From the moment of your conception right until the moment you are reading this, you have been absorbing and filtering information. You’re doing it right now too. Every second of every single day.
It’s actually really fucking amazing – and, it means, we have a LOT of conditioning to work through whenever we try to break a cycle or move through some shit.
In terms of birth, what does this mean? We’re not constantly thinking about birth (unless you work in the field) or about how babies come into the world. We don’t actively consider the sacred period of postpartum days. We don’t consciously create a negative or traumatic birth. Why would we?
And yet, the percentage of women who experience birth trauma is rising. It is scary and getting scarier. The maternity services in this country (the UK) are deeply overwhelmed, understaffed, and failing. Arguably this is because of funding and politics and a lack of knowledge etc etc. However, I’ll go a step in a different direction here and say it’s also because we are so deeply conditioned in this society to think about birth a medical problem, a painful experience, and something that we have to survive.
We are conditioned from the moment our parents find out we exist; their thoughts and fears and joys about our birth will transmit information to us, in utero, about what birth is like. Then, our actual entrance into this world either confirms these beliefs that have begun to form, or it challenges them. Either way, beliefs are created- often in the last few generations they were not positive ones.
It might sound a little weird but if you get it, you really do get it. These imprints are the first of many foundational layers of our whole belief system. Every single second. Every single day. It’s all absorbed and filtered.
So then, we hear about birth, we hear screams of labour on the tv, or family and friends talking about the pain and trauma. We grow up with messages that birth isn’t beautiful, that it is bloody and breaks us, and so we fear it.
Generations have birthed under the controlled “guidance” of professionals reinforcing these views that birth isn’t safe or joyful or sacred.
Granted there are exceptions, and someone will say that it’s “not all” but it doesn’t have to be all. It’s some. It’s a majority. And if you have any other racial or economic cards stacked against you, its even more.
Like I said earlier, we don’t consciously create a negative or traumatic birth. However we often do consciously create (also referred to as manifesting) a positive birth experience. How? By filtering out the noise. By deconditioning our expectations of birth.
There are some radical revolutionaries out here doing this work. Deconditioning birth and postpartum, and inviting as many families as we can do the same. Those of us who have seen, heard and sometimes even felt the trauma that can be associated with birthing babies into this world; taking our experience and expertise and molding it into something we share. We are here, and we want better for our collective decendants.
We are here breaking the cycle. Saying no more, doing this sacred work of holding these spaces. Saying enough. Saying the conditioning stops here.
I invite you, regardless of where you are in the experience of birth – having had babies or wanting them, not interested in kids or somewhere in between – what are your beliefs about birth? Where have you been conditioned and where have you consciously created these views?
I’ve been thinking about birth plans a lot recently. About how we approach them as a society, how women are often told one of 2 things – that they must make one for their team to be on the same page, or not to bother because nobody’s going to read it anyway. Birth is treated like a ‘to do list’ activity, with no real consideration of the humans it involves.
I’ve been thinking about how these 2 polarising options presented to mothers-to-be are focusing on how birth plans are impacting other people. They are either necessary for autonomy and choices to be honoured- but are they? Or they are a hinderence and going to be ignored. Neither of these give any consideration into how a pregnant woman (and their partner) is impacted by creating these plans.
So who is a birth plan for truely, if not for the person who’s body is actually going to open and bring life earthside?
Heres my twopence.
Your birth plan isn’t for your team. It isn’t pointless. It doesn’t have to be meticulously planned. Your birth plan can be scribbled on a notebook, voice noted into an app, created with deliberate and careful care, or anything in between.
Whether you’re planning a freebirth, home birth, hospital birth or an elective cesarean, making a plan is one of those things that comes up as a “must do” while you prep for birth, and yet nobody really explains why. It’s for you. It’s for your partner if you have one. It’s for your baby. Because in making a plan, setting intentions for how you want the story to unfold and talking about it, either in your head or out loud, you are communicating with your baby, letting them know there is a plan.
When you change the way you view birth, the way you birth will change. ~ Marie Mongan
We (individually and collectively) can’t control every little thing that’s going to happen, because the nature of birth is that it is unique and out of our control every single time. That said, when we don’t plan, then we don’t really know what we want. In birth, and in life, it’s important to know where our boundaries are.
If you don’t know what you want, then you don’t know what you don’t want.
When you make a plan, you get to decide what is a non-negotiable, and what you’re willing to be flexible about. You get to prepare for this immense transition, and stand in your power through it. In the same way that athletes visualise their win, you can visualise the birth story you want to create with your baby. By doing this, you’re energetically telling the universe that this is the plan- even without writing a single thing down.
I will always say, write things down. When you do, the neurons in your brain form stronger pathways, and your intentions are built with stronger foundations. But even if pen never touches paper, even if not a single plan or intention is spoken out loud, just by visualising it, you’re on the way.
Okay Rohana but is 1 birth plan enough? What should I include? What happens if I want to have a water birth or a home birth and then things change? What if I’m planning a cesarean? Where do I start?
I asked myself all of these questions and more when I was planning my most recent birth. I had made birth plans before, but this one was a freebirth, so I wanted to be extra resourced. I thought long and hard, I journalled, I visualised, I made lists and researched a lot… and I ended up with 3 plans. For me, 3 was enough, for someone else, it might be more.
From those plans, I’ve created this checklist for you, so you can spend more time in the zone of creation and build your support bubble, and less time fretting about whether you’ve thought about everything.
Mostly I tell clients that if they’re making a plan, 2 – 4 plans is best, not to just make the 1. Why? Because there is so much possibility and I’m the kind of control freak (in some areas of life) that needs to prep for the various scenarios ‘just in case’. Creating 1 ideal, everything goes right plan, and 1 emergency plan is the minimum… then there’s the option to flesh out interventions, changes and variations in the middle.
It might like a lot of work, or like youre considering all the ways things could go ‘wrong’, but actually youre taking your power into a situation, where if anything less than your ideal plan happens, you are still sovereign and prepared. It means you’re not throwing your hands in the air or just hoping for the best. It means you are advocating for yourself and for new baby, and if your birthing within the system -regardless of the way you intend to birth- this advocacy is an immensely important muscle to be flexing right from the start.
So, should you make a birth plan – the short answer is yes.
The long answer, is you should make multiple, with different scenarios and different supports. You should advocate hard, and build a foundation of cheerleaders who will hold space for you and nourish you while you labour. You should make your plans in a way that feels good… in a way that is a kind of self care exercise, and a way that bonds you and baby even more. You should share your plans with those who’ll be around, and talk to baby about how you want them to arrive. Make many plans, and resource yourself to aim for the number 1.
Hey, I’ve been busy this week, thinking about how life has changed and my next steps. If you look around the website now, it’s changed a bit. Because of that, I’m kind of walking in the dark here, I’ve changed my email and done some other bits, and I’m not sure if this will work – if it doesn’t I’ll have to figure out another way. Anyway, I’ve put a subscribe button thingy down below; I’m creating an email list, where I won’t bombard you but sometimes thoughts will be a little more personal, updates on life and work will exist too, essentially it’s new direction and I’d love for you to join me. Fingers crossed, if you put your email in the box below, you’ll get added to my list. If it doesn’t work, I’ll try again a different way… I’m over waiting til it’s perfect to figure it out…. so hey ho! Let’s give it a go.
A person decided, without asking to stroke Ps hand and try to tickle him. I was stood there, facing the other 2; he was holding the buggy with me. There was no reason, except that his hand was on the banister bit, and she was sat there next to us.
He didn’t like it. (P does not like being touched most if the time, unless he initiates contact.)
He growled and said, “I don’t like tickles”
I turned around, and figured what had happened just as they (ignoring him) did it again. I asked him to move his hand, and said loudly, let’s say “please don’t tickle me” – he did.
The person glared at me, I’m not sure whether it was in anger or embarrassment. P didn’t want to move his hand, he was waiting for our stop to press the bell. The person nearly tickled him again, but I covered his hand with mine. It was a small moment, but had a big impact. At our stop, P, who was already dysregulated because of the long day and wet clothes, came off the bus, and collapsed on the floor.
On another day, he might have been okay and we’d talk about it. That day, it was too much.
I messaged a friend on the way home, telling her about it, and she asked: Why do we (adults) think we’re entitled to children’s bodies?
I’ve been watching them since it happened, thinking about what she said. From the time they are babies, we make choices for kids, even when we try to give them choices in gentle parenting, there is still so much control. We pick the options and they choose from there… or we just make a plan and expect them to follow. Of course, sometimes it is necessary, but more and more as my kids get older, they push back saying things like “I’m in charge of my body” which is a sentiment I’ve tried to foster over the past few years. Mostly, it brings pride when they use that phrase, and similar sentiments; even and especially when it means I have to check myself and my demands on them. Other times, it makes me realise just how out of whack I have been, like the time where even at the age of 4 my daughter has stood next to me and said “you need to talk nicer mummy” in the middle of a blowout that had started over a sibling fight and led into a spiral of overwhelm from mess, hunger and exhaustion for us all.
These are the moments where I am reminded that not only are my children young whole, full humans, but also that every single other child is too, and that nomatter what the reason, there is never any excuse to exercise my power as an adult over them arbitrarily. I began to dive into the world of children’s rights and consent based relationships when I began my deschooling journey in 2020, but before then, I had never thought about this. Since then however, there have been many unraveling’s, and many moments like this one on the bus, where I’ve wondered why adults think that they can say or do what they want around children, acting as though they are entitled because they are the adult; as though children have no right or power. It makes no (cognitive) sense to me anymore; but then I remember not everyone is on this journey, and many people do still feel like children should be controlled.
When I think about why, I realise there are many reasons; it didn’t just happen overnight. Historically, there has been this idea that children are the property of their parents. Father’s still ‘give away’ daughters at weddings and children were not so long ago sent to work for the family home, for example in India under colonial rule, children were employed in factories and mills – of course this still happens today, with companies employing children as cheap labour, assuming they are entitled to their time and effort, exploiting them. In the west, (most) children are sent to school and expected to live by their parents rule until they are legal adults. The scenario might be different, but ultimately, it’s adults making decisions about children’s bodies, almost always without their consent.
The idea that we as adults are somehow superior to children, when in fact we were once children ourselves is a deliberate mental shift, created by political and social norms that serve those in power. In teaching children that there is a arbitrary hierarchy, we prime them to enter a society where their bodies and boundaries, time and belongings are often entirely ignored. Then, they grow older, and perpetuate the same beliefs and patterns onto the next generation – that’s how we got here: to an elderly person, ignoring my sons obvious discomfort and verbal expression of a boundary, because they probably entirely unconsciously believe that his 7 year old body is less important than theirs. It is a pattern that has been repeated both in their own life and through their ancestors, so, while yes at the time it annoyed me (a fully valid response), I can also see that there was no malice, just unconscious programming.
What does that mean for P? Not a lot and also a conscious leap to break patterns, teaching him, and all my kids that their bodies are there own – and that sometimes I still need to make decisions for them. Working on being a good ancestor rather than a good descendant, undoing my own biases and empowering him with resources to respond in situations where he doesn’t feel heard or respected. It’s hard. I mess up. I keep going. All these little moments make the big picture after all.
What do you think? Come find me on IG and tell me.
It’s been a month, just over actually, since S arrived in our world. A whirlwind pregnancy, and a whirlwind birth, and I say that in the most loving way.
After writing for 40 days, I took a break, and dove deeper into my journals, moved from Plymouth to Scotland and tended to not only my nervous system, but my children’s too – moving really is such a rollercoaster.
2 weeks exactly after we moved into our new space, S arrived… in a glorious, entirely uninterrupted freebirth, with his older siblings witnessing the pain and joy and nearly everything in between.
My early labour started on the Sunday night, the contractions starting off, noticable enough, and also nothing to make me rush. Though I had been joking about how this would be a fast birth, especially when I was stressing about our move, actually, this was the slowest one of all of them.
I slept and Monday morning it was as though nothing had happened. I took the kids up to a play group while H ran errands and walked back home, stopping at various playparks along the way. I rested in the sun, and made peace with the idea that I could still be housing my baby for another few weeks. Of course, that wasn’t the case, but looking back, I think in accepting that there could be weeks of pregnancy still to come, I was able to let go of (at least that part of) the control and wondering that was coming up.
Monday night was the same, and then Tuesday morning, about 5am things started moving faster. Contractions would wake me up, and I was breathing and moaning through them… I said to H, if this kept up we could have a baby before lunch. Alas, it would be another whole day and more.
Things tappered off after breakfast. I cancelled plans and built my bubble… texting a friend who we’d planned as a second birth partner/my emergency contact… she said she would be coming round later if I wanted her to, and so, before midnight she arrived.
Through the day, I swayed through contractions, talked to the kids about how baby was working hard and getting ready, and told them even though it might sound scary, mummy was actually really okay. We played and took photos, I had intended to capture more of the birth story but once it was happening, I didn’t want to be thinking about lights and camera settings… so there are only some beautiful snippets from the early hours.
I cooked dhal and made mango cake with the kids, knowing that in the days ahead, I’d appreciate the nourishing food and sweet treat immensely. The day rocked between restful and restless, I was anticipating contractions and refused to time them, but could sense there was no regularity. They got stronger, and then further apart, and given what had happened with Ks birth, I knew that could mean that baby just wasn’t ready yet.
Bedtime took its toll, I was physically and mentally exhausted and also knew we still had a long marathon to go. My friend was on her way, and while I took the kids to bed, for the last time as just the 3 of them, H put the pool up and eventually they all went to sleep. As they did, I felt peaceful, tired and wondered how the next few hours would go, given that bedtime had once again slowed everything down as I focused on being mum, and turned away from the internal pull to go deep into labour.
My friend arrived, and we sat and spoke a while, H and her sharing stories, me listening in. The oxytocin growing and the support felt immensely. I asked H to fill the pool.
Pool filled, I got in, and the relief was pretty instant. In previous births, water has been a huge part of managing for me, and this was no different. The water makes things easier, and I needed it. Water however, slows earlier labour down, and though I was frustrated that this happened at the time, it also provided the much needed space to rest. I slept in the pool for hours, and it was in this sleepy limbo state where I met my baby, I spoke to him, and he told me to trust him, he was trying and he wasn’t ready yet. It was here, where all the confusion about names melted away, because as we spoke, I called him his name, and afterwards, I knew we couldn’t choose anything else. He had chosen it there, in those moments in the pool.
I got out the pool in the early hours and danced. I shared some moments of reset with my husband when he checked on me, and journalled my fears, and then, as the dance of labour continued, I put in my earphones and did a breathwork session, setting intentions and adjusting my expectations. I needed to stop trying to fonr the pattern or match this experience to thr ones before, I needed to let S create his own story. It was about 5am when I fell asleep again.
A few hours later I was talking to E, my friend who had come and stayed over and slept on a mattress on the floor, I told her about my realisation moments, and in true E fashion, she asked what I felt I needed to be supported and nurtured at the time. I love her, and this question really unlocked something for me.
She had some breakfast, walked our pup so H could rest, and then got ready for work. H took her and P & A in the car, dropped her off and went to grab eztra snacks for the kids. I stayed home with K while he watched paw patrol so I could nap… we had joked that as soon as she left, things would quicken. They did.
E had helped me put the TENS machine on earlier, and though contractions were still irregular, I was going deeper. I napped and a while later called H and told him I needed him and to come home without snacks if need be. He asked if I’d had the baby already, but I was still hours away, I just wanted my person. Though I didn’t want to be touched or held, I wanted him around, because he helped me feel safe – in those moments I was seeking safety and solitude.
I knew I could do it alone. I didn’t want to.
He got home and I was deeply in my zone by then. I came half out of it with the kids, who were so excited, and then, I got in the pool while he played with them, fed them and they watched TV. They wanted to be involved, and so i taught them about breathing with me, and how the sounds mummy was making weren’t bad, because though it hurt, it meant my body and baby was doing exactly what they needed, and it was helping him come out. There are some videos of these moments, I asked H to take because I couldn’t, and the other day, I heard A watching one as she scrolled through my camera roll. She says it reminds her of that day and that it sounded scary but wasn’t bad.
After a while, I wanted space, so they were upstairs, I was down in the pool. I wanted H near, and I also wanted to be alone… so I could feel him close but he knew not to touch me. The kids shuffled arould curious, playing and checking on me.
I knew they were moving around, but it felt so normal and safe… mostly anyway. I remember at one point they were all shouting and I told them to be quieter… when they didn’t, I told them they weren’t helping baby come. Then they started breathing with me instead, and though it meant I was focusing on them more than my body, it was both funny and wholesome.
Then, as they were upstairs and I was down, I felt S start to decent. “He’s coming” I said…. and then, I stopped “get A”.
H ran to get the kids, and they came down, watching and waiting. It was nearly an hour later before he arrived, so H moved the laptop to the kitchen and they watched there quietly, knowing it was soon.
That last hour or so was hard. I remember telling H I was dying. He told me I wasn’t, and I told him to shut up because I absolutely was. I told him I couldn’t do it. I felt like I was breaking… I was scared and also, there was a part of me listening in, knowing that because this was where I was, I was at the very end of the marathon now. I heard myself say I could do it and H said “you can, you can, you can” … something we say to the kids.
The next few surges, I held this mantra with me. I can. I can. I can.
And then, I said he was coming – my body took over and I fully became the portal allowing him to enter. H grabbed my phone and video, told the kids to stand by the pool and waited. “He’s here” is the start of the video, the biggest relief and quiet accomplishment palpable in my voice.
S arrived completely of his own accord. I didn’t push. Foetal ejection reflex happened, and he entered into the world in the pool, the calmest, most beautiful experience, exactly what I had hoped for, except better. The video is one I will treasure forever.
As soon as he was here, I brought him out the water and the kids wanted to meet him, so I invited them into the pool, reminded them he was still attached to the placenta and they touched his head, saying hi. K said “it’s a baby kid” which when I listen back sounds like either pink or pig, but H understood he was saying S had arrived.
The pool started turning red; the kids got out and I followed. We knew from our experience with K that the placenta could be very quick, but just to be cautious, I had some tincture that I’d bought specifically. Within 10 minutes of his birth, squatting over a bowl, the tiny placenta that had been the life force of S while he grew was out, and though again we were cautious to watch the bleeding, after those initial few minutes, aside from the intense nausea, I was feeling so good.
It was post birth that I started actually being sick, my bodies reaction to the intense marathon it had just completed. H fed me, and made sure I was hydrated… but for a few hours, nothing stayed down. We called the midwifery team after the placenta arrived, and they sent someone out. She was honestly lovely, kind, excited to be coming out to a freebirth, and so congratulatory through the whole thing. I had been worried about calling anyone but she made the whole experience feel so easy, she notifed our birth and checked with us every step of the way.
A few hours later, once we’d told families and friends about our new addition, it was bedtime, and so the kids all chambered into bed and said goodnight to their new baby brother. The weeks following have been a beautiful rollercoaster… the most healing postpartum I’ve had. The most restful. The most active in many ways too. It’s been such a different experience… I wish I could bottle parts of it up to gift away. Between the mini meal train organised by E, and trip my mum did (flying from Gibraltar!) to see us and cook so I could rest, and the beds on the floor downstairs that helped H insist I rest, and the 12 days at home while others came to me or went out, I have really felt that there is no “right” way to do postpartum, but that there is so much that can aid us if we lean in. An
Anyway, there it is, the birth story of S. I could have written more… but its already 2000 words long, and I’ve lost many details already honestly. Like with everything, this is my version, this is my experience, and it is what I can remember… but truly words don’t give me the real way to describe this story. Alas, it was far more than these letter combinations can convey.
I’ll write again soon (ish),
With love, Rohana x
Would you like to share your birth story? Do you have questions? Get in touch and let’s chat.
Last night I yelled at my kids to go to sleep. I was tired. They were hyper. I, growing a human who is nearly ready to arrive earthside now, was grumpy, and after a long day which I thought would make them more tired, I was ready to crash and sleep. In fact, I slept while they jumped and played and stimmed. Cognitively, I knew they were hyper from the day and needed my help. Somatically, I wanted to get up, go into the other bedroom and ignore them. I didn’t, because they would have run after me; but I wanted to… which got me thinking about our flight response as parents, and I realised I hadn’t written about it yet.
So, since it’s 5am and the dog woke me up, I’m going to write and then go back to bed! A perfect start to my day.
From the biggest joy and pride, to immense stress, guilt and overwhelm, all bundled into the same week or day or even hour. Parenting is hands down a journey filled with love, laughter, and tears, sometimes alone, sometimes with the kids as they burst their emotional riverbanks too! As parents, we often find ourselves in situations where the demands of life become too much to bear, we are alone, feeling unsupported and like nothing is ever going to get easier – have you been there? Where the actual support we do have just vanishes from memory, and all the gorgeous moments disappear into a foggy part of our brains… it’s not fun!
Picture this: You’re juggling work, household chores, school runs, extracurricular activities, doctors, food shopping and a never-ending list of responsibilities. Your mind is racing, your energy is depleted, and all you can think about is escaping to a quieter, simpler time or space. It’s not that you don’t love your children – you do, more than anything in the world – but you’re exhausted, and you need a break.
I felt like this for the first time a few years ago; and oh my goodness the guilt set in! I didn’t have the language to understand what was happening, and so I thought something must be wrong. Was I just a really shit parent?
No… no I wasn’t. And you’re not either! In fact, you are pretty goddamn amazing so if you’ve got a guilt brick, take it and toss it out the window as soon as you can – though don’t toss a real brick out any windows please! I only advise this metaphorically!
Annnyyyyhow; the point, is that actually, this is a parenting flight response. I’ve written about Fight and Freezealready, so here is Flight; the stress response that has parents wanting to escape their little tiny human creations, not because they don’t love them, but because navigating parenting in todays world is overwhelming, especially when we have to do it alone. The village isn’t going to show up and save anyone; we gotta go create our own!
The flight response is a common coping mechanism for overwhelm, and parenting is a great space to find it. It’s that urge to run away from it all, even if just for a moment, to catch your breath and recharge. It’s about seeking solace in the midst of chaos, yearning for a temporary escape from the relentless demands of parenthood. What doesn’t count though is stuff like going shopping or running errands alone… that isn’t escape or replenishment, that’s still necessity!
I’ve been there – we all have. Those moments when you sneak into the bathroom for a few minutes of peace and quiet, pretending you need an extra-long shower just to have a moment to yourself. Or when you find yourself daydreaming about running away to a tropical island where the only thing on your to-do list is reading books and drinking mango smoothies on the beach. Right now my mango smoothies get stolen and my most recently picked up book was ‘Dear Zoo’ which I adore reading with them… but is so, so, so boring after a while! Audiobooks are such a lifesaver!
But here’s the thing – it’s okay to feel this way. We can love our kids and also at times really resent them. Yep, I used that word – resent – because ultimately, these little (gorgeous) humans take so much from us, especially in the early years with basic needs of rest and nourishment. I can imagine as they grow, it’ll change and still be hard, but I don’t hear parents of teenagers talk about resenting their kids much; maybe because it’s taboo, maybe because they too are in a freeze response, or maybe because (here’s my hope), once the kids get a bit older, and dinner isn’t a battle so much, and they understand the concept of 20 minutes, it’ll get easier! Or maybe it won’t.
Either way, parenthood is tough, and it’s perfectly normal to crave a break from time to time. Acknowledging your need for a breather doesn’t make you a bad parent; it makes you human. We all need moments of escape to rejuvenate our minds, bodies, and spirits so that we can come back stronger and more present for our little ones. Sometimes that means getting some physical space, other times, it’s about digging deep into our toolbox – either way, the next time you feel the urge to escape the chaos of parenthood, remember that you’re not alone.
Take a deep breath, find a moment of peace, and give yourself the grace to recharge. Because in the end, taking care of yourself is just as important as taking care of your children. Remember, self-care is not selfish; it’s necessary.
If you have any thoughts on this, write back to me. I’d absolutely love to hear what you think because this is one of those underrated, unspoken topics that I’m pretty sure we all go through. Share your stories, tell me why I’m wrong, or just say hi! I’ll see you soon x
With love,
Rohana x
P.S. A quick reminder before you go; that you’re doing an amazing job, even when you feel like flying away.
Did you know, doing something for 40 days rewires our neurobiology?
It’s stronger than a habit.
It’s why, many yoga practices, or meditations etc do 40 days…. its a magic number.
When I committed to these 40 days, I was feeling really unsure, given that our house move is now in 3 days, I knew it would be a push, but actually, it has been such a grounding gift to be able to reflect and hold space for myself. To show up and to say, even when I don’t want to, I will.
I adore writing. I adore reading too, though I do far less of it than I’d like.
I used to think, I’d need things to be on point or have a theme in order to show up. It has boxed me in.
Slowly the self-censorship shackles are being broken.
On that topic, last year, I set intentions around self censorship in my breathwork practice. I was feeling very caged in, and much of it was related either to my own self imposed ideas of what was okay or not, or from what I’d decided comments from those close to me meant. I was frustrated and angry. I wanted change.
My intentions were around letting go of self censorship that didn’t serve me. Allowing myself to step authentically into my voice and feeling able to speak my truth regardless of the voices around me. That didn’t mean to be cruel, it meant, I needed to tune in.
A year later… I’m reflecting on this and realising, the thoughts and intentions I protected out then are my reality now without any real planning. I crafted it.
I won’t lie – it feels fu*king good!
Change isn’t instant…. but it comes. This process has been an anchoring of that.
I won’t continue to write every day, not specifically here at least. But I’ve got some incredible ideas for more shares that have been inspired the past 40 days; and I will continue to share on other platforms.
I consider myself a writer.
Writing is a part of who I am… and when I write, even (especially) if it’s just for me, there is magick in those offerings.
I’m off to write some more pages of intentions… crafting my reality for next year .. and beyond. I’ll leave you with this, a note I had written for myself in May 2023:
Why do we put so much pressure on ourselves and expect change or transformation to be instant? It’s like asking a pregnant woman to birth instantly, without allowing her the process and labour of love and transition she needs in order to bring life earthside. Our instant culture is ruining us… choosing slowness and ease is more radical every day.
From my journalling notes
If you’ve stuck with me these past 40 days, thank you. If you’ve been around longer, thank you. If you’re only just showing up, welcome.
There are many many transformations coming. I’m stocking up on spoons to be able to share them!
I hope you know, whereever you are, you are loved. You are important. You are powerful. You are so much more than enough.
They all have and will in different ways… but this one has been a friendship built around me as an adult, not around my kids. It’s different.
I said goodbye and didn’t have to hold it together for my kids, so tears are falling… and I’m letting them. We’ve spent years here, made memories, had some really hard times and some really incredible ones.
I have had my biggest mental breakdown in this house, and I’ve also literally birthed one of my children here.
I’ve had my parenting choices questioned by people I thought I could trust… and I’ve had some of the most intimate connection and wonderful support, all within these moldy, damp, magnolia walls.
And now, we’re leaving.
Part of me says good riddance. There has been so much pain … the holes in the wall are only a snapshot of that.
Another part of me looks around and sees just how much strength has been created too.
And as tears roll, I pause my writing and tap … grateful, sad, loving, overwhelmed, it all exists in this moment.
Some people come into our lives by absolute accident, and end up having the most profound impact.
There are no reasons to connect, and yet we do.
The universe deciding that we need to share and shed light with different people.
Each one of the friends I am saying goodbye to this week has been a light, not all at the same time, not all in the same way… but all there. Sharing their brightness; creating ripples that impact me and those I will meet on our new adventures.
I told this particular friend I’ve been writing… and that today, day 39 means I’m nearly done. Its been vulnerable to show up here. It’s been interesting. It’s been exciting and hard and some days I’ve wanted to give up. But now, with 1 day left, I’m not done… I need to find a new way to share and connect more regularly. I’m ready to shed a little and step into something new.
Shedding layers.
Saying goodbyes.
Starting new.
This year I didn’t make resolutions … and I didn’t choose words (not alone at least). I set intentions for the year that were bigger than that.
To deepen friendships and build new relationships.
To call in a year of intense beauty, filled with ease, joy, prosperity, love and creation.
I am living this intentions right now. They are here… in the friendships… in the beauty… in the love.
My kids probably think I get a cheat sheet because with a phone we can still stay in contact with many friends. I understand.
They didn’t choose this.
They’re saying goodbyes too.
And I’m once again grateful for the blessing and curse that technology is.
Right now, I am focusing on some more current intentions; calling in seamless transitions… and fully aware that as I set them, I am also able to celebrate how we are living in a space that intentions are always coming into reality. It’s epic.
Some days are beautiful and easy more than they are hard.
Other days, I want to disappear, crawl back into bed and hide.
Both are a real and true part of parenting… and of course, there are many many days where we have moments of in between.
That is why I call parenting a rollercoaster; because we really are constantly going on an up, down, twist and curve, with occasional loop-the-loops.
It’s not just parenting, but life. Parenting amplifies it, because not only am I responsible for my own nervous system, I’m also holding space and sharing my nervous system with the tiny people around me. It’s a blessing… and a curse.
Today has been one of those loop-the-loop days here; ironic given that yesterday I reflected on how my capacity has changed to hold more… today I shrunk right back down and struggled!
It has been the perfect example to get me thinking about how unfairly we treat young people, asking them to make big life choices at exactly the same time, pushing them to tick boxes, and squeezing their capacity, so that everything is “standardised” when in reality, we are real, whole human beings with multitudes of experiences every single day.
The other day, I was fun, connected, playful. If you had seen me today, flustered, grouchy, and fighting with my 6yo because he wouldn’t take personal responsibility (oh I know!)… you’d have thought I was absolutely insane. And aren’t we all a little?
Both are aspects of parenting.
Neither make me a better or worse mum. Just human. Trying to love and hold and honour these experiences of raising humans. I don’t doubt I’ve got many things wrong… and I also know I get lots of things right. Whether or not there’s a balance, only time will tell.
Supporting you from pregnancy to parenting 