Being a parent makes you think of yourself a lot less. And what a relief it is, to think of ourselves less.
It makes you think of yourself a lot more, too. Which is easy to do when someone is reflecting your self back to you.
Category Archives: Personal Life Reflections
Nothing Can Stop What’s Coming
When I was pregnant, I loved reading positive birth stories from other women. I knew very little about birth when I first became pregnant and by the end of nine months, I knew quite a bit more. Birth isn’t something to be feared and it doesn’t have to be traumatic, though unfortunately, in many cases it is.
When we take birth back to its natural state, it can be dreamy and blissful and empowering. When we reclaim birth as our own, rather than a medical emergency, we reclaim our power as women. And boy oh boy, are we powerful.
My first daughter, Brooks, was born at 6:55pm on Monday, May 8th after 26 hours of labor. Completely intervention free and unmedicated. I don’t have a “high pain tolerance”. I cringe at needles and feel faint when I see blood. Yet natural childbirth was one of the greatest, most joyful experiences of my life. I long for other women to get to experience it. If I can do it, anyone can. Here’s our story:
The final weeks of my pregnancy are blissful. I’m flooded with oxytocin, have a ton of energy, and feel so present and connected with God.
I’m convinced that Brooks will be born early, in the 39th week. When that week comes and goes, I decide to stop “waiting” for her. I’m prepared to go the whole 42 weeks. I know she’ll come when she’s ready. I’m soaking in the unknown.
And then, on Sunday May 7th, around 1:30pm in the afternoon, I suddenly start to feel a shift in my energy. I don’t think much of it. At this point, I’m doing my best to ignore any potential signs of labor. We have plans to drop off a casserole to our friends and neighbors down the street.
Around 4pm, early contractions begin. My husband, Powell, ends up dropping off the casserole on his own. I feel bad that I have to back out of the visit, but I know something’s amiss.
At first, it’s like a tightening in my lower back that radiates around to my front and then goes away. I decide to start timing the sensations to see if there’s any pattern to them. They’re coming every ten minutes and lasting around 30-45 seconds. But I’m still not sure this is labor. After all, being a first time mom, I don’t know what to expect.
When Powell gets home, we go for a walk with our dog, Capone. I have a couple contractions on the walk as we head up a hill. I have to grab onto Powell for support. He takes notice. The contractions continue on like this through dinner, while we watch, “Don’t Look Up” on Netflix, and I make a flower art piece called, “Brooks”.
We continue timing the contractions and text our Doula, Katie, to give her a heads up. The app that we’re using to time the contractions keeps saying, “Get ready to go to the hospital” or “Time to go to the hospital.” But I ignore it. My plan is to labor at home for as long as possible. Katie suggests we get some rest, so we go to bed early.
The contractions get stronger when I lay down and I’m having trouble sleeping through them. The first half of the night, I wake up Powell every time one is coming. He rubs my back, applies counter pressure and a heating pad. I know something strange is happening in my body, but I’m still not convinced it’s labor.
Around 3-4am, Powell expresses his desperation for sleep. I decide he’s right. One of us should be getting some rest. I can handle these on my own. So, for the rest of the morning, I labor on my own in bed. Thankfully, I’m able to fall asleep in between the contractions. Which are now ranging from 5-10 minutes apart and lasting about one minute each.
When the sun comes up on Monday morning, Powell decides to stay home from work. I’m still not convinced about labor, but he thinks surely something meaningful is happening. It’s been going on for so long…
Around 10:45am, I lose my mucus plug and have a bloody show. I’m excited! Something is actually happening! As the day goes on, I develop a coping mechanism for every time a contraction hits. It’s instinctual and I can’t help myself. I begin a low guttural chanting. It sounds African to me. Powell says it reminds him of Gregorian chanting, which I didn’t even know was a thing but he learned about it in high school. It does sound similar when we look up Gregorian chanting on YouTube.
I do laundry and pick up around the house. Pausing for contractions as they come. They’re coming every 5 minutes now and I just stop whatever I’m doing and hum/chant/breathe my way through. Around 1:30pm, they’re getting stronger and closer to 3 or 4 minutes apart. I decide to cancel my 2:30pm massage appointment and tell Powell to get the bath ready.
I get into the bath and shortly after, Powell suggests we call our doula, Katie. On the phone, I try to pull myself together, (still thinking maybe this isn’t active labor), and she says she’ll be over in an hour or so. Based off my voice, she doesn’t think I’m in active labor yet.
But only about 45 mins later, I’m side lying on the bed and calling out to Powell, “Where’s Katie?!” By the time she arrives, around 3:30/4pm, I’m most certainly in active labor. My disposition has changed to one of true focus. Though I’m still convincing myself maybe this isn’t labor. I laugh in between contractions. And then I cry to Katie, “I’m just worried this isn’t dilating me and we’ll get to the hospital too early.” I know I want an intervention free birth. I’m determined to stay at home as long as possible.
The song, “Rivers and Roads” by The Head and The Heart comes on my phone and we sing our way through another couple contractions. I’m back in the bath now and Katie says to me, “I’ve been seeing your body work really hard. I think it’s safe to say you’re in active labor and you may even be beyond that. Are you ready to go to the hospital?” Okay, I surrender.
It takes us what feels like forever to get into the car. The contractions are coming every 2 minutes now and lasting about a minute each. I’m in transition. We have to get to the first floor of our house, as we’ve been in the master bedroom and bath upstairs. I contract going down the stairs. Then we have to get into the car. I contract in the driveway. I contract a few more times during the 5 minute drive to the hospital.
I’m not even wearing shoes when we pull up to the fire lane at the hospital. I get out of the car and contract against the side of it. Someone from inside sees me and brings me a wheelchair. I’m wheeled into the lobby for check in. We realize I don’t have my ID or purse. So Powell rushes back home to get it.
I’m completely in my zone now. I’m barely speaking. I remember looking around the lobby. There’s probably about five people in there, looking back at me. I’m wondering why they’re looking at me. I’m holding it together, I think. And just then, I feel another one coming and yell out, “Sorry everybody! Here comes another one!” I then begin my loud groans and animalistic cries. They wheel me back into a labor room, skipping triage and check in.
It’s around 6pm when we arrive to the hospital and our midwife doesn’t begin her shift until 6:30pm. I’m greeted by the hospital midwife who covers for her during the day, Laura. She used to work at the local birthing center. She’s familiar with natural childbirth. She checks me and tells me I’m 100% effaced and over 9cm dilated. This is great news! But I’m too focused to react. Another one is coming. About 20 minutes later, Powell is back and he’s in the room with us. Laura tells me when I feel the urge to push, to follow it.
Sure enough, I soon feel the power that has been gripping me begin to move down through me. As it moves down, I groan and push it along. I’m side lying on the bed and Powell holds my leg in the air. At 6:30pm our midwife, Stacie, arrives to take over the shift. Laura slips out.
Stacie greets me sweetly and calmly. She whispers to me how great I’m doing and how close I am to meeting my baby. She asks me when’s the last time I peed. Not since before I got into the bath back home, I think to myself, as the others try to answer for me. Okay, let’s see if you can get up and try to pee. I think sitting on the toilet will be nice and I also think, if I stand up, this baby will fall out of me. I rise to make my way towards the bathroom. I take two steps before dropping into the squat position. My baby is crowning.
Stacie is prepared in case I deliver right there on the floor. She can see my baby moving through the canal and says she’s doing so good. That I’m doing so good. Can I get back on the bed? She asks me. Oh boy, that will be difficult but okay, I think. I get back onto the bed on all fours and begin to push my baby out. Probably only three contractions later and I hear, “You’re doing great, this is the ring of fire.” Then I hear the head is out. Sure enough, the next contraction comes and with no straining at all my body pushes the rest of the baby out and Brooks is born. “Grab your baby!”
I reach between by legs and pull her up to my chest. I’m in total shock and disbelief. I did it! I proclaim. We did it! I look at Brooks. I’m so proud of her, and of myself. I lay down on the bed, finally on my back. What a relief! I bring her to my breast and she latches on. I assure everyone in the room that it wasn’t nearly as bad as it sounded. They laugh. We all laugh. I’m in pure ecstasy. And I stay that way for two whole weeks after the birth. It’s a high unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
A couple hours after the birth, Powell asks me, “What did it feel like?” I try to think of words to describe the sensation but I’m at a loss. Powerful? Yes. Intense? Yes. Painful? Not at all. It’s a bit like a train that’s coming towards you, and you can’t get out of the way. Like a huge wave in the ocean and you have no where to go. Finally, I think I’ve found the perfect phrase. It feels like, “Nothing can stop what is coming.”
What My Newborn Has Taught Me
I have a six week old baby girl now, and we’re learning how to do life together. One thing is for certain. If I start the day with my intentions being anything other than to be with her, surely my plans will be disrupted and we’ll both wind up frustrated.
But I’ve noticed something else. If I start the day and my only goal is to be at her service, we’re both guaranteed to have a great day. Ironically, when we’re both having a great day, all of the things I hoped to do usually wind up getting done anyway, while she’s napping.
So here’s what my newborn has taught me: Putting the baby’s needs before my own is the only way to ensure the day goes smoothly. It’s a lot like other areas of life, if you think about it…
We always find our best selves in service to others. In fact, our best days are spent in this way.
Matrescence
I’m over five months pregnant and have been doing a ton of research on all things labor, delivery, newborns, and motherhood. But there’s one area in which research is lacking and that area is called, “Matrescence”. The term was coined by Dana Raphael, Ph.D. (1973) and it remains a largely unexplored area of study. In fact, I conducted a survey on my social media pages and 82% of women (mostly new mothers) had never even heard of the term!
In short, matrescence can be likened to adolescence. It refers to the process of becoming a mother. The developmental passage where a woman transitions through pre-conception, pregnancy, and birth, to the postnatal period and beyond. It recurs with each child. Of course, we all know that during pregnancy a woman’s body is changing rapidly and inside a tiny life form is taking shape to be a completely unique and individual human being upon birth. But what we often forget is that the woman herself is also changing rapidly and taking shape. Not just in a physical sense, but in a bio-psycho-social-political-spiritual way.
Yes, the mother gives birth to a child. But the child also gives birth to a mother.
Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh said it best, “The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new.”
I’m currently working on a series about Matrescence, including a poem, which will be the first of its kind. I can’t believe no other artist has delved into this topic before! I hope that you’ll stay tuned and share this information with the women in your life. New mothers, expecting mothers, and women who want to be mothers. May we all be comforted in knowing that we’re not alone.
June 11th
10 years ago today was the hardest day of my life. The day my life forever changed. I barely remember the flights that took me from Los Angeles to Raleigh. I alternated between sobbing and passing out the whole way. I remember a woman who sat beside me on the first plane. She lost her husband in Afghanistan and said, “I hate to tell you this, but it doesn’t get easier.” I sobbed harder.
I remember waiting for my luggage at baggage claim and a man who smelled like cigarettes handing me a $2 bill and saying, “Just know that you are loved.” I still have the $2 bill.
***
I got married a few months ago. I gave my girl friends custom made tumblers with the words, “You are so loved,” written in cursive on the side.
Last night, my husband and I played guitar and worked on a painting for our new house, while Bob Marley played in the background and our dog snoozed on the couch.
It reminded me of those first few months, ten years ago. I spent a lot of time painting then. I didn’t know what else to do. The painting was healing for me. A way to momentarily forget about reality. Something I could do without having to think. Thinking was so painful. The next few years, whenever June 11th rolled around, I’d paint.
It’s just by happen chance, (is there such a thing?), that I was painting again last night. The memories are still painful, of course, but over time, June 11th has lost its grip on me.
I don’t know why we have to lose people we love, but I can tell you this: The woman on the first flight was wrong. It does get easier. Jibrey was right in what he often said, life does go on. And the cigarette smelling mystery man at RDU baggage claim was right, too. We must never forget that we are so, so loved.
I adopted another dog
You may or may not have noticed that since my beloved dog Ziggy passed away last August, I’ve barely been writing on this blog. I’m not sure if the two correlate but their timing matches up.
Earlier this year, I wrote about how we really ought to be forming new year habits rather than new year resolutions. Well, one of my new year habits is to write more.
Back in November, I adopted another dog. His name is Capone. He resembles Ziggy in his stature and coloring, but his personality is quiet different.
Capone is fearless. He spent the first few months of his life transferring hands from adopters to shelter employees to foster families, before finally arriving to me. He loves all people. At the adoption events, he became used to many different sounds and smells, all sorts of other animals, and humans both young and old. He’s a joy to take out in public because he makes everyone he meets feel like the most important person in the world, smothering them with hugs and kisses.
He doesn’t require much exercise at all or even training. For one, he’s a low energy dog and much prefers snuggling to running. For two, he’s extremely sensitive to commands and thus picks up quickly whenever I’m teaching him new ones.
In short, Capone is everything I could have ever hoped for in a dog. He’s perfect for me. And when I look at him, I can’t help but be reminded of God’s grace and goodness. That no matter how devastating a loss, God turns all things for good. And often, for better than we could have even imagined.
A Rescue Dog Story
My beloved dog, Ziggy, passed away in a tragic accident on August 6, 2017. One of my good friends suggested that I write a letter to myself from Ziggy as a way to further my healing process from this loss. Writing the letter was so therapeutic for me. I decided to turn it into a video. You can watch the video here and read the letter below:
I don’t know why you picked me up that day. But I’m sure glad you did.
I was pretty scared at first, I hadn’t had the best experience with humans before you.
But you were different. I’d never had anyone talk to me like you did. I could hear the love in your voice.
I liked when you taught me words so we could communicate better. I know that made you really happy.
I liked having buddy around too. He seemed like he knew what he was doing so I tried to copy him as best I could. He was a good older brother for me.
I loved running in your dad’s backyard and at the park. I never knew belonging to someone could feel so free.
We really had a lot of fun together. Exploring, hiking, and traveling. It’s crazy how we liked to do all the same things. Like we were made for eachother.
I’d go anywhere with you. I finally felt like I could enjoy myself. You made the world a lot less scary.
I loved making friends with all the dogs in your neighborhood. I could’ve played with them all day.
But I loved playing with you and Matt the most.
I know you think Matt was your boyfriend, but let’s be honest, it’s obvious he was mine. Not that I’m trying to make you jealous or anything. Those yellow and orange balls he’d throw for me brought me joy like I’d never known.
I’m glad you kept buying them when I’d get too excited and tear them apart.
By the way, I’m sorry I tore up stuff in your house. I didn’t know what to do with myself when you’d leave. I always tried to play with buddy but he didn’t want to play with me. I was just trying to show him how much fun we could be having.
I tried not to do it as much once I saw how it upset you.
I always hated seeing you upset.
I hope you aren’t too upset that I got out that day.
I thought it was going to be like that time when you and buddy went for a walk and left me behind. Remember how I got out of your car on my own and chased y’all down? I was really proud of myself. I know you were a little mad at me but I could tell you thought it was cute. I thought it’d be like that.
I realized I’d made a mistake when I got to the highway. I started to panic and then everything went black.
While I was sleeping, I talked to God. I told him I wanted to go back to you because I really liked our life together. But He told me you have other things He wants you to do, that don’t involve me.
He promised I’d get to see you again. He told me there were angels who would throw the ball for me, endless fields to run in, and other dogs to play with here. That’s when I decided I wanted to stay with Him.
I hope you’re not too upset. You made me really happy and that’s all I want for you. I think you’re going to love whatever God has planned, He’s really good at keeping promises.
I Hope You Find Someone Who Fills Your Heart…
“I hope you find someone who fills your heart and I hope you let them in. I hope you learn that you don’t have to achieve anything to be happy.”
This is a quote from the movie, Passengers and it’s stuck with me ever since I first heard it. So much so, that I actually wrote it on top of my calendar for the year 2017, in order that I could be reminded of it each day. And what a blessing that has been!
For a lot of us, this quote hits close to home. So let’s break it down.
How do you know when you’ve found someone who fills your heart?
So you’ve met someone new and you’re totally infatuated with that person. During the dating process, you often find yourself thinking, “If only I act just a bit more _____, we’ll be perfect.” Or “I just need to _____ less, and I know (s)he’ll be totally crazy for me.” If this rings true, he/she’s probably not the one who fills your heart.
Any time another person makes you feel as though you need to do or be anything more or less than what you already are, they’re not right for you. Plain and simple. It’s nothing personal and this can be a hard lesson to learn.
When you find the one who fills your heart, it’s easy. It’s natural. You feel safe and secure. Like nothing you could ever do or say would change things between you. Because (s)he knows your flaws. (S)He acknowledges them, then accepts, and even embraces them. (S)He pushes you to grow in your weak areas but (s)he never causes you to doubt her/his adoration for who you are, flawed and all. Not once do the earlier thoughts of, “I just need to do this, and all will be well,” cross your mind.
All that you are and all that you do is totally and completely enough for this person.
And he/she makes that known.
Now on to the next part of the quote, “…and I hope you let them in.”
For some of us, with a string of past relationship failures, when we find that someone who fills our heart, letting them in is often the most difficult part. “How can he/she love me when I act like ______?” “Why would he/she want to be with someone who _____?”
Thoughts of self doubt ring most true when we find someone who fills our heart. Because it’s hard to believe. We’ve met someone who accepts and adores us so purely and wholly. Someone who wants nothing from us but to receive their love. This kind of interaction is life changing and mind blowing. And it’s common to have a hard time believing in its possibility.
But it happens. So believe it when it does. And let that person in.
Which brings us to the final portion of this powerful quote.
“I hope you learn that you don’t have to achieve anything to be happy.”
That person we’ve described above is how you learn. Once you’ve let them in and embraced the love that they’re offering, you realize what life’s about. That you don’t need to acheive anything to be happy. That to love and be loved is enough. In fact, it’s our whole purpose.
To Whom Much Is Given, Much Is Expected
I’ve never understood when artists are greedy, and yet I meet so many who are. It’s ironic since essentially artists are in the business of sharing- their talents, struggles, joys, and journeys. But if the main motivation behind sharing your talent is because you expect money in return, then your passion is money, not music. And you’re in the wrong business. I strongly believe that as artists, we’re given gifts and it’s our duty to share them, even if that means holding three jobs down to be able to do so. In the end, you have to know and believe that your gift alone is a treasure worth far more than any amount of money. And to whom much is given, much is expected…
Inspiration is Like a Butterfly
Have you ever noticed how inspiration often comes at the most inopportune times?
When a million other things are vying for our attention. Or when we’re right in the middle of something else. Like a shower. Or a run. Or when we’re simply not in the mood to write. Because we’re tired. Or hungry.
Have you ever had a brilliant idea come to you out of nowhere? A sudden flash of insight that you promise to write down later.
But when later comes, no matter how hard you try, you can’t recall what is you were supposed to write down. Maybe you remember the general idea, but the words are no longer fully formed, waiting to flow effortlessly from mind to paper. The inspiration is no longer a sudden flash, but rather a struggle to be grasped. And it’s brilliance is lost.
I think inspiration is purposefully inconvenient.
Because, you see, inspiration is ultimately a gift that wants to be shared. It’s constantly searching for the right receiver.
Inspiration demands attention. And it determines who’s rightfully worthy of it by arriving at the wrong time.
If we’re not willing to put time on hold, stop what we’re doing and fully receive the inspiration in the exact moment it arrives, then like a butterfly, inspiration simply flutters off to find another mind somewhere else. It wants to be with a person who recognizes its worth.