Experimenting with Self Portraits through lockdown 3.0

May 10, 2021May 10, 2021 | Rohana Aisha Dewfall

My love of photography has always been in capturing the world around me.

The people around me, specifically trying to bottle their personality into an image.

I’ve rarely taken photographs of myself, and often chose not to be in them when others stood behind the camera. Through the 3rd UK lockdown however, from January to around April 2021, I began to experiment a little with self portraits – and found it incredibly therapeutic.

Its almost always when the kids are in bed, so lighting isn’t often great but I’ve learned a lot, and I do enjoy a dark, moody image. It seems to have a soul in ways that brighter images sometimes cannot carry.

But anyway, these are my choice few from Lockdown 3.0 :

See what I mean about the dark and moody?

We take photos for our walls

May 10, 2021May 10, 2021 | Rohana Aisha Dewfall

When I went to university in 2015, I covered the walls of my room with blue tac’d photos of my family, friends and the recent places I had visited.

Photographs for me were a way to stay connected; to transport back to the tangible feelings that a memory may hold, triggered by the sight of them on my walls. It was a way to take home with me, and it worked.

Now in 2021, 4 moves later, I have a husband, 2 children and a bump… and my walls do not have photos covering them, but I take more now than I ever did back then. Photo’s are a way of documenting our life.
Various walls have twine and pegged photos, which we swap out when we feel change is needed. They display activities, family, friends and our own every day life – to me, there is little more precious than preserving that for my children; so they grow with the memories and reminders of their life, and have stories attached to each one too.

Some recent ones 💕

I’m grateful for my camera

I’m grateful that I can document this… for our walls, our memory box and for our family.

Family

August 14, 2020 | Rohana Aisha Dewfall

I write during the Covid19 pandemic, my parents are visiting after changing their flights due to restrictions on Spain. The world is still surreal in many ways, not least with the politics of masks and education.

My parents and brother are staying close, but not with us. It has been hard. There have been fights. Too many words said and not said, too many feelings blown up over the smallest triggers – I feel sad, but also stronger.

This trip had expectations of joy and laughter, of long walks and talks and cuddles and tears … there has been all of that, but in a very different way. I have grown distant, settled into a groove of life that I am proud of, but that has also made me very protective.

I think, as with all family trips, there are always things I would change, but I also believe that these hard parts are the parts that provide a real test of love and strength. I can see how my mother watches my children, with love and joy so immense she can barely contain it. I see her eyes fill with sadness and joy simultaneously, and I do wonder if it would be the same if we lived closer. Probably not.

I see my father create worlds of imagination with Theo, and talk in silly rhymes with Ila-Rae; he tells me he doesn’t want to get too attached and I understand, deeply I do, because I have for so long protected myself by staying distant from those I want and need most. It works, and I know that ultimately we will be okay, but it is also futile, because my kids adore their grandparents, and when they leave, it will hit hard. That’s part of life.

I see my brother too, whom I haven’t seen in over a year, play with his nephew and niece with such overwhelming love. He has a lot of learning to do in his life and I struggle with him the most out of these 3, because I have little people to protect and I do so fiercely. My brother threatens my sense of comfort with them, he doesn’t know it yet, but his small comments and actions that undermine my parenting put me on edge, because although he loves them, my anxiety levels are at an all time high.

The truth is, I didn’t expect to be so anxious with these people around. They raised me… and yet, I feel they no longer know me. I have moved into circles they know little about, and I have experiences they cannot relate to. I also no longer know them – our puzzle pieces are distorted. I had hoped we would make them fit, but as I write I realise that maybe we need to try making a new picture with them, one with different rules and colours, so that our pieces lay next to each other happily, even if they aren’t able to interlock anymore.

I am not sure where I go from here with my family, they have 1 full day left of their trip and 1 morning after. It isn’t a long time. It doesn’t feel like long enough for anything, but it also enough time to try and reconnect a little, like I do with Theo, because really, when I see them, I see love.

Love for me
Love for my children
Love to see them smile
To hold them
To play
Love to watch them
and
To Just Be.

Mummy, can we play?

June 17, 2020July 29, 2020 | Rohana Aisha Dewfall

Can we play?

It seems like such a simple question. Often we say ‘yes but first…’ or ‘in a minute’ or perhaps even ‘you can go play while I…. (insert chore or other seemingly important thing)’.

My son turns 3 next month. Play is everything for us, and honestly, I am not that good at it. I no longer think that I could be doing more important things while he just ‘plays’ but I still have to check myself and actively remember that play is exactly what I need to be doing.

I was raised with play, I know this, but somewhere along the way from babyhood into childhood into schools with exams, play became something foreign. Worse, it became something wasteful. Why waste time playing? What is it about play that makes society jump back in fear? That we as adults could actually take time in our day to immerse ourselves in something we truly enjoyed, just for fun, and not feel a shred of guilt. Is play really wasteful? Or is the system and societal consensus that because play is not productive in terms of material wealth, it is not necessary.

Sitting with these ideas made me uncomfortable. It still does, but less so. I changed my internal narrative, because my son is asking to play, and I was creating excuses – for what? What is more important that getting on the floor and having a pretend picnic? What creates more joy than exaggerated stomping around with big dinosaur feet? The dishes… ? Or maybe it was the bed that needed to be made?

Or the washing, drying, folding, sorting, tidying up, cleaning the bathroom, sweeping baby food off the floor, hoovering, or hanging up the pile of clean clothes living in the baby cot?

But truthfully, right in the moment… play is everything. None of the above list create danger to us, nor do they disappear (I wish!) if they are left waiting. My son turns 3 next month, and when he’s turning 6 I will still have dishes to do, and they will still be there at 16, and 20 and forever. But he won’t be almost 3 forever, and he certainly will not ask me to play forever.

The baby I felt would never leave my side turned into the wildest boy who wants to play.

Play means everything.

I catch myself now, actively reminding myself that play is anything but wasteful. It has so many social and physical benefits that are increasingly documented. But, though the research is incredible and much needed, I think if we stop for a minute and listen with our inner child, heart forward, we already know that play is exactly what our children need.

Be patient soul, your time will come…

May 8, 2020July 29, 2020 | Rohana Aisha Dewfall

This feels foreign, like coming back to an old friend. I miss writing but the days are long and the nights are for rest, the little I’ve been getting.

We’re currently experiencing the strangest time in my living memory; I think many feel the same. I currently have 2 children and my husband home, my kids are 5 months and 2.5 years – or thereabouts anyway. I have a burning desire to create, to be present, to make my mark. Then I look at my baby monitor and the fire inside me burns smaller… I have tiny humans to look after. I am needed. I am their safe space. I am mum.

Part of me yearns for the days I had no responsibility, but honestly, I can hardly remember that time. It was so long ago, I was not the woman I am today. I look back at that girl and smile, but I do not miss her. I have grown. I have created life. I have sustained it. My babies are my life now, and for a long time they will be.

My desire to create, my fire, my love, it is for them. I wake and work and learn and love for their future. And sometimes, like tonight, I get a sliver of time to myself and it is timed beautifully so I can write, or paint, or move my body. I long for the days I can do this every night, and somehow even though they are not here yet, I mourn the fact they will come. My babies will grow. They won’t need me as much. I will be ‘free’ and I will miss their little hands holding while I listen to the big snores that arise from their tiny mouths.

How fortunate we are to have the benefit of hindsight and foresight. And how cursed too. I can get lost for hours and days thinking about the past which I cannot change and dreaming about a future that I cannot control… It is so easy to disconnect from the present. It is so easy to let them fly with the time, and they grieve the lost hours.

Life is strange. No doubt about it. Life is beautiful too. My babies are sleeping and I am here. I am blessed and loved and held and privileged. My burning passions could be something incredible if I were alone, if I could spend hours and days creating and sharing; but instead these desires are quietly kindling. They rise and remind me they are here and I listen to them, I hear what they ask, I try and soothe them. I have quietly begun to ask my soul to soften and be patient, to give my babies the time they need from me, to enjoy the peace and slowness, because when the time comes that I am less needed by these tiny humans, I will let my fire burn brighter and fiercer. I will let my soul roar.

Labour and Birth of Ila-Rae: Gallery

January 11, 2020July 29, 2020 | Rohana Aisha Dewfall

I mentioned in my previous post that as part of my labour and birth, we had a professional photographer document our experience. She has spent weeks on these photos and they are more than I could have ever hoped for.

A short while into active labour, the bath was my choice of pain relief.

The point where I felt I couldn’t do it any longer; exhausted and in pain, I felt like roaring and I wanted to sleep.

And there she was. Nobody but me knew she’d come so fast, and I couldn’t physically speak to give warning. Pushing my daughter out of my body was the most primal and exhilarating experience I have ever had.

Birthing our placenta: arguably more painful that birthing baby

Once checked, Harriosn prepared the placenta for collection by Danielle from AfterGlowPES who encapsulated it.

Nausea during labour, and after. It’s related to the pain, exhaustion and hormones I know; at least this time I was prepared.

He was so proud, and so incredible. A fantastic birth partner

One of the most incredible moments of my life captured. My only wish is that I’d had this documentation with Theo Prana too, but alas, we cannot change the past.

A huge thank you to Louise from Life In Focus Portraits for the beautiful photos.

Pregnancy and Tandem Feeding: Our journey so far

January 3, 2020July 29, 2020 | Rohana Aisha Dewfall

Recently someone asked me about breastfeeding my son and were shocked I’d fed him throughout my pregnancy with Ila-Rae, more I think than the fact I am feeding both together. Honestly as much as I wanted to support him, provide comfort and be a safe space, our breastfeeding journey through pregnancy was a rocky one. There were many moments I wanted to stop, but just as many that I was glad of our bond.

I have had a lot of outsider views given, mostly questioning, some judgmental and very few that have been extremely supportive. In the end, a breastfeeding journey is personal, some choose to share and others hide the fact they nurse into toddler years. However, I know I have resonated with others when they share, and so I wanted to do the same, because if even just 1 person feels less alone, or reassured, or takes anything at all that helps, then I think it is worth me being raw, real and honest here.

At the start of my pregnancy I had already been trying to encourage my son to feed less in public. I was tired of the stares and comments. I nursed him on demand at night and was exhausted, so when daytime weaning failed, I began to night wean. This worked, to a degree, with the help of a few night-weaning books and a lot of patience. After the first month of pregnancy however, I began to hate nursing.

I had a nursing aversion also referred to I believe as feeling ‘touched out’ when a child is nursing or asking to. I felt incredibly nauseous every time he fed, and with bad morning sickness anyway, this was something I began to dread. I kept at it, researched how to set boundaries and tried harder to encourage snacks or water or milk bottles instead. Nothing stuck, Theo wanted to keep nursing, and so I grit my teeth and reminded myself that he needed me, that I was a safe space, and that this wasn’t forever.

As pregnancy progressed I began to find it easier again, and I enjoyed him nursing, though he began to choose a bottle over breast because I was all but dried up. He nursed for comfort and I would set a time limit or count down for him to unlatch because if not I would start getting agitated again. He would nurse and play with my belly if we lay down, or sit on my legs and hug my bump as he fed; these moments are ones I am glad I didn’t miss, they made the harder times worth it.

On labour day, Theo was ill so he nursed more than normal; I held him close knowing he’d soon be sharing this precious comfort. Now with Ila-Rae here, he nurses more again because he wants attention and is jealous, but it’s a privilege (though exhausting yes!) because I am able to maintain our bond, and I am building a bond with my daughter, as well as fostering their sibling relationship. He will stroke her face or hair, and though not always gentle, he wants to help her latch. He also tells her to get off and has shoved away a number of times, but it’s a work-in-progress; we’ll get there.

Breastfeeding is something I chose, I am passionate about it, but I am also able to understand it isn’t what everyone wants/can do. I am lucky to be able to feed my kids, to provide their comfort and help regulate their emotions. Even before my pregnancy I knew I’d tandem feed, so maybe its my stubborn streak that meant I kept going. Regardless of how ‘easy’ it looks, or how much I enjoy it and share the good bits, there are also moments I want to give up because I want my body back.

I can’t even imagine why I have chosen this journey, but then I look at my babies and cliche as it may sound, I think that maybe this journey chose me.

My Birth Story: Ila-Rae

December 30, 2019August 4, 2020 | Rohana Aisha Dewfall

4 weeks on from welcoming my daughter into the world, I am finally ready to share our story. It’s taken me this long to write because life has been a perfect blend of chaos and love and I haven’t wanted to miss out in daylight hours. But before we begin 2020, I want to share one of my biggest and most incredible 2019 moments: birth.

Ila-Rae decided exactly 1 week early that she was ready to come earthside and so was born in the first week of December. Throughout the last trimester of my pregnancy, I had said that I didn’t mind, and in fact wanted to carry her over our due date because I enjoyed being pregnant. However, the night before her arrival, I was very ready to no longer be pregnant: I was tired, heavy and sore. I wanted to be able to play with and run after Theo Prana (now 29 months) without the constraints of my giant belly. That night Theo was sick, he ran a temperature and at 1am cried and cried that his throat hurt. He wanted the telly so we left H in bed and I took him downstairs for the dragon movie (How to Train Your Dragon) hoping I’d manage some sleep. We never watched the film, he snuggled up and fell asleep again quickly, waking frequently for reassurance that mummy was there with him. I was exhausted.

Baby girl must have known growing her was taking its toll, the next morning I went to the toilet and realised I’d had a ‘show’. My real contractions started around an hour later (8am) and slowly got worse through the day. H had his usual lie in while I played with Theo and we had a spinach omelette breakfast. The morning was calm enough, I did the washing, sorted out some house bits; the labour pains were becoming more obvious and I knew that this was it, but we’d had a few false alarms in the 2 weeks previously so I kept quiet. Played with Theo, snacked, sang, danced, cuddled and breastfed. Theo was extra attached to me, possibly because he’d been unwell, or possibly because he knew we were maybe getting close to our new arrival.

H came down mid-morning and he asked if everything was okay. I told him that this could be another false alarm, pains were not frequent enough to tell. At some point, he left me and Theo so he could buy a new computer game, which later he joked he’d never get to play since baby was coming: I laughed and somehow as silly as this may seem, it is significant memory of the early stages of my labour. I’d also very last minute ordered a bump cast kit. It arrived that afternoon.

At 2pm we took Theo to the GP to check on his throat. By this point my contractions were frequent enough to know we should time them, but still irregular. Priority was having my son checked, and making sure he was alright. Once he was given the all clear: we went home and immediately my contractions intensified. I had mentally given my body permission to keep going because I knew that Theo was okay. I think if we’d been told he had an infection, labour would have stalled.

Harrison got everything ready for the bump cast. I took Theo upstairs and we played with blocks and he fed and cuddled me. I told him baby would be arriving soon, and mummy’s body was getting ready to have his sister come to live outside of my belly. I contacted my friend who’d offered to have Theo while we went to hospital, and the photographer I’d hired. They both knew it was going to happen in the next 12-24 hours. I watched my son and cried knowing it was my last day with only him as my baby. Our relationship has become so sacred to me, I was scared beyond measure that I was going to ruin it by bringing a baby home; I mourned the fact he was suddenly going to be so grown up.

We put the Teletubies on for Theo while Harrison cast over my bump. I lay down letting it set and my contractions got stronger. It was lying on my kitchen floor breathing and moaning through the pain that I understood the sensuality of labour, and how it could be, in its own way, orgasmic. I breathed heavily, closed my eyes and let the wave-like feeling build and then drop off, it was magical.

I asked Harrison to take the cast off and after getting cleaned up, began to make dinner. The boys ate wraps but I just wanted to be sick. I’d already taken an anti-sickness tablet so I tried to eat though I didn’t manage much, instead a bounced on the birth ball. The nausea reminded me of Theo’s labour, except this time I was better prepared. While we ate, we made sure everything was packed and got Theo ready for his sleepover. My 4th night away from him, ever. I walked him to our friends house and he was off, didn’t even say goodbye. He happily went off to play and though he struggled to sleep, he did a lot better than I thought he would. I am truly grateful that he stayed with them, because I could relax and focus on myself and baby, knowing he was safe and well cared for.

Music on, we set off for hospital in Paisley. I texted our photographer and told her we were leaving: she said she’d meet us there after a while.

We arrived at 8pm. I said not to bother bringing in our bags in case we were told that I wasn’t far enough along to admit. H wanted to bring them but didn’t argue, and so came out for them again about half an hour later. We saw a midwife who did the initial triage, and then were left to our own devices for a while. I was sick from the pain of contractions and asked for an antiemetic injection but it only arrived after Ila-Rae was born.

Another midwife Emily introduced herself and brought us some toast and tea. She wanted to examine me but suggested we wait until I was more ready. She encouraged me to breathe through contractions, relax my body and blow the pain away. After a while she suggested it again because the contractions were making me visibly more uncomfortable: I agreed to have a vaginal exam in 15 minutes – we ended up waiting 35 and when she examined me, I was 5cm dilated. Though painful, it was exactly the news I had wanted: active labour meant I’d be admitted into the CMU (maternity unit) and could move to a labour room. It was around 9.30pm.

Just before we moved to the labour room, Louise arrived (our photographer) and got straight to work. She encouraged me and got on well with the midwives straight away. The night shift had started so Emma, a new midwife introduced herself. This made me uncomfortable because I had, in a short time built a rapport with Emily. Both women however, were exceptional.

The bath had been run at my request and I got straight in. I was still talking and joking between contractions though slowly began to withdraw. Emma made me feel like a person: she sat with me and encouraged me, she never requested I move out of a comfort zone and examined me without making me uncomfortable. At one point, when Harrison and Louise were both in the main room away from me, Emma sat near me and asked me about my hair: it was in 2 french braids for convenience and we briefly discussed how it is often much more comfortable to have hair out the way in labour but that it isn’t something many people advise pregnant women on. It was a simple conversation, but it made me feel like a human being not just a labouring mum.

I cannot remember full details about each contraction, but I remember getting quieter, more tired, withdrawing into myself, and connecting with the wilder, primal parts of me: I moaned, I cried, I breathed slowly and deeply. I was aware of my music, and grateful that the midwives had gone through my birth plan. Emma was at one point my advocate to tell Harrison and Louise to be quiet or leave the room.

As things got further along (though I had no real care or idea of the time), Emma asked about pushing, and we spoke about the fetal ejection reflex; she knew that I wanted to let my body take over, so she asked that when I felt my body begin to push or want to, that I let her know. She also told me that the birthe pool was being cleaned and then I’d be able to transfer to there soon. I was still in the bath and H poured water over my back and reminded me to relax my body through contractions. He sang to my music in between. In between the contractions I rested, eyes closed, not quite sleeping. I remember thinking they wouldn’t move me to the pool before baby.

My body began to push, I told Emma and she encouraged me. She again said we’d move soon but I knew we wouldn’t. I couldn’t talk, the next contraction came and Harrison told me how well I was doing “just a bit more” … but I felt like I couldn’t cope. I moved from my kneeling position to a half kneel, half squat and said I couldn’t do it anymore, I wanted to ask for pain relief, but had no time. I was pushing involuntarily and my body took over.

Pushing my daughter out was hard, birth it, but it was an incredibly powerful feeling.

Emma said as I pushed that my waters had gone, but I knew it was my baby; I couldn’t talk, just pushed and moaned. Then I heard “no that’s the baby!” and Emma had tried to catch her but I reached out and pulled her through my legs and she was on me. It was bliss.

We were ushered out the bath fairly quickly due to my history of blood loss and the fact we needed a managed placenta delivery. On the bed, I had skin to skin and Ila-Rae latched onto my breast. We delivered my placenta and the midwives checked for any tears etc – absolutely none. I threw up again, and then my antiemetic finally arrived.

Skin to skin, quiet time, we were able to bond and relax. Ila’s newborn check and weight wasn’t done for over 2 hours, we were brought toast but I couldn’t stomach any of it. I still felt sick. I was happy to just let her feed and watch her, resting in small spouts.

We moved to the recovery wing and then sadly Harrison was sent home (3.30am); this was the only tainting experience of our labour and birth, because he was so upset and really I didn’t want him to leave. But we didn’t argue, he went home and I nursed and slept. I held Ila almost all night, something that was entirely impossible with Theo because I could hardly stay awake after his birth.

In the morning I spoke to Harrison and he brought Theo to pick us up. Theo wasn’t sure at first, more interested in his milkshake than his sister but that soon changed when I said he could hold her. My beautiful boy told her he loved her without being asked to, he said hello beautiful and he cuddled her on the bed. It is a moment I will cherish always.

And there ends my birth story.

My postpartum experience has been entirely different to the first time round. I am of course tired, and there are many hard moments, but I’ll share those bits later. I am starting 2020 as a mum of 2 beautiful babies, feeling empowered by my birth and excited by it too. I hope that this year I can start my journey into birth-work, and after this experience, I hope I can empower other women, whatever their choices are or situation may be, to feel as in control and trusting as I did in the birth room.

Waiting Game

November 20, 2019August 4, 2020 | Rohana Aisha Dewfall

We reached 37 weeks pregnant and I am so ready to have this baby now.

I feel guilty saying that because I love being pregnant, plus a few weeks ago I was hoping to carry over; but now, I am ready! Mostly because I am tired and aching and the heartburn plus swollen legs are making it hard to do the usual stuff with my son. However, I am also acutely aware that being pregnant still means I only have 1 tiny person to look after not 2. It’s a little conflicting really.

The last few days I’ve been prepping and hand on heart honest, my body and mind are telling me to get ready. I still have a few major things to wait for/planned so I think I’m waiting for them, but also craving a release of emotion and stress. I just want to give in to my body and let it take over, but I know I need to hang on a while first, sort the last major bits – like my placenta encapsulation box – and then I can let baby and body take over.

How crazy to think that in a few weeks I’ll be mum all over again, to a new human. I’ll have my heart grow to love another being and I’ll be able to see my boy finally meet and be with the sister I have told him about for so long.

I’m nervous and excited and worried and filled with joy just thinking about it all.

This evening I have been extremely uncomfortable with shooting pains that don’t necessarily hurt as much as shock me. I never had them with my first pregnancy, but I do feel like they are a sign, not of labour, but of my body preparing for it.

So our bags are packed and now we have the waiting game. We’ll hopefully get cleared for the midwife led unit in 2 days time and after that it’ll be up to baby when she decides to come.

I am so ready to meet her and yet I want to keep her tucked away safe and snug.

Wish me luck either way… I think I’m going to need it!