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??

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.  

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.

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.

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.

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?