Open Letter To A Boundless Woman

A, your name means "Boundless" it is beautiful beyond measure, as are you!

I hear, in your words and see in your eyes the heartbreak and frustration that you have over your birth. And you know what, that is healthy, and that is ok. And don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

On the same token, I would be remiss if I didn't tell you that you truly did everything that you could. EVERYTHING! You worked through 6 days of labor and something wasn't allowing him to come down. You were active when you should have been, restful when you should have been. You worked hard to get him into an anterior position and you worked tirelessly! You only had any interventions in the last 12 hours of your labor. I am truly so very proud of how tenacious, hard working, dedicated, loving, and strong you are and were.

I know I mentioned this to you before, but I want to remind you:

“Birth is not only about making babies. Birth is about making mothers - strong, competent, capable mothers who trust themselves and know their inner strength” - Barbara Katz Rothma

The process of labor and birth is to teach us about letting go... letting go of our plans, our intentions, and letting things happen as they will. Throughout your motherhood, Om's life, you will be asked continuously to give in and let happen. Our first chance to practice this concept is in labor. I don't know if they will ever find a reason for your cesarean, but I know that you did everything 'right', and you can rest in knowing that.  

I am so so sorry that we couldn't all get you the birth that you so wanted and deserved... the one that Om wanted and deserved. I wish that there was something we could have done to change the way things happened. But... BUT....

You are still a powerful, amazing, strong, resilient, tenacious, smart, resourceful, and educated mama - NEVER doubt that. You showed that to me through 6 days of labor, 65 hours of sleeplessness, 5 days of back-labor, 12 hours of pitocin, and 114 hours of non-stop emotional, mental, and physical labor. You made so many difficult choices, navigated such a long and arduous road, and you came out on the other side embracing "Om" - the absolute, the everything - beginning, duration, and dissolution of the universe!

This, if nothing else, was your calling. I love you A. I wish so much love and peace for you and your family.

Permission

 "Our culture tells us to get over our pain; to control, manage, and medicate it...Instead of making us feel we must “get over it,” certain rituals allow us to stay open to our grief. Rather than being directed to jump back into our routines, we are given permission to move more organically through the grieving process." - You can read the entire piece here






For Further Reading:
Ugh, the Condemnation
Slippery Slope of Expectation
At Least You Had a Healthy Baby

To R

You know who you are. You are the beautiful woman with a toddler at your hip and a shiny silver thread upon your abdomen.

You are born from a line of birthing women, with birthing hips, and with wide open spaces calling their babies down.

You are the woman who, if you could unveil your timid eyes, could see throngs of women supporting you and upholding you, shielding you, and rolling up their skirts and sleeves to hunker down with you, breath with you, and sweat with you.

You are the woman who, if you could unstop your guarded ears, could hear the multitude of the heritage speaking life's path into your loins, and breathing birth's chant into your heart.

And then, when your 'wonderfully supportive' doctor told you that your 'nearly 9 lb baby' was 'getting too big' and that you 'were going to come in for an induction and a trial of labor before your repeat cesarean', you would feel that strength coursing through your arms and legs, your womb would heave in indignation, and you would lift your chin high.

You know who you are. You know the truth about your body, you know the truth about your birth. You know right and wrong. And you are strong enough for this fight.

I asked you then, and I will ask you again - "how important is it to you?"

If I could gift you one thing...

Mama -

You are still, still among the throng of busy women, attending to your showering. You, who are sitting with your ripe, round belly and breasts, proudly blushing amid swaddlers, diapers, and infant carriers... I look at you silently, wishingly... wishing...

If I could gift you one thing, it would be intuition.

I would wrap your mind in wisdom - to understand your body better than any PhD could - to listen to it's rhythms like a well-tuned clock harkening it's minutes in passing.

I would give you faith in your body - giving you eyes to see the millions of women from all walks of humanity in the throes of their birthing time, and show you their strength.

I would hold your thoughts against the fluttering breast of your unborn child - to be aware of his needs and abilities to help walk with you through your birthing time.

I would wrap your spirit around your breasts to believe that you were created to nourish your child, you are a fount of life beyond 9 months.

I would give you intuition to know who you are. You are not broken and you are not weak. You are much more than media, much more than a 4-year college, and much more than you think you are.

But instead, I give you a book, a binsi, and a blessing.

Dear Mommy pt. 5

Dear Mommy -

I saw you in the produce isle. Absentmindedly, you caressed your belly, moving your hands in gentle circles. Picking up a tomato, you squeezed it gently, and brought it to your nose. The round, perfectly ripe, glossy skin of the fruit reflecting the hint of a half-moon peeking out from beneath your gauzy top.

Deep ochre fullness, beautiful ripeness.

Sweet and round and perfectly full.

You roamed the earths bounty, like a tower of beauty and life drifting throughout your garden.

Mesmerized - I wondered at the square of your shoulders, the line of your clavicle, the definition of your shoulders and fullness of your breasts.

You were beauty animated. Strength personified. Did you realize what you embodied?

A sudden turn of your tawny mane, and our eyes met.

You smiled, a protective hand moving to your womb.

You knew.


I smiled.



You knew.

Dear Mommy pt. 4

Dear Mommy -

"I have a healthy baby and that is all that matterst" you say in quick breathes, averting your eyes quickly...

But your eyes belay a pain that is deeper than the scar on your abdomen and tougher than the tissue that holds it together.

I smile a sad smile.

You smile a brave smile, squaring your shoulders defiantly.

I reach out my arms...

and wrap you into me...

Your body tenses you give a quick squeeze and start to pull away.

I hold on...

You pat my back a few times, obligatory.

I hold on longer...

I have to get past that hard part, that defense that is so natural, yet so harmful. I pray it comes soon - I pray I can hold on...

Slowly,

I feel your shoulders relax, your neck becomes soft and the curve of your spine inclines.

Breast to breast, womb to womb, necks entwined...

A deep breath in and you shudder. Exhaling....

Acceptance.

Grief.

"It's ok", I say. "It's ok to wish for more"...

And you nod, crying.

At our feet, your beautifully perfect babe coos.

Dear Mommy Pt. 3

When I met you - I knew you sang from your soul.

Not just the 'I sing in the bathroom because I like the sound of it' singing.

Not the 'I sing professionally for a buck because I am good but have no passion' singing.

You sing from your gut.

From your inner most part.

From your womb.

You bring life to the words that spill from your lips like warm honey. You resonate them in your supernatural and translate them to the natural. You birth spirit from your lips.

You will soon birth man from your womb.

Just as you pen letters to the paper, and they become lyrics... so you grow cells that become life.

Just as you bring tone and pitch to the keys and vibration to your throat... so you will soon bring swells and dips, cadence and rhythm to your body which will labor you.

Just as you work the song to make it your own... so soon will your body work you to make you it's own.

Are you willing to become your body's song? Will you swell with it's crescendos and soften with it's rests? Will you slip effortlessly with the melody and trip lightly to the tune?

Will your body make a love song? A ballad? Will it caress you like a lullaby or rock you like a tribal rhythm?

And will you cry because it moves you? Or will you laugh because of it's lilt? Will you allow it to possess you and leave you breathless?

It will demand your attention - it will possess and encompass you. You will be offered any seat in the house to the orchestration of life. Which seat will you take?

Dear Mommy pt. 2

Dear Mommy,

I saw you in the mall today and I was instantly drawn to you. You could not have been much older than 18, but your round, ripe, glistening belly belayed that you were wise beyond your years. You wore a cute jean skirt with elastic waist, pulled under your swollen abdomen, and a too-tiny tank top and hoodie sweater over top. You walked with a young man who seemed out of place and worried.

Sitting at the kids play-area, I was tickled that you came to the edge, not too far from me, so I could listen to your conversation. This is what I heard:

"I know you're worried - so am I. I didn't plan to be a mommy this early, but the fact remains - I AM a mommy. No, I am NOW... he might not be breathing air, but he is my child.... and he's yours. If you can't handle this, that's fine. I can do it without you. No, I don't NEED you, but I want you here. You 'being here' means more than just showing up to do lunch with me once a month after my doctor's visit. It means being there for the visits, eating healthier with me, no more drinking, no smoking around me, and I would like you to quit anyways... "

He butted in at this point and started making excuses for his lifestyle and how no one was going to tell him what to do.... You stepped up...

"I am not telling you what you NEED to do, I am telling you what you need to do IF you want to be there for me.... I want you to come to my childbirth classes. I know, it's 8 weeks... " (definitely not hospital classes) "... but it is important. I want you there for the birth, but not if you are going to pressure me. I am going to get that enough with my mom and the nurses. I just need to be able to BRING OUR BABY HERE SAFE. (emphasis mine). And I want you to be here for me, but I don't need it. I am strong enough on my own. Look at these kids... we are having a BABY.. one of these!!!"

You finished your speech (which, by now, I was openly wiping tears from my eyes) with a radiant and glowing smile. I didn't even know you but wanted to reach out, pull you into a hug, and tell you how proud I was of you! Your love, strength, dependence, fortitude, and conviction were such that are lacking in so many women who are your elders. If only the average woman could take a few moments to sit at your feet and breath in the wisdom of such young beauty and wisdom. We could all benefit.

What was your story? I wish I knew. Where are you now? I know, I just know, you are doing fine!

Dear Mommy

You sat in my house yesterday and we talked. There, at the table, we talked about our children, our businesses, our passions. But when I began showing you/talking about a really neat video, you noticeably became rigid, tight lipped - closed.

You crossed your arms protectively and turned your knees away from me.

We had arrived. I knew it, you felt it. My heart broke. Someone else's birth experience offended you.

It came out in halting conversation that you had been hurt by a friend, indeed, you had lost a friend, 8 years ago over nursing your baby. After being set up for failure by an uneducated nurse who thought, in the second feeding, you needed to supplement with formula - your nursing days were numbered. After weeks of angst, difficulties, and never once simply loving the bonding of nursing as it was nipple shielded, catheter-formula supplemented, and 'arranged' - you chose to stop.

Your friend, an avid nursing advocate, was angry - and chose words that drove an irreparable wedge into your relationship.

Where that left us on this day, 8 years later?

"I don't have a problem with what you do. What I have a real problem with is how you all make people feel. If you want to have babies without pain medication, it is fine with me, but I'm an epi girl"

Breastfeeding and birthing. 8 years later. Who made you hurt from your choice of birthing? We have been friends for a year now. And this hurt has never surfaced. I have replayed how the conversation moved into these realms over and over, and I still cannot see where it turned....

Who made you hurt?

You had planned on an epidural. After receiving it, your little one's heart rate plummeted, and you were given a cesarean. That is your story. Concise and free of the emotional attachment that usually accompanies birth stories. If you had another baby, you say, you would still have another epidural.

I pulled up a video on a woman's journey through PPD/PTSD after her 'emergency' cesarean. You asked heatedly, wryly, disbelieving:

"Obviously she didn't want the cesarean. So what is she claiming here?"
"So she blames her PPD and PTSD on her cesarean?"

The defensiveness, bitterness, and anger were palpable. Who hurt you?

Would you allow yourself to accept it if you were told?

Oh how I hurt for you. First, for what was taken from you. Second, for what you are not yet able to allow yourself to accept. And last, because I know I cannot bring you to that place where you can confront this old wound and really begin healing. This is a journey that you have to be willing to take the first step by yourself. Only then can I come to your side and walk with you.

My heart broke. 8 years...