go through it anymore- putting myself out there- not until I've got some things straight.  

Natalie keeps going, though, offering some harsh truths:

You’re too busy feeling the pain of your own bruised ego that you have lost sight of reality.

I’m not even convinced that you truly want him; you just need him to want you.

Really, the whole thing is worth reading.  

Mostly, I'm worried about the fear of doing this again.  I don't want to be emotionally unavailable.  I get what she says about only investing time and energy in people that value me, not detract from my value.  It's about manifesting relationships/friendships through my own sense of worth instead of seeking it from other people looking to play by their own rules.  Vulnerability is scary, though.  But as we know from Brene Brown's TED Talk, people with higher senses of self worth fear vulnerability less.  Actually, they see it as essential to a deeper sense of connection.







This is all part of my recovery.  Please feel free to share with me where you are at in yours.  We can only give what we have, and right now I've got some big balls of wax to melt before I can make that really luscious calendula cream that everybody keeps asking me about.

The Invisible Mother

Today I discovered the photography technique of the hidden mother, used to capture only their children and babies.  So strange.

 

Look at more photos here, and here.

Manifestation

I'm overwhelmed.  

The blessing that came my way today is my sign, really the culmination of the task I've had at hand- pave way and open space for the gifts of the universe to unwrap themselves for me.  Over the past year I've had two major break ups (three if you count a business partner), I moved out of my first home, quit (and got fired from) a few jobs, stopped taking classes, and opened my heart.  I surrendered my sense of control, of beating my life into submission, and learned to just be.

You know what happened?  Pregnant moms started to call on me.

The Goddess (or who/whatever you will) made it unmistakably clear that serving the rite of birth is what I'm supposed to be doing.

People often wonder how I got into birth in the first place.  Well, my interest in women's health happened on accident- I went to Plan-It X Fest in 2006 where there was a workshop on self cervical exams put on by DC's Down There Health Collective.  I was blown away.  I went home from Bloomington with an arm full of zines, including Alicia non Grata's Take Back Yr Life and Hot Pantz.  That was how I first was introduced to herbs, the idea of inducing your own miscarriage, and not using tampons anymore.  I was 18 and it felt good to be a woman.  

When I moved to Denver, I had no inhibitions about teaching a free school class (if these ladies could do it, so could I!)  So for six months every week I taught a class called Positive Menstruation.  It was wonderful.  It resulted in the safest space I had ever been in, a lovely fluidity of topics from feminist spirituality to anatomy and physiology.   We talked so much about how not to get pregnant using the Fertility Awareness Method that it didn't occur to me (at age 20) that birth was part of this circle I was a part of.  I first learned what a doula was through my tribe of women there but I didn't feel called to that until I was pregnant myself.

All the while, in the back of my head, through births, talking with women about their most intimate details, getting emails asking me questions from what kind of vibrator to get to difficulties with arousal and heavy menstrual flow, receiving phone calls from women in crisis, and seeing a clear need for holistic, understanding, compassionate health care for women and their allies, I've had a dream of what my practice would look like.  How can I best serve people?  I need somewhere that people (women, genderqueers, and men) can come for workshops, to buy supplies, to receive consultations and services such as screenings and pregnancy tests.  I need somewhere to teach natural birth control, childbirth education, and herbal intensives.  And by somewhere I really have thought "something".  I just want this dream to turn into a thing.  To manifest.  I don't know if as my business, as a non-profit, or as a collective.  I just know that this is what I want to pour myself into and that there is a need for it.  

Today I was given a space for it.  

I have access to two beautiful yoga studios, plenty of storage space for educational materials and medical supplies, and the potential (if we grow) to move into an office space of my very own- one that I could see my clients in, do treatments in...  It's in a beautiful house which held a Buddhist temple there for the past several years.  The woman that owns it wants to see this happen (almost) as badly as I do.  I can't believe it.  I have to believe it.

So now the pressure is on.  If I don't make it happen, some karmic apocalypse will have me for dinner.  Lots of decisions to make, lots of energy to give to the design of this project.  

I need help.

Intro to Codependent Polyamory

WHEW! What a week.

It's late at night and what I really wanted to get on here to write about, even though there's much to choose from, is my romantic scenario.  Ugh.  Nobody wants to hear this crap but here I am venting.  Maybe this will help someone.  I never know.

My future looks lovely but right now I'm in a tangle of emotions, trying to be honest with myself about how I feel, guarding my heart, and learning some lessons yet again.  I'm okay, though.  I started talking to a guy, right after I ended a relationship, on OKCupid- we talked every day online for three weeks, tried it out when we met and it's ended up in us not spending any time together and sleeping with other people.  He doesn't seem that interested in me anymore and I'm wondering why I'm even spending that much time and thought on him.  Meanwhile, my husband, who I just had sex with for the first time in a year, starts treating me like a goddess and says he wants to date me.  Hell.  I don't know what I have the energy for.  I don't feel strong enough emotionally to take any of it on, but my emotions are still so strong.  But I'm not putting my eggs in one basket.  I did it for a minute with the guy I've been seeing.  The reality of it is that he doesn't have time for me and I need attention.

I think that what I need is to go to Denver, make out with a bunch of queers and remember who I am, how I love, and what I'm all about.  I'm not about chasing dudes in this drinking town around.  If you want to ditch me to watch sports while I encapsulate placentas and eat dinner with my friends, be my guest.

I really do envision myself in a great open relationship that is completely egalitarian, where I feel safe to express and explore myself, where I know I wont be judged, where I'm not afraid of them leaving because I feel secure, appreciated, and understood.  I see myself being free in my body, experiencing all types of pleasure in my life, creating abundance, and nourishing every part of myself.  And having amazing sex and nothing less.

This will all pass, all of this conflict of emotions, the push and pull of want, desire and rejection.  Affection then neglect.  He said he was overwhelmed by me.  Blah blah blah.

Maybe it would just be easier to be with somebody who knows me.  Seriously, where are the other stand-up men unafraid of commitment?

To say that this is not about me being alone would be a lie.  Of course it is.  I need a lover.  But one that will love me.

Is that so much to ask?

The point is not to analyze it for what it was, but to see it for the small thing that it all is and figure out where I am.  What I am vs. where I was.  I want all of these things because I have finally, for the first time, felt like I deserve all of this, truly.  It rings true for me now.  A very poignant story about personal truth and self esteem:  Angela Barber was living in my house last summer and she was telling me of a healer that came to her in the hospital when she was there for a major accident for some time.  He asked her above all else, what she believed to be true.  She said, "I know I am loved."  As Angela told me this, I was stunned by the deadening silence of untruth in me that statement brought.  It made no sense that I was unloved, but I felt an utter emptiness in me that has since filled with a deep sense of gratefulness for every part of me.  Sometimes people ask me what it is that changed in me, and the simplest way to put it is that I realized that nothing would change until I started loving myself.

How do you start loving yourself?  You just accept the fact (the truth) that anything anybody has ever said to you to bring you down, cast doubt on you, or cause you pain was a fucking LIE.  The minute you start loving yourself is the one when everything changes.

My conclusion, for now, is that I want to treat myself the way I want to be treated.  Like a goddess?  Fine, it's on.  I'm going to treat myself like a goddess.   I'm not waiting on anybody else to make the first step.  Because I deserve it.  Why should I depend on anybody to get what I deserve?

Sexual assault, the mind-body connection and birth.

I'm picking this up again because I find myself posting much to Facebook, it not being quite as gratifying as I wish it were, and I have lots more to say these days than that space allows.

Back to back births this week and I have yet to debrief with another doula- I will resist the urge to do it here.  I will say, however, that for the first time I saw the powerful grip that sexual trauma can hold on a woman's body and learned how essential it is to address that deep shit in pregnancy.  I'm finding that my work in the future is in creating deeper safe spaces with women, addressing our relationships with our pelvises, genitalia, getting to know our cervixes, and letting go when we are surrounded by love.  Creating spaces of safety and love for women.  Healing universal and personal trauma.  Opening our hips.  Letting go.  

I need to get a copy of Penny Simkin's "When Survivors Give Birth: Understanding and Healing the Effects of Early Sexual Abuse on Childbearing Women"  I'll review it once I do.  There have been hints lately that this is where my work will take me- I want to bridge gaps between disaster relief, emergency medicine, midwifery, sexuality education and sexual assault awareness.  I've been asked by a few women this week if I have been sexually assaulted and I've admitted that I have not.  (I should count the time I woke up with a man's hands down my pants.. and all the times my step dad hit on me or told me about how much sex he wasn't having with my mom..)  I do however feel highly tuned in to institutional baggage and the rape of the Earth.  I believe in a past life I was persecuted and murdered for being a healer (were my breasts cut off of me?  dragged through the streets and killed in front of my family?)  I feel these things, but I know I am safe now and that nobody can do that to me here.  Perhaps it's my job to let all of these other women know that it's safe here for them, too.  And that nobody can hurt them here, right now, in this space.  That their labor is not the enemy.  That their bodies are not the enemy.  


The pain of birth, of change, is safe.


So what does it look like?  This woman was crawling out of her contractions.  She looked like she was in transition so we checked her and she was dilated to 3 centimeters.  And I think it was at that point when her confidence melted away.  After that, she was completely frustrated with her body, angry actually.  Later she described feeling her body pull up every time she tried moving her energy down, as I suggested she do.  I kept saying, "Don't crawl out of it, sink into it."  She would move the energy down, feel baby move down, but her pelvic floor (and her cervix) tightened up in complete resistance.  Truly, this woman suffered.  At one point, we had her running the hospital halls during her contractions to try and open her cervix.  I pulled her aside to tell her, "I don't know what you've been through, but moving through this will make you a stronger mother."  She just looked back at me and said, "I don't know what I'm doing wrong."  At one point, only I could be near her.  She paced a part of the hall, gripping the hand rail- literally crawling it, battling her contractions.  She said at one point, "I wasn't prepared for this."


And it was partly my fault.  This woman did everything right- worked out 4-5 times a week, did acupuncture and massage, yoga, and ate great.  I took for granted that her lifestyle meant she would have a peaceful, lovely natural birth.  Before labor starts, I tell all of my clients that it's impossible for their contractions to be bigger than them because they are them.  Something bigger than her got in her way, took her strength and sent her on a ride.  


It's amazing what comes up during birth.  You find out what you think you've let go in your mind but your body has held onto.  Isn't it incredible the power our bodies have despite our minds, and our minds over our bodies?