Something's Got to Give

A friend calls, “I need some super-mama vibes.” She says rather frantically, “My husband usually does bath time and he’s not home tonight, it’s already past bedtime, my son (1yo) is getting crabby and I have laundry to bring upstairs and I was really counting on having this time to get things done.” 

                “If I’m the example of the super-mama,” I tell her, “then I’d say, skip the bath for tonight... and the laundry… You should see my laundry room. I think it’s been two weeks since I put away the clean clothes.”  

It seems so simple when you’re telling someone else to do it, but by the time I’m off the phone, I find myself already pondering my own impossible To-Do list.  The worst part is, it all looks so simple and manageable on paper.  But the To-Do list doesn’t include cleaning up the poop I stepped in on the way to the bathroom first thing in the morning (Wasn’t the 4yo learning to wipe himself supposed to make life easier??) or comforting the kid who scraped his knee for the third time today while the 1yo makes a mad dash for the toilet and reaches in to splash in the water.  Those nice little lesson plans I wrote out for our homeschool time didn’t include time for “Mom! He’s got my pen!” “No! This one’s Mine!” or “He took my seat!” “I was sitting there first!” I didn’t factor in the baby spilling someone’s juice, or grabbing the pen from my hands, or shutting down my laptop mid-email; and no matter how well organized my calendar is, I haven’t figured out how to schedule which days the little one will forgo her nap, or stay up most of the night nursing, or when the weather will turn and we won’t be able to spend time outside.
...And I refuse to put sex on my To-Do list like a chore, but there's got to be time for husband and wife, too!

I’m relating my struggle budgeting time & energy with my grocery budget, and how, after hearing my complaint about how hard it is to save money while eating healthy, a friend suggested “It’s easy to eat healthy with little money if you forgo variety.” Because that is what it really comes down to – my grand plans for meals or activities or projects being beyond my actual capacity.  We’ve had a friend staying with us for several months now – a part-time co-mother who has provided support with the kids and help with housework – and I still rarely feel caught up on all the things that should be getting done.  So she’s about to leave on her journey, and I’m seeing that even if I could split in two, I still couldn’t live up to the standards of wife, mother, teacher, friend & woman that I’ve set for myself.

Fuck. 

And while I’m cursing, I must add, now that I’ve finally come to terms with the downstairs bathroom perpetually smelling like pee, it’s taken a turn for the worse.  For the last week it’s smelled like shit; I can’t find the source and I’m kind of scared to.

Something’s got to give.  But what?

The theme for our women’s circle this month is connecting with your inner wise woman (elder.)  As I struggle with structure and balance and simplifying our daily routine I wonder, what advice would my 60 year old self have for me today?  What advice would my grown-up kids have? What will my husband remember most? I’m guessing none of them would have much to say about it taking me three weeks to remember to call and schedule my oil change, or staying home from the pool today (even though it was “Sooo unfair!”) They probably won’t care about the floors being sticky and covered in crumbs even after a major attempt at housecleaning just 2 days ago… or the bathroom smelling like shit. But even if I boil it all down to one single goal -- making every effort to show everyone (including myself) the love and affection they deserve -- is one woman's best ever enough?

My First Birth: the solo unassisted birth of Kyle James

     The contractions started as a tightness in her head and chest as if they were constricting her blood vessels.  They continued on like a rush of adrenaline that radiated out her limbs then swirled around her abdomen.  They concentrated intensely there closing like a fist, pulling her belly into a tight hard ball.

            She labored alone in the small apartment overlooking a gas station and a laundry mat.  Her boyfriend lay passed out drunk on the couch.

            It could have been the storyline of a television drama full of suspense outlining the tragedy of teen pregnancy.  She was, after all, a month shy of 20 and by some accounts, still a girl.

 But there was no frantic call to 911.  There was no ambulance ride, no paramedics or doctors saving the day.  There was no panic.  This girl was no cliché.  She didn’t doubt for a moment she was right where she needed to be.

            Within her an image had taken shape.  It was an image of a young woman standing, her round pregnant belly protruding in front, a pair of majestic wings unfolding in back.  The image stood tall and certain, wings outstretched as if ready to take flight.

            She felt herself becoming this image and for the first time, began to see the beautiful complexity of her human form.  The wings- her spirituality and intuition- connected seamlessly to the bones and flesh of a body planted firmly in a world of science and intellect.

            She was not at war with this body.  It was not a mere vehicle as she had once seen it; a malfunctioning machine she was trapped inside of.  It was more than a canvas adorned with inked skin, self-punishing scars, colorful fabrics and metal rings.  It was no longer an obstacle to her enlightenment; a shell, within which she hid, disconnected from the rest of the world.

            This body was a source containing vast reserves of knowledge to be explored, strength to be uncovered and passions to be revealed.

The kitchen smelled clean and she enjoyed the smooth fresh feel of the floor under her bare feet.  The smell of new plastic hung in the air.  The inflatable pool imposed itself on the room; positioned in the center like a giant nest ready for eggs.

A low sensual moan escaped as she exhaled, watching the water flow into the pool.  Everything else faded to the background as the contractions intensified.  When the pool was full, she slid into the warm water.  It was like entering another plane; the broad supple walls, a fortress.  Everything became softer and more focused.

  The contractions kept coming steadily like waves.   She alternated between the pool and the toilet, her well-worn baby doll nightgown dripping behind her as she walked the path of carefully laid out towels back and forth from the bathroom again and again.

 In the portion of her mind allocated to thinking critically, she remained conscious of time.  She hung a handmade sign on the door downstairs reading: Labor and Delivery in Progress. Please Do Not Disturb.  Through the six hours of labor, she reminded herself to stay hydrated and to urinate regularly.  She assessed the labor by performing periodic self-examinations between contractions; a fingertip dilated at 3:00am, well over two fingertips by 5:00.  At quarter to eight, she could no longer reach the entire opening of her cervix.

She abandoned her perch on the toilet completely in favor of the warmth and protection within the pool.  The contractions became overwhelming at their peak, shutting out her surroundings and leaving only a pinhole for the light of the rest of the world to shine through.  In the lull between contractions she relaxed in the glow of a lucid comfort, like the clear and peaceful calm within the eye of a hurricane.

Her moans became more animal, resembling growls, moos and grunts.  She began to turn anxiously from front to back as if to escape the pain, warm water sloshing around her as she floundered.  She leaned heavily into the soft sides of the pool and for a fleeting moment thought “I don’t know if I can do this if it gets any worse.”  But she would do it.  She was doing it.

She waited for the urge to push to become undeniable, knowing that her body would work more effectively this way.   She held back for a couple of contractions back to back, and then started shuddering and pushed.  Her bag of waters released into the pool with a ‘pop.’  She worked with the next contraction.

She felt her baby moving out and reached down expecting to feel his head between her legs.  Instead, she felt a soft, smooth bulge of flesh that was not immediately recognizable.  Her conscious mind searched for an explanation as her fingers groped her genitals expecting to find the groove between two little butt cheeks.  “How could he have gotten turned around without me noticing?”  She thought, surprised, but not afraid.  Then, as she felt toward the inside of her thighs, she made an amazing discovery.  The skin she was feeling was her own.  The lips of her vagina were numb, pulled tight and smooth around the baby’s head preparing to spit him out into the world.  She was struck by her vagina’s elasticity- its ability to transform into a shape so totally unrecognizable with such ease.  Though she felt pain and the pressure of the baby’s decent through the birth canal, her vulva only felt stretched.

Her hand moved instinctively to support the taut skin of her perineum.  Before she could second-guess her technique, her hand began to fill up.  The baby’s head was turning in her palm but the contraction worked with such force that all she noticed was the unbelievable roar that accompanied the expulsion of his head.  Her body seemed too small, even fully pregnant, to produce such reverberation.  Perhaps what surprised her most was how intentional it sounded; Fierce and uninhibited like the voice of a tiger claiming her cub. 

As she processed the intensity of the roar, she became dimly aware of the baby’s head outside her body.  The rest of him followed, sliding out easily into the water.   In an automatic response requiring no conscious thought or instruction, her arms reached down, scooped him up and pulled him close.

“It’s you,” she sighed, looking deep into the slate blue of his eyes.  Her words seemed to echo in the quiet hollowed out by that scream.

 The baby looked like a creature from a more perfect planet drinking in his first moments in a new world.  He was smaller than the little clothes neatly folded and waiting for him.  His head, perfectly round and fuzzy like a peach, rested in the crux of her elbow.  His long thin limbs moved cautiously, exploring their new freedom.

He stared at her knowingly, and wrapped his long fingers around the soggy strap of her nightgown, claiming her.  The blood gradually stopped flowing through the cord that connected them as they focused intently on one another’s movements but she noticed only the energy he radiated.

Suddenly, with a rush of adrenaline, clinical thoughts burst in; an awkward clumsy interruption.  They stumbled over her intuition screaming, “You haven’t checked if he’s breathing!?! Is he okay?!?”  “Of course he’s okay,” she thought, “He’s interacting with me.”  But the nagging persisted, loudly, “He hasn’t cried!”  Eager to appease, she turned his little body over her arm and patted his back to allow any fluids to drain from his nose and mouth.  He squawked angrily, leaving no doubt that he had a healthy set of lungs.  She pulled him close again, regretting the disturbance.

She looked at the time (8:29 a.m.) and gently suctioned his nostrils with the bulb syringe.   She offered her breast, but he complained, uninterested.  The water was getting cool.  She stood up carefully wrapping him in her arms and left a final set of wet footprints behind as she walked the path of towels to the bathroom one last time.  She sat down in the bathtub and let the warm water run over them.

In the movie version, this would be the turning point.  The girl in this story would emerge on the other side of her experience, an enlightened woman, exuding strength and ability.  But I did not suddenly arrive at the summit that day...
     Kyle's birth was a turning point among many.  It was the scraping away of one layer of insecurity that brought me closer to myself and closer to my calling to support other women; but there would be many more layers to scrape away.  

 I see a whole new woman when I look in the mirror today, ten years later, but I know that girl was me and I am her.  I held all the same power then.  All the truths and knowledge that took me years (and three more births) to uncover and articulate were within me from the beginning.  When I prepared to give birth to Kyle, I felt I had to exclude all distractions to preserve his safety and honor our experience.  My inner voice was powerful and certain, but it came to me as a whisper that I could only hear away from the chatter of so-called authorities.  As I focus now on creating a Self Directed Childbirth Course, I'm reflecting on how to help first time mothers uncover their power and express their truth so they can experience birth the way I have -- so they can hear their own wisdom without needing to hide away alone away from other voices.

Self-Directed Childbirth Course

Coming soon to the Madison, WI area 

    As you may know, I have been studying, writing and standing in support of women's self-directed birth journeys for over a decade (as well as experiencing the self directed births of my own four children.)  The time has come to share what I've learned through a series of classes aimed at providing expecting (or hopeful) parents with the tools to pursue their ideal births with confidence.

     Self-directed childbirth is not limited to any specific birth choice.  The lessons are first and foremost about self-discovery, healing, informed choice and empowerment.  The concepts we will cover in these classes can be applied to birth in any setting.  Whether planning to birth in a hospital, birth center, at home with a midwife, even unassisted or through planned Cesarean Section; whether a first time mom or experienced mother you will be provided with valuable tools and insights for your individual self directed path.

    My goal is to have 3-7 women in each group (your partner or birth support person is welcome to join you.)  Initial classes will be offered at a discounted rate, and private classes can be scheduled for a slightly higher fee (though, if possible I encourage you to take advantage of the group option because the activities, discussion and support are amplified when shared with others)
The Self Directed Childbirth course is divided into 5 parts and will cover:

• An introduction to Self Directed Childbirth
• Taking personal responsibility for your pregnancy and birth
• Embracing pregnancy
• Utilizing tribal knowledge (community) versus relying solely on authoritative knowledge (experts)
• Examining and healing damaging beliefs about childbirth and/or your body

• Basic Physiology of Childbirth
• Logistics of birth in different settings/circumstances
• Iatrogenic complications versus naturally occurring complications
• Avoiding a rebound relationship with homebirth (or Dr Google)
• Information gathering (self-education)

• Working with your intuition
• Making powerful decisions
• Communicating your needs with confidence

• Creating your own Self Directed Birth Plan 
• Preparing back-up plans
• Approaching birth as an active (and flexible) participant

• Healing and reflection postpartum
• Baby's first days and weeks (babymoon)
• Basic baby needs and instinctive parenting

     Each class will include and instructional portion (tailored to meet the needs of participants,) hand-outs to bring home, and a talking circle to facilitate deeper, individualized exploration through sharing and discussion.

     You should come prepared to dig deep and be real with yourself and others about your thoughts and feelings surrounding pregnancy, birth and parenting.

     Additional information (dates, locations and prices) will be available soon.  Please contact me to be added to my mailing list. If you'd like to attend a Self Directed Childbirth course in the near future, let me know; I will do my best to prioritize dates based on interest.

     Eventually, I hope to offer this course in other locations (Green Bay, Milwaukee, Northern WI, Atlanta GA, St. Petersburg FL, and Denver CO are all on my list as potential areas) and eventually, through an online option.

Knowing vs. Being

Working with intuition can be lonely.  While in some ways, the process of uncovering the self reveals an infinite connection to everything, in other ways, having a clear view of one’s own perspective strips away the illusion of shared experiences.  Even in our most intimate relationships, the way we experience life and express our experience is so varied it’s as if we are speaking different languages. 

I think back to a time when my husband identified himself as a republican.  I heard him disparaging social programs (some of which had recently supported me) and thought “He can’t be that guy.”  I struggled more with the fact that I didn’t see him as an angry right-winger than the fact that we had different political views. It wasn’t that I wanted to change him, but I did want to convince him to embrace this thing I saw in him that he apparently didn’t see.  Holding space to agree to disagree over time, I was able to see him as both the man he identified himself as and the man I saw beyond that identity. He eventually found that piece of himself I’d seen all along and embraced it.

Reflecting on this story has provided me with a sense of balance now as I embrace my intuition. I’m seeing things that no one else sees – things that are just as real as the physical reality even when they appear to be in contradiction. I’m working to balance the potential I see in a person or situation with the physical reality of the moment and expanding my vocabulary in order to express my visions without discounting the path that leads to them. 

Rejection, the Critical Eye and the Humble Heart

     When I share with other writers that I'm working on my first book, I usually hear a lot about rejection. Don't let it get to you.  Querying sucks. Rejection sucks.  Don't take it personally, and so on.  I don't love querying; it's tedious and seems to suck lots of time into a black hole where you don't even know if your material has been read.  But I don't see it as a game of winning or losing and I don't hate rejection.
     I relish harsh criticism.  I'm not saying its comfortable, but when you have something important to communicate, it's worth challenging yourself to get it right.  The best way to get it right is to figure out where you are going wrong -- what is getting lost in translation?
     My creative energy (and I suspect most creative energy) is cyclical.  I'm in the downswing.  But the lows -- sitting back with a critical eye and a humble heart -- are just as important as the peaks of productivity.  Editing is essential.
     Last week I received a rejection from the agent I was most hoping to connect with.  It was brief but personalized, siting concerns about the size of my platform (which I'm aware is the biggest hurdle at this point) and a vague reference to not feeling quite "pulled in" enough (something that will need my attention, as another of the agents I had hoped to work with said something very similar.)  The increase in actual communication versus form rejections is encouraging.  Interestingly, though, I actually felt more relief than disappointment. I felt confirmation that the shift I've been feeling is pulling me in the right direction
     The hardest thing about allowing myself to be humbled like this is patience.  With the awareness of how much I've grown in the last years (or even months) comes the awareness of my potential for so much more.  I can do so much better!  But here I am, day by day forging the tools I'll need to proceed.  Not only am I impatient, but I know it could be so much easier.  I know it will be.  I look back at my life (or my writing) 10 years ago, and see all these simple things I was doing to get in my own way... and I see that I have a pile of my own stuff getting in my way now, making everything seem so much more complicated than it really is, but the tools to break through that pile just aren't ready yet.

Where I am...

    If I had to choose one word to describe my religion—my roadmap to enlightenment, or connection to god – it would be relationship.  I've always been pretty introverted, so while I feel the pull of intimacy, it doesn't come to me without real effort.  

     I find getting in touch with the core of another human being, letting them into my core illuminates darkness.  When the light inside of me touches the light inside of you, its like two pieces of god coming together.  The more places we are connected in genuine truth, the more pieces of the puzzle we have and examining them gives us a clearer picture of our source.

     But all these connections take energy to maintain.  Being open to them, I am also open to challenges, darkness -- I'm faced with the work of seeing how the pieces fit together best.  I have to maintain boundaries and protect myself from other energies that invade and overwhelm my focus.  Learning to do so takes practice. I've come a long way, but I'm still learning.

    I'm in the middle of a landslide right now -- watching old ideas and attachments crumble away, just waiting to see what the landscape of this new awareness will look like.  I'm spending a lot of time present in the moment, which is amazing and intense and sometimes uncomfortable because there's this sense that important work is being done even though I'm just processing feelings; I face resistance and the urge to retreat into old habits.

     I'm not connecting with my writing much at this time.  The headspace just isn't right for it.  I'm working with some intense stuff in  my journal, though, and along with processing feelings about relationships in my circle, I'm uncovering more about my relationship with myself.

Lessons from The Virtual Campfire: Finding the Right Words

      Tonight I was browsing Huffington Post to get a feel for whether it was the right place to submit an article I'm writing.  Several stories inspired Shares on my Self Directed Childbirth Facebook page. This one, The Hole in the Middle of the Bed, had me in tears. I try to be careful, when I post links on my page, to be sensitive to the pregnant readers and warn them about emotional triggers.  I quickly clicked out "wheew. if you're in the mood for a really good cry..." before hitting Post. I browsed around some more and upon returning to the Facebook page, found this response from Beth, a regular on my page:
  

      Reading this has nothing to do with my being in the mood, whimsically, for a "good cry"; I read this to honor these parents, and other parents whose child died, as did my daughter Lily., She would be sixteen now, if she had not died as a very small baby. Bless Donna and her family. Bless all of us who have had to see our children precede us in death.

 

Ouch. I realized immediately how insensitive my "warning" had been (and apologized accordingly.)

       I learned a long time ago not to say "so when are you going to start having kids?" to a newly married couple -- heaven forbid they'd just privately suffered a miscarriage.  I knew how insensitive "at least you have a healthy baby" sounds to a woman traumatized from her birth experience and I knew to avoid platitudes like, "you can always try again," when speaking with a woman about her miscarriage.  But, reflecting on what I was feeling as I typed such a cavalier statement about a story so painful, I realized that my choice of words came from the same place as all those comments: the desire to avoid intimacy or vulnerability or to fill an awkward silence rather than be with someone  in the intensity of emotion.  I had been belittling my own feelings by quietly chuckling at how emotional I was behaving rather than really honoring what I'd just read by letting the tears flow. 

     I am truly grateful that Beth had the courage to tactfully call me out on this (and for continuing the  conversation which inspired this blog post.)  She inspired me to give extra consideration to how I label other people's stories when I share them.  Not only that, but it was a reminder not to sit quietly by and watch someone say something insensitive just because we know they didn't mean it harshly.  The reminder to stay present is such a gift.  

    As I bask in tonight's gift, I picture myself sitting around a campfire with my virtual tribe... What a strange and wonderful thing to gather primal wisdom through moments of vulnerability with practical strangers via the use of technology.