oh.my.goddess. remember when my mermaid daughter was SO little?

Hola gorgeous Goddesses!

Truth: Writing Mermaid Daughter #1’s birth story was big.
Truth: Sharing it was big.
The Reason? I felt, and still feel responsible for, and protective over maidens and pregnacious mamas.

I didn’t want it to be a scary birth story.

See… The thing is, when I was pregnacious, I was so afraid of hearing birth stories that weren’t empowering or lovely. I really needed to claim a space in my head and heart where birth wasn’t a scary thing. I needed to fill up on good stories, on ecstatic stories, I needed to know there was a possibility that birth wasn’t going to be something awful for me to endure. I needed to turn it around and make it my own, and make it sacred.

So many times, I felt like mamas wanted to tell me their kinda scary birth stories, and I didn’t want to listen. And I know now, those beautiful women were trying to help too. All of our stories are sacred. Even those birth initiations that take time to heal and integrate and come to peace with.

It took me time to heal from mine, emotionally, physically, soulfully. I don’t know why that surprised me, but it did. My vajayjay had stitches, I had haemerroids, and I was still in shock about going to labour land and being a birthing Buddha. And if I could go back, I would say:

Sweet Leonie, it’s all going to be okay, you are doing so well, be gentle my darlingest, you are in soul transformation.

Nobody can take this time or path or journey away from you, not even your own sweet mama who said “If I could do this for you Leonie, I would. I know it is hard.” Nobody can do your birth for you, nobody can take away those intense days of being a new mama and having a newborn. They can help, but it’s your path to walk. And I know that is as scary as hell and sometimes you want to run away just to remember who you were when your breath was your own… But you will stay. And your soul will be reborn. And you will be carved into your best self.

I can promise you this, my beautiful Leonie. Each moment will pass. Especially the hard ones. You will forget about them the day after, or the day after that. But the good moments? They will dance and glow in your spirit forever. The first time you can soothe your daughter with rocking and soft singing. When her eyes light up to see you. When everything begins to make sense again.

Yes, things are different now. And so are you. And it’s okay to grieve that. It’s absolutely okay to feel sad and longing for your days just being an artist and creator goddess. Because, ding dang they really were special days.

And now there are new kinds of special days. They are bigger and they call on more of you, but you are holding gold. The gold of a child.

All you need to do my love is the best you can.

I love you I love you I love you.

More and more I realise, we need to hold, support, uplift and take care of our new mamas. They are doing the big work.

And when I’m up at three a.m., lost and dishevelled, may I know there is an older, wiser me, as well as legions of mama goddesses around the world sending me so.much.love.and.understanding.

Wherever you are at… you are loved, you are supported, you are held.

 

P.S. More to come this week. Hope you are having a beautiful celebration season. I’m hanging out in the studio, having some Leonie time, playing in my 2011 workbook, making a big folder of journal pages & my workbook & some worksheets that I call the Folder of Leonie, collaging & making sanctuaries. Making some space for a new year. Oh new year, you are so fresh and holy! Thank you thank you thank you!