The Full Story

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I WAS RAISED ALONGSIDE NATURE;

A vast cornfield beside and a forest with a pond full of turtles and fish behind. At a young age I repetitively spent time away from civilization with my Father.

FOR WEEKS, WE CANOED OUR WAY TO A DEEP UNDERSTANDING OF STILLNESS, WHOLENESS AND A CONNECTION TO ALL-THAT-IS.

This nature time created an intimate relationship to Spirit as I watched my Father worship the Earth - I can still remember his mouth agape with awe each time we moved through the woods. The reverence and wonder was contagious and I adopted a heartfelt appreciation for Mama Earth and all the ways she invites deep listening.

THIS TAUGHT ME TO WITNESS AND NAVIGATE MY THOUGHT PROCESSES IN A WAY I WOULD ONE DAY RETURN TO THRU MEDITATIVE PRACTICES.

I was raised with a religious upbringing, and as a child I consistently pushed the boundaries put in place to keep me in ‘God’s good books.’ I couldn’t understand why I had to change who I was to receive God’s love so I began to obsessively battle between what I was told was “right” against “what feels right.”

THIS UNLEASHED A WILDNESS IN ME AS I CHASED THE FREEDOM TO FOLLOW MY HEART.

I also grew up as the youngest of 4 siblings in age, but not in spirit. My brother has down syndrome and as the youngest sibling I struggled to find one on one time with my Mother. Her devotion to supporting his special needs was immense, beautiful, and also, overwhelming for all.

I DEVELOPED A FIERCE INDEPENDENCE WHICH WAS AT TIMES A CURSE AND AT OTHERS, A BLESSING.

When I was 18, I was initiated into the field of energy work (thought to be “new age” by my family so I kept it a secret) with a Reiki 1 & 2 attunement. The initiation was powerful and had me asking some big questions. Answers would arrive years later and until then, I stumbled into the world of drugs, alcohol and University. My life was either about being shamed for who I was and what I was doing, or about pushing that shame away by doing more of it. I had no idea how to separate from the inner shaming I was programmed with, or from the system that created it. I tried a number of paths including art and physical exercise, all the while battling a constant shame for not following a religious path.

I BECAME A HUNTRESS SEARCHING FOR MY TRUTH.

Which path was mine to follow? Where did I fit in?

In religious circles I felt suppressed.

Partying left me feeling terrible although it did provide reprieve from feeling lonely and different.

Studying Fine Art provided some relief to my relentless inner battle and I exploded onto the scene dedicated to being unconventional and expressing what felt unsaid.

Physical exercise reminded me of my childhood - grounding into my body and into the Earth.

Through this adventurous time I was pulled home each night because of my dog Brooklyn. He was my lifeline and the reason I returned. One sunny afternoon he had a run-in with a much bigger dog. He limped over to me and I instinctually placed my hands on him as he laid at my feet. The forgotten energy of my Reiki attunements surged through my hands and into his body. Moments later he stood up, shook, and ran off to play.

THE ENERGY WAS IMMENSE AND INVITED A DEEP REMEMBERING OF A NEW WAY FORWARD.

Life continued similarly beyond graduation and into my first few jobs. Yes, I had a glimpse of healing, but I needed the right people to take me deeper. I placed a job in advertising and my partying ways fit in well there. I remember waking up feeling relieved when I was hungover because the physical pain felt better than feeling lost.

I had no experience in the advertising industry so I worked hard to reinvent myself. I ended up working in senior roles on two of the largest marketing accounts in Canada. Amidst these roles I found yoga. It was offered at the office and seemed the only way to fit in a workout… which I felt I needed for a ‘nice butt.’ I also knew I relied on movement for stress release and I needed that in my around-the-clock job.

YOGA WAS AN INVITATION TO TRANSFORM AND I FINALLY SAID YES.

After years of practice in yoga and meditation, I joined an immersion program for depth studies in Anusara yoga, followed by my first, second and third yoga teacher training programs.

IN 2005, DEATH WOKE ME UP, SUDDENLY AND PAINFULLY.

I was 25 when my Father passed; old enough to process death spiritually and young enough to be shocked by mortality - including my own. Two months later, my dear Grandmother passed as well.

I spent the following year in turmoil; grieving and deeply fearing my own sudden death. I moved three times and lived with all the wrong people including an alcoholic which revealed what I did not want to become. I worked myself sick, chose partners that didn’t respect me and had little connection to Spirit (“fuck God - he took my Daddy!”). I developed a heart palpitation which I believed was inherited and I convinced myself I would die any minute.

I BEGAN TO MAKE CHOICES FROM MY IMMINENT DEATHBED, AND UNKNOWINGLY FAST-TRACKED TOWARD MY SOUL PATH.

I had little idea of what my personal dreams were but I did know however, that I wanted to leave what I felt to be a “soul sucking” advertising industry. My resume looked great but each time I asked questions from my imminent deathbed, I knew my soul wasn’t fulfilled.

Each time I ignored my Truth and my Heart’s messages, the skipped beats would have me dizzy and panicked.

I SURRENDERED AND ENTERED INTO A DEEP STATE OF DAILY PRAYER - A PRACTICE THAT WOULD CONTINUE.

The Universe had a path for me and I was being asked (rather abruptly) to follow.

I LEFT MY CAREER.

It was a stable and fruitful career of 10+ years in the advertising industry and I left to teach yoga. It was one of the best things I’ve ever done, but definitely not the easiest. Some people (myself included) considered it a risky move – something out of the ordinary.

I FOLLOWED MY HEART.

That Heart feeling fed my Soul and created a domino effect of life changes in me and the people around me. I received countless emails and Facebook messages from colleagues who were inspired to listen to a deeper calling.

Things were changing for the better, so I kept listening.

I DOVE INTO STUDIES OF ENERGY WORK AND FOUND MY HEIGHTENED INTUITION A PROFOUND GIFT.

Via Reiki, I found my new teacher in Savannah Georgia and I received my Reiki Masters as well as a Masters in Seichim Energy. Once back in Toronto, I studied my Masters again (I wanted more!). Following that, I was gifted the first set of the Munay-ki rites and was nudged by Spirit, to offer Reiki courses.

Amidst these Reiki offerings, I began to offer yoga retreats, workshops and even make free yoga videos with a beloved friend - all for the love of the practice. We began to build an online business sharing our personal and detailed discoveries within the practice. We were obsessed with knowledge, curious about possibility, and dedicated to depth.

AND THEN I WAS PREGNANT.

This brought up a number of emotions in me, mostly fear and a knowing that the timing just wasn’t right. I knew I wasn’t ready as my current sole/soul focus was on building my career.

THROUGH A PERSONAL RITUAL I INVITED MY OWN MISCARRIAGE, AND AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING TO EXACTLY THAT.

Both my soul and my baby’s soul made an agreement during that ritual. At the time I wasn’t sure what that agreement was, but I knew it was right, albeit sad. It was through this meaningful and painful journey of miscarriage that I found my love and reverence for the power of ritual.

It became clear that the fear I felt when I was pregnant was my lack of knowledge about birth. I knew I wanted to be a Mother one day, so I dove into birth studies and became a DONA trained birth doula, passionate about empowering women through the process.

I OBSESSIVELY STUDIED PREGNANCY, MISCARRIAGE, BIRTH AND MOTHERHOOD FROM A SPIRITUAL PERSPECTIVE AND BEGAN TO COACH WOMEN FROM THIS VIEWPOINT.

As I continued my studies on spirituality, I discovered a number of books and teachers relating Jesus’s original words with my current practices of yoga, meditation and breathwork.

I WAS ECSTATIC TO ACCEPT THAT MY SPIRITUAL PRACTICES WERE NOT IN FACT SHAMEFUL TO MY RELIGIOUS UPBRINGING, BUT INSTEAD, VITAL FOR MY CONNECTION TO SPIRIT.

Finally, the shame I held for not following my deceased Father’s and Grandmother’s desire’s for me to attend church and follow a religious lifestyle dissolved. I felt blissfully connected to my late Father and to Spirit.

At this time my Grandfather turned 96 and until his passing at age 98, I’d visit him to ask his thoughts on life and death. I created a website with our conversations (with his permission), and shared intimate discussions on fear, faith and aging. We met on middle ground - his religious beliefs and my spiritual understanding of them. His desire for me to attend church was now received as love - I no longer felt the shame I grew up with. I loved him fully and was elated to finally understand him.

I WAS ALSO CAPTIVATED WITH DEATH AND DYING.

What started as a curse, has become a blessing. Daily, I feel that death is right next door and it acts as a constant reminder to fully live this life. It was this feeling that had me travel for 2+ years to the U.S. for a Priestess mystery school that focused on women's empowerment. I can't tell you much about that (I have to hold the mystery!) but I can tell you that we worked with archetypes, the elements and held ancient ceremonies and rituals, often inspired by Shamanism.

I WAS CONFRONTING MY FEARS IN A WHOLE NEW WAY.

With this experience I began my own mystery school called Seers Way, held in partnership with a dear friend. We facilitated groups through deep immersions of transformation work. The weekends were intense but so profound that we’d find our next immersions full with previous participant’s friends.

During those 2 years as a participant in Priestess mystery school, I was in the amazement and agony of my second pregnancy.

INTUITIVELY I KNEW THAT TO PREPARE FOR MY BIRTH, I WANTED TO PREPARE FOR MY DEATH.

This was no small feat and I scoured for teachers, guides, resources and tools. When the time to birth neared, I felt ready. I birthed at home, roaring my daughter into the world with my husband by my side. It was everything I wanted it to be.

AND THEN I BLED.

A lot. I was floating in and out of consciousness when spirit guides began to circle the bed and whisper to me. I felt so relaxed - so incredibly heavy and I wanted to stay in that space. I could hear the midwives too, asking me to respond.

WHEN I REMEMBERED MY BABY I DECIDED TO STAY IN THIS WORLD.

Motherhood shook me to my core as it mimics depth ceremonies from across the globe, however, there was no end to this ceremony. It consistently asks for generosity of oneself and offers a dynamic mini-me reflection to learn and grow with.

I FOUND MYSELF IN AN UNEXPECTED TIMELESS CYCLE OF FASTING, SLEEPLESS NIGHTS & LESSONS FROM SOLITUDE.  

I began to offer women’s circles in partnership with a dear Mother-friend called Matriarch Rising, in support of sisterhood, Motherhood, and women’s work. We invite all ages as we feel this is what community looks like - the blending of the wisdom of elders, children, maidens and Mothers.

As I integrated my miscarriage, my daughter’s birth story, my transition into Motherhood, and my previous experiences with death and dying, death began to feel like something I was called to work with.

I STUDIED PAST LIFE REGRESSION AND WAS BLESSED (AND CHALLENGED) WITH THE ABILITY TO SEE SOUL’S AFTER THEIR PASSING.

I decided that wasn’t how I wanted to work with death, and studied how our culture approaches (well… avoids) death and considered what I’d like to do differently. This study is ongoing with many new angles and paths to discover. (Why is death something our culture for the most part, ignores when it’s one of the few guarantees we get in this life? How can we move towards our own death without fear? How can self-awareness support the dying process? Does medical support prolonging life create more fear of death or more comfort for life? Are our afterlife practices providing enough closure for those left behind? How can we live fully in order to die well?)

AS PART OF MY WORK, I NOW COACH PEOPLE ON PREPARING FOR THEIR OWN PASSING - IMMINENT OR NOT - BECAUSE WE ARE ALL DYING.

No longer out of fear, I purposely make choices from my imminent deathbed and use it as a tool to fully live this precious life.

I am committed to transformation and naturally ignite that in others through connection, deep listening and love.

Oh.. and my intuition helps too.

Interested in heart listening? Want to chat? Share a story? Ask a question? I’m here!

I reside in Toronto (and deep in the woods as often as I can) with my husband and daughter (who by the way, admitted on her own at 2.5 years, that she came back to us).

Climbing Mount Everest

"I think that parenting young children (and old ones too) is a little like climbing Mount Everest. Brave, adventurous souls try it because they’ve heard there’s magic in the climb. They try because they believe that finishing, or even attempting the climb is an impressive accomplishment. They try because during the climb, if they allow themselves to pause and lift their eyes and minds from the pain and drudgery, the views are breathtaking. They try because even though it hurts and it’s hard there are moments that make it worth the hard. These moments are so intense and unique that many people who reach the top start planning, almost immediately, to climb again. Even though any climber will tell you that most of the climb is treacherous, exhausting, killer. That they cried most of the way up.
And so I think that if there were people stationed, say, every thirty feet along Mount Everest yelling to the climbers, “Are you enjoying yourself?! If not, you should be! One day you’ll be sorry you didn’t!” those well-meaning, nostalgic cheerleaders might be physically thrown from the mountain.
My point is this: I used to worry that not only was I failing to do a good enough job at parenting, but that I wasn’t enjoying it enough. Double failure. I felt guilty because I wasn’t in parental ecstasy every hour of every day and I wasn’t MAKING THE MOST OF EVERY MOMENT like the mamas in the parenting magazines seemed to be doing. I felt guilty because honestly, I was tired and cranky and ready for the day to be over quite often. And because I knew that one day, I’d wake up and the kids would be gone and I’d be the old lady in the grocery store with my hand over my heart. Would I be able to say I enjoyed every moment? No.
But the fact remains that I will be that nostalgic lady. I just hope to be one with a clear memory. 
And here’s what I hope to say to the younger mama gritting her teeth in line:
“It’s helluva hard isn’t it? You’re a good mom, I can tell. And I like your kids, especially that one peeing in the corner. Carry on, warrior. Six hours ’til bedtime.”
And hopefully every once in awhile I’ll add, “let me pick up that grocery bill for ya sister. Go put those kids in the van and pull on up. I’ll have them bring your groceries out.”
- Glennon Doyle Melton

Under a Button Nose

Motherhood is... 


Joy in my step and a drag of my right foot from the pain child bearing and child wearing has caused. 


It's presents put in my hand daily - trinkets found along the path we walk together: a bottle cap, a leaf, a stone, another cigarette butt. Some are new and some are old, rusted, falling apart to the point where I can hardly tell what they are - but to her, they are treasures. 


It's letting the dog be your best vacuum. 


It's a table unwiped and a bright red diaper rash covered in clay, coconut oil, lavender and tea tree. 


It's sand moving from her hand to her mouth and me jumping to my feet, limping until they wake up, to stop her.


It's exhaustion - not days of it, but a year of it - eyelids sweating from the work to stay open and when it’s finally time to rest, too much excitement about resting to be able to. 


It's oatmeal crusted on silken soft cheeks, pages of books glued together with dried rice and a million started, yet unfinished conversations. 


It's white noise - everywhere - even in the spaces where silence used to exist. Even at 3am, 4am, 5am and 6. 


It sounds like “no” and “bye bye”, “app-pee” and “wow”. 


It’s fingers pointing to streetlights trying to say “moon” and its a small body, shaking in it’s entirety, at the sound of an airplane flying too low. A tongue fully revealed in the wide open cry, red gums, bleeding fingers, cute toes, and thin hair curled around tiny ears, perfectly packaged under a button nose.
 

I’m floating, alone, ears below the water line
Here my heart sounds like the heartbeat of the earth
Breath lifts, then lowers
Even my mouth is under.

I like it this way.

Bubbles circle where water reveals my body to the air
just like lingerie with holes in all the right places.

I like it this way, too.

I open my mouth and water pours in
I let it fill as much as I can, without swallowing
Breath lifts, then lowers.
Even my eyes are under.

I want more.

I’m floating, only my nose above the water line but,
I get so comfortable a little water silks in there too. 
I let it.

Suspended between breaths -
All encompassing and totally freeing.
Weightless, thoughtless, nothingness -
I remember the first vessel I came here by,

And I think, ‘is this, my little merchild, the reason you cry? Is this my baby, a place you miss?’ 

Inhabited

I had loved before, but never, ever like this.

Heart of my heart and bone of my bone.

Life sustained through the strength of my own body; my insides - inhabited -then outsides - a mouth on my breast, arms tired from holding and hands happily, tenderly stroking.

It turns out it's not playing or pretending that makes me feel like an animal - it's love.

We are, Our Mothers

What if I told you that I let her cry so I could write this.

What if I told you it wasn’t my first time.

What if I told you, I found failure in my nurturing, because I couldn't withstand the crying.

 

The quickening of my penmanship is the quickening of my heart.

It's also the volume of her cry.

 

And I wonder, which of these things will touch her,

or hit her,

because something will,

at some point,

into thinking I'm a bad mother.

 

And I write this because society needs to hear,

and I need to hear,

again,

that there is no perfect mother.

 

At some point, somewhere,

we need to stop blaming the Mothers.

Because,

we are, our Mothers.

Mothermorphosis

"You’re different!”

“Completely.”

And what I didn’t say out loud is this:

I’m shocked that that shocks you. And I’m not… because I was you. I also had no idea.

I took Motherhood and Mothers for granted. I never understood the amount of work, the hardship, the isolation and the love. I never thought the transformation would be this deep, but when you’re torn open and slapped in the face with a love that’s bigger than you ever thought possible, something is bound to happen. It’s like a slap in the face you give yourself when you’re feeling pretty sleepy and you’re trying to wake up. First a light tap-tap-taping and then it starts to sting and then, only then, do you begin to awaken. It's startling. And hard. Waking up is hard.

But it hurts so good.

1 year ago today I laboured and pushed and bled. I swore, I cried and I breathed. 1 year ago I was birthed a different person. My body shook and the downward force rocked me so hard it felt as if my pelvis was splitting in two. And in a way, it was. I became two.

For awhile I wanted to hold onto what I knew; what I had learned to be true before.

But it was no longer my truth.

I had lists of things I would and wouldn’t do.

I had plans.

I had a vision of myself that I had to let die - a vision of how life would be. In the dying and decay of my previous self, I was born a Mother.

My hair fell out. Not all of it, no, but all the blonde has gone. Motherhood wants me as a brunette. 
Motherhood has me heavier.
Motherhood has me spacier.
Motherhood often has me void of conversation and choosing to be home.

My clothes are different because they have to be. I stand in front of my closet trying to understand how to dress someone I don’t totally know; “Who am I anyways?"

But I’m feeling whole and this wholeness came thru the breaking of birth. The rupture opened the rapture.

So yea... I’m different. I’ve been born again because now, I’ve witnessed real-life magic and now, I see that I AM MAGIC.

Motherhood Is A Quixotic Beast

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"Motherhood is a quixotic beast. She calls to us through starry nights, pulsing through our dreams, infusing our daylight with the whispers of the souls dancing near us. She carves room for burgeoning bodies built of the four elements, and a fifth, slows down our pace with her weight, and then bursts the river dam when we least expect it. She has her own timing, not measured by the hands of the clock. Once we birth our hearts onto floors fluorescent or worn, wooden or wet, we are never the same. We burn brightly with the iridescence of her grace. We are the happiest we’ve ever been, and the saddest we’ve ever been, for in our giving we have lost. In our receiving we are overwhelmed with joy, and with duty, and with life. Who am I now? We ask ourselves the same questions, over and over. How do I relate with the world now that all my tidy squares are tipped up? We look at our lovers differently, and they see us differently too.

This is okay, in fact – it is glorious. You just brought life to this planet. You are a miracle. As the babies grow and our days come to a close, we find ourselves yearning. That sweet yearning for long hours unrushed, for connection to the lover whose hands you held in bed, in the car, at the cinema. We yearn for the things we once had, tender lovemaking, candlelit dinners and wine. And yet, here is the opening. Here is the door. When your rugged heart feels tender and worn, please remember you don’t have to finish the dishes, or fold another towel. What we need to remember, is ourselves: our needs, our desires, our wants. Even when you don’t know what they are, when you can’t remember where to begin to reclaim yourself, start with something.

Light a candle; hold a crystal under the stars in your fist. You are an earthly being sewn into the tapestry of this dimension by your senses. Touch, smell, taste, sound and sight. We are intrinsic to the experiences we participate in, absolutely part of the poetry. I know your bruised body aches, your face is tired and your feet feel like lead – not too poetic at times. I also know that you feel bitter and resentful; you slam words that aren’t yours into the face of your beloved. This is not you. You feel disconnected. You must reboot the circuit; rewire the fuse. We need not do this alone, mamas. You need not pack your bags and leave town.

It takes work – hard work – but what could be more rewarding? You can do this. Drop in. Arrive. Stay. See your beloved as the God/Goddess/galaxy they embody.

Your soap worn hands, your farmer’s market fingers, your body flowering babies, your windswept hair: You are a door. Your beloved is a door. Your pregnancy and birth and baby are a door. This is what we are here for, to go through these passages, journeying to the other side. Who we are becoming is a magnificent process, a storytelling, a verb. You won’t be complete until the last door opens. The story from now is as yet unwritten. Keep writing." 
-Sophie Ward

She calls to us through starry nights, pulsing through our dreams, infusing our daylight with the whispers of the souls dancing near us. She carves room for burgeoning bodies built of the four elements, and a fifth, slows down our pace with her weight, and then bursts the river dam when we least expect it. She has her own timing, not measured by the hands of the clock. Once we birth our hearts onto floors fluorescent or worn, wooden or wet, we are never the same. We burn brightly with the iridescence of her grace. We are the happiest we’ve ever been, and the saddest we’ve ever been, for in our giving we have lost. In our receiving we are overwhelmed with joy, and with duty, and with life. Who am I now? We ask ourselves the same questions, over and over. How do I relate with the world now that all my tidy squares are tipped up? We look at our lovers differently, and they see us differently too.

This is okay, in fact – it is glorious. You just brought life to this planet. You are a miracle. As the babies grow and our days come to a close, we find ourselves yearning. That sweet yearning for long hours unrushed, for connection to the lover whose hands you held in bed, in the car, at the cinema. We yearn for the things we once had, tender lovemaking, candlelit dinners and wine. And yet, here is the opening. Here is the door. When your rugged heart feels tender and worn, please remember you don’t have to finish the dishes, or fold another towel. What we need to remember, is ourselves: our needs, our desires, our wants. Even when you don’t know what they are, when you can’t remember where to begin to reclaim yourself, start with something.

Light a candle; hold a crystal under the stars in your fist. You are an earthly being sewn into the tapestry of this dimension by your senses. Touch, smell, taste, sound and sight. We are intrinsic to the experiences we participate in, absolutely part of the poetry. I know your bruised body aches, your face is tired and your feet feel like lead – not too poetic at times. I also know that you feel bitter and resentful; you slam words that aren’t yours into the face of your beloved. This is not you. You feel disconnected. You must reboot the circuit; rewire the fuse. We need not do this alone, mamas. You need not pack your bags and leave town.

It takes work – hard work – but what could be more rewarding? You can do this. Drop in. Arrive. Stay. See your beloved as the God/Goddess/galaxy they embody.

Your soap worn hands, your farmer’s market fingers, your body flowering babies, your windswept hair: You are a door. Your beloved is a door. Your pregnancy and birth and baby are a door. This is what we are here for, to go through these passages, journeying to the other side. Who we are becoming is a magnificent process, a storytelling, a verb. You won’t be complete until the last door opens. The story from now is as yet unwritten. Keep writing." 
-Sophie Ward

Achingly Hard

Any second she could doze off. Any second now.... so I keep trying and I keep staying and I keep singing but it's been two hours and I'm missing the sunny and warm winter day.

Sometimes I want to run. I want to run so far and so fast.

Run. 
Run. 
Run.

But I won't. She falls asleep and I have a moment to regroup. The feeling passes and I fall in love all over again.

I'm not ungrateful. There's beauty and love here... So much love.

It's just that sometimes this is achingly hard.

So please don't tell me to enjoy every minute. I know how fast she's growing - I can see it. The speed of her growth doesn't erase my desire for sleep, or a long bath, or a moment to myself.

"Our society simply refuses to know about a mother's experience --how being yolked to a little one all day transforms her. To confess to being in conflict about mothering is tantamount to being a bad person; it violates a taboo; and, worse, it feels like a betrayal of ones child. In an age that regards mothers' negative feelings, even subconscious ones, as potentially toxic to their children, it has become mandatory to enjoy mothering." -The Myths of Motherhood

Whole

It's occurred to me that this is the happiest time of my life. Ah...that took courage to say because in admitting it, I'm also admitting it will end. 

The sense of fulfillment is, dare I say... whole. Yes - it's wonderfully whole. But the thought of it ending... that shakes me to my core. So one breath at a time, I'm taking in this fullness and this wholeness and letting it sink deeply into my cells so its not only connected to this beautiful time, but that it's just one big part of me...all the time.

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It's Not You... It's Me

It's not you... it's me.

She began this life inside me and to date, she's been alive longer inside than she has outside. I'm what she knows best. I'm safe, familiar, and the vessel she chose to come here by. 

It's that simple. And that complex. 

Don't discount this bond by suggesting hunger, sleep, or a dirty diaper. Mother is God right now; everything she knows and trusts and relies on. 

So you see, it's nothing you did or didn't do. You've done everything right. It's just that it's not you...it's me. 

Completion

If you were wise enough to know that this life would consist mostly of letting go of things you wanted, then why not get good at the letting go, rather than the trying to have? These exotic revelations bubbled up involuntarily and I began to understand that the sleeplessness and vigilance and constant feedings were a form of brainwashing, a process by which my old self was being molded, slowly but with a steady force, into a new shape: a mother. It hurt. I tried to be conscious while it happened, like watching my own surgery. I hoped to retain a tiny corner of the old me, just enough to warn other women with. But I knew this was unlikely; when the process was complete I wouldn’t have anything left to complain with, it wouldn’t hurt anymore, I wouldn’t remember.
— Miranda July

Because I feel, I heal.

How do I go about doing this human thing on such little sleep? I feel like an animal - one with fangs and drool. There have been break downs. And break thrus.

She's in the early stages of learning to be human.

I'm still learning too.

The break downs are a portal to this open heart. Without them I'm hardened, cold and robotic.

So here I sit. Here I cry. Here I yawn.

I long.

I hope.

I yell.

I resent.

I feel.

And because I feel, I heal.

This little person... this one finally asleep next to me... she's just walking me home. Thank goodness for that. 

Precious

I wonder if it ever goes away... this feeling that my heart could break at any moment. Love this big seems to partner with deep vulnerability - a feeling that this could be taken away. As if somehow, in a flash, these precious moments could end. But I guess that's just it isn't it? The word precious suggests fragile and fleeting - it's the whole reason it feels so special. So here I sit, spilled milk (and some poop) on my t-shirt, reflecting on how precious this life is and it knocks me right back into this moment. (Oh hi there deep breaths!) And now, I don't even mind the smell of my shirt.

Remembering To Remember

And then there's moments like this where I don't wish anything different, or better, because it all feels perfect. They are a beautiful opposition to the deepest challenges I've faced yet.

In these moments, where the weight of her body is completely surrendered, I can honestly say I LOVE THIS. There's so much joy in these precious, sleepy moments. I'm reminded to take one day and one breath at a time. Breathing it all in and remembering to remember.