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Saying thank you, to a year of growth – intentions for 2023

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

2022 was a year of unfinished projects for me.

Of ideas that have not quite been birthed.

Of self love that has been a rollercoaster, constantly moving yet up and down.

As we embark into this new calendar year, I am setting intentions, letting go and giving thanks; but also embracing the truth that while yes, the Gregorian calendar tells us it is a new year; the earth is still sleeping in the northern hemisphere. We are still deep in winter, engulfed in darkness late in the morning, and early in the evening – Mother Earth is not quite ready to celebrate a new year.

Speaking to friends who’ve felt this pull inward; I actually said today, maybe it’s because we have children; so our inner compass, is reminding us that our energy is best conserved for a while longer. Reading tonight with my eldest, I thought about this some more – he, for the past 3 years now, has come alive after bedtime during the winter months, eager to learn, read, create, chat, and just be with me or his dad. I used to think that it was because he wanted to spend the time with us that he couldn’t get in the day with his younger siblings; and partly I still think this factors in, but more than, I think it’s because his body knows that there is reason to rest in the morning, to sleep in and cocoon himself in the warmth of audiobooks and blankets; but that in the evening, when ancestrally maybe there’d have been a fire lit for warmth, and stories shared in community, he is yearning for that; and he won’t sleep. It feels like his soul is waiting for that sense of hygge and sangha, and he’s exploring ways to find it at home.

I made a To-Do list, of things to do before the end of the calendar year… and I did 1 out of the 8 of them. But, my words for this year include intention and purpose – what use is it, to do things because we ‘have to’ with no joy or love in the action? I wrote a list, and between parenting and listening to my inner voice, I realised I am still wintering. Honouring my body’s cycle which I am only starting to learn after years of not menstruating; and honouring the earths cycle – because the ground beneath us, when we let ourselves be held by her; is such a guiding force.

I am choosing to let go of some anger, and angst that isn’t mine to hold.

I am choosing to let go of beliefs that surround me not feeling enough.

I am choosing to let go of the pull to control things far beyond my own thoughts and body.

And

I am thanking those parts of me that I let go; because they have journeyed here with me; and got me to this time in my life.

I am thanking the year 2022; which I started feeling weak and unable to listen to my voice; because she was being drowned out by all the pressure, to-do lists and mental load of motherhood. I am thanking the journey of love, compassion, discovery and dance I have had – with ups and downs and twirls around.

And I am thanking my life forces – my children who remind me every day of the lessons that life offers.

This year; in time with the rhythm of my body, and the rhythm of the earth, I have hopes and dreams and goals for this space – but for now; my intention is to honour myself.

To fill my cup.

To rest.

To celebrate my family; my husband, myself.

I invite you to do the same; celebrate yourself – because if you don’t, who will ? You are an amazing human after all!

Xoxo

Rohana

Confessions, compassion and Continued growth… the difference of a year.

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

*Trigger warning*
This post contains mental health struggles; anxiety, overwhelm, post-natal depression and a feeling of wanting to die. If these are struggles you are going through; please reach out to support systems – if you have none; please reach out to me. Nobody should struggle alone.

Trigger warning done; I’ll be honest – this is a very hard piece of writing to begin – and I am choosing to share this, vulnerably, because I know that I would have benefited from reading someone else’s story last year.

It’s December; the joy and festivity is pushed and though yes, there are more conversations about how this month is a particularly difficult one for lots of people, most of it gets drowned out by capitalism, consumerism, competition and comparison – 4 C’s for a very rough month.

Confessions

This time last year; I was in the middle of a postpartum breakdown.

I haven’t ignored it this year; but for the most part, I’ve moved forward. Now; it’s coming up to the anniversary of the exact moment of my rock bottom crisis and I am being guided inward. I’m feeling a pull to reflect, to mourn, to accept, and to celebrate.

Last year, I was less than 6 months postpartum, navigating 3 kids, military spouse life, homeschooling and a whole host of mum guilt; not to mention the whole continued saga and fallout of the c0v*d19 lockdowns. I was overwhelmed. Sleep deprived. Emotionally exhausted. Touched out. Annnnd whatever else you could throw in the mix that comes with new parenting; plus navigating siblings – essentially; I needed help.

Unfortunately; I also am the kind of person who felt like asking for help was weak.

Added to that, the healthy and regular doses of comments (from professionals, strangers, acquaintances and even friends) that I should have expected it, that I had chosen 3 so close together, that I was exaggerating, that I should be more grateful, and that I looked like I had my hands full – I wasn’t too keen on asking for help; for fear I wouldn’t get it; and for fear of judgement.

Looking back, I see how vulnerable I was.

And how vulnerable, by default, my kids were.

I reached out for help – I reached out to professions and was told I needed to toughen up (or go onto antidepressants – which I personally did not want to do). I reached out to friends – it helped, but far away and in different situations, I felt a burden (which I understand now, was contributing to my overwhelm, and was/is related to trauma). I reached out – in the ways I could – and overwhelmingly the message was – “you’re struggling, but not enough”.

Not enough.

Not enough became engrained into how I felt.

I felt not enough.

I felt like I was failing.

I felt like I couldn’t cope.

And one day, after a particularly overwhelming moment with the kids, emotions running high, and extra sleep deprivation thrown into the pot, I snapped.

I remember standing in the hallway, next to the jackets and heater and the kitchen floor being cold as I moved away from it; hyperventilating and crying. H came downstairs after making sure the kids were okay with whatever they were playing or doing; and he tried to hug me; but I just couldn’t catch my breathe. And in between gasps I said to him; “I feel like I am dying – I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Not struggling enough…

The truth is, we can’t see how much someone is struggling. If they’re asking for help, it’s because they need it.

This rock bottom; for me was a wake up call. H and I discussed getting help, and I did the only thing I felt I had access to – signed up for online therapy – starting that week; a few days after Christmas.

Truthfully; I didn’t want to admit to anyone just how hard it felt.

I also didn’t want to be told again that I didn’t seem to be struggling – because I was still grateful. I was still doing activities with the kids and going for walks etc; I was masking and coping. And I was burning out trying to hide.

Therapy helped. I felt validated. I got curious.

Then, after a while, I stopped; and I began to help myself. I began to disassociate with that anxiety and that overwhelm. I began to create spaces for myself; and I began to ask for what I needed again. Therapy was like the band aid, I needed it to start; but the deep, intentional, ritualistic healing I wanted and needed; began when I accepted that nobody would do it for me; that, just like in birthing my babies; I was the one who could and would do it. And not that I was alone, but I did, and I do, have the power to do it.

Compassion

My word for 2022, I decided after my breakdown, was compassion. I knew I’d need a lot of it. For myself, and for my children – and it was the right choice.

Through compassion; therapy, books, journaling, yoga, breath work, walking, gratitude practices and creating everything from cards and canvas’s to kids books and t-shirts; I’ve moved from a space of wanting to die; feeling like I was dying, to a space of absolute joy – even surrounding the hardest moments; I can look at my life and know that I want it. I choose it. I am creating it.

Compassion, Creativity and Celebration have been the 3 C’s that have helped me navigate this rollercoaster year. Calm would be the 4th C, if I need to throw one in.

Returning to calm; being curiously compassionate, creating with my children and alone, and celebrating myself – I can sit here, write, listening to the rain and know, that without a doubt; I’ve moved mountains this year. I have grown, stretched, adjusted, aligned – and I am a better human for it.

I am good enough.

As a mum

As a friend

As a family memeber

As a human

I am good enough.

Continued Growth

The work is by no means done.

In fact, in some ways, it’s only beginning.

As I look to the darkest parts of myself, and I begin to really deepen my relationship with her, I am met again and again with this enoughness. I am reminded that when I felt like I couldn’t open up anymore; when I felt like I just couldn’t keep going in the birthing of my children; that was when I was most vulnerable, and most able to step into my power.

I am reminded that when I felt like I was going to have to have this baby cut out of me because how could I keep pushing – minutes later, he was in arms.

I am reminded that when I felt like I couldn’t carry on; I closed my eyes, and felt my daughter move; and seconds later, I was lifting her out the water onto my chest.

I am reminded that when I felt like I was being split in half, I moved my body, and screamed a primal, powerful sound to bring my youngest baby earthside.

I was supported in each of these moments. I was held. I was safe. But nobody could do it for me.

Last year, when I felt like I wanted to die; that primal, powerful part of me lifted her head in defiance. She knew. I’m learning. Nobody is going to live the life I want – except me.

I am enough.

I am more than enough.

I am a warrior goddess – and from the darkest moments of my motherhood; I have stepped into the lightest.

My word for 2022 was compassion.

For 2023 I am choosing more than 1. The words we surround ourselves with, after all, are ones we begin to embody.

My words for 2023 are: Joy, Intention, Power and Abundance.

If you haven’t got a word/words for next year, I invite you to set them.

If you’ve read these words today; I appreciate your time.

With love

Xox

R

* Featured Image for the post was taken by Gaby Sweet Photography, based in Devon; whom I highly recommend. She’s a beautiful human and has a gift for capturing moments of magic.

Did I Screw up?

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

Chatting about the past few years, experiences, opportunities, covid and all the craziness that brought, I text my partner, “I wonder how much I’ve screwed up?”

“You haven’t screwed up darling” he responded in a heartbeat. Always there, encouraging me… even when we have no idea what to do next. I am grateful.

I haven’t responded yet, I decided to write this instead!

Truthfully, I have screwed up. We all do at times. In my journey as a mum, I’ve screwed up on many occasions – but what I’ve learned is, that the rupture isn’t as important as the repair.

I sat on my bed earlier this summer, and I cried. My daughter – at 2 years old – asked me what was wrong, and I told her that I was sad and angry and that I had some big feelings … or something like that; I was upset because I felt overwhelmed at something. Her response will stick with me always:

She cupped my face in her hands and said, “It’s okay mama, I have big feelings too sometimes, but you help me with them. You’ll be happy later”

She just got it. It didn’t matter why I was upset, or who was to blame. It didn’t matter what was screwed up. It didn’t matter if the dishes didn’t get done or the clothes stayed out. It didn’t matter.

What mattered was the cuddle. The laugh. The cry and the release. The repair.

A few weeks ago I decided to release a course online. On motherhood, on guilt, on navigating the not-enoughness we feel. On reframing the narrative and celebrating ourselves.

Yet here I am, sharing vulnerably, that I still feel not enough. I need my support systems; I have built a framework, for myself, that brings me back to a mindspace of celebration, gratitude and joy. I’ve learned this year, more than ever, that no-matter what I feel like I screwed up – there is always joy to be found.

It is not the screwing up that matters; it is how we choose to repair it.

Tonight, my worries and thoughts have come from past events; so repair isn’t as easy as saying sorry and moving forward. It requires intention; planning, and attention to my children’s needs now.

Repair is powerful; saying sorry has been one of the biggest tools in my toolbox. Repair also requires forgiveness; of myself. Self compassion, knowing I absolutely did the best I could, with what I had, at the time, and a big hug! Havening myself tonight has been a source of comfort for sure.

We all screw up. I did. I have. I will.

I feel it more right now I think, as I look towards sharing my toolbox with others, even though I am still in the messy middle of feeling my big feelings too.

But no-matter what, I know I can look at my babies, as they sleep, and feel deeply, that we are all doing the best we can, whatever that means for us right now. And that, in my experience, makes all the difference.

Xoxo

Rohana

Love Buttons and Goodbye Hugs

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

Last week the kids said goodbye to their dad again… a relatively regular occurrence for our family, like any military family will know. For us though it doesn’t usually involve a plane, and for the first time since Theodore’s birth, it was him saying goodbye to return to the UK, while I stayed in Gibraltar with our children.

They know that he works long hours, nights away, weeks away, and part of his job (although it hasn’t affected us in recent years – for which I am grateful) is going away for months at a time. It’s part of life with him being a submariner. A life without daddy is unimaginable; but a life where he isn’t around all the time, its the norm.

We’ve stayed in Gibraltar, after being here since the early autumn, actively making more moves towards changing the direction of our life, away from a life we had planned in the UK. It’s a tumultuous turn of events; one even 6 months ago I had never imagined would be our reality, and yet, in my bones I know that this is our destiny. To change. To shift. To grow something more than what our current life offers.

So last week we said goodbye, and we did something new; a little ritual that provided a wholesome, connected farewell, and has been a source of comfort throughout our week.

We gave the kids, love buttons.

Yep, they are as cute as they sound, and totally harmless.

Drawing a heart on each of their hands, one colour for mummy, one colour for daddy; the kids have had a slowly fading inked heart of their hands, which they’ve been able to look at and press, and feel a sense of connection, of love, of wantedness with their dad.

Of course they know they are loved. Every voice message, video call, and hug tells them that.

And yet, there is something powerful in the symbolism of a drawn signature; theirs and theirs alone… to share and compare between brothers and sister, and to remind each other, that they are all loved. They can see it. They can feel it. They, in their childhood wisdom, are able to live in it.

Being away from a parent, regardless of how adaptable a child is, is tough. We ask for a lot of their courage, understanding, acceptance; and often, though the narrative is changing, don’t really sit and think about life from their point of view.

For example; to my kids right now, I’d imagine a collective narrative like this one:

Mummy has moved us all (except daddy) away from our home, into someone else’s (albeit a trusted and loved grandparents home), away from friends, away from toys and parks and spaces we know.
We’ve played and done things, and miss home.
We miss dad.
We miss our toys and television, and our special pillows.
We miss our stained red sofa and the stairs we play slide on.
We also like the parks here, and some of the people we’ve met.
We like having grandparents around, but we also miss our dad.
We see other dads, and wonder why ours can’t be here.
We wonder why money and jobs and houses are so important to the grown ups.
We feel happy and sad and a mix of other things we aren’t sure we have names for… but every day we play and try our best, and we’re with mummy, so we’ll be okay.

Looking at life from their view helps realign my own. It’s how and why I chose to create these love buttons; because simply saying I love you, didn’t feel like enough.

Building Emotional Literacy with toddlers

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

Meltdowns

Big feelings

Shouting

Hitting

Kicks

Even the odd bite or many!

This is all age appropriate behaviour for young children, usually at varying points and definitely not a one-size fits all kind of thing. Each child will express their emotions differently, and if they’re even the slightest bit like mine, they’ll make sure you know about it!

What makes us so uncomfortable about our children’s emotions? Is it really that we can’t stand them being angry or sad or overwhelmed? Or is it more about our own capacity to hold the space for them.

To quote Hermione Granger, sometimes we as parents have the emotional capacity of a “teaspoon” – usually because we’re burnt out, and we haven’t got a clue how to handle our own feelings, let alone those of our growing child.

So building emotional literacy becomes almost another thing that we should do, but feel we’re not able to. It’s hard, just like most things in parenting… and it’s also not impossible to start small, and build our own with them. That’s what I’ve done slowly, and though it has taken self reflection, journaling, tears and various moments of me questioning my own sanity, I have seen it pay of so beautifully with my own children. Theo, now almost 5 has an incredible ability to tell us about how his ‘bucket’ is feeling, and where the feelings lie, and recently the steps needed to help him feel better – usually involving a drink, hug and time by himself.

This did not happen overnight! It’s taken the literal years of his life for us to learn what helps, and what we need to keep in mind when any of the children are mid-meltdown. I’ve learned is that some things work better than others, and I’m going to share a few things that have worked for us, and a few that still prove to be opportunities for my own growth, alongside the kids.

Name it, Don’t shame it

Name the emotions – yes we’ve likely all heard that this is important. Why? Because a child’s brain and body doesn’t always have the descriptive language necessary to articulate what they are feeling. They don’t know that anger is linked to their tummy discomfort – like a volcano about to erupt. Or that the tight chest they feel and shortness of breath is them worrying, being anxious, nervous or uncertain. They might just feel suffocated, and lash out to make the feelings go away … often to be met with an onslaught of new feelings as the grown up around them tells them off, or another child reacts to their lashing.

Either way, without language, kids can’t cope with their feelings, and when they get told off, shame at their inability to control or understand what’s happening creeps in.

This can look like a suggestion – I see you’re growling at mummy, this makes me think that you may be feeling frustrated. Are you? OR are you feeling upset because I’ve said it’s time to come inside now?
But it can also look like curiosity – You’re growling at me, I wonder what you’re trying to tell me with that. OR when I said that it’s time to come inside, you tried to show me how you feel with a growl, I’m curious to see if we can come up with a word for that feeling.

go a step further

Building emotional literacy also means going a step further. Once you and you child are comfortable naming emotions, then you can chat about where they feel in their body.

We like to make a game of it, not always, but it definitely helps diffuse tensions – for example: “You’re feeling angry right now, is the anger in your knee? Your elbow? Oh no, I forgot, sometimes angry feelings get stuck in our toes – let’s see if we can tiptoe them out

By allowing them to figure out where it feels, and then find a way to release some of the tension around it, we are helping children learn that they have nothing to fear even when they have big feelings in their body. Eventually, they’ll learn how to regulate themselves, at least some of the time. You’re sewing the seeds for emotionally healthy adults, with a much larger capacity to handle their feelings without going into a fight, flight, freeze or fawn response. So this really is a long game – getting it right every time isn’t the goal, modelling and trying again is!

Hold SPace

Allowing feelings has been a big step for me. I read and read and read some more about how important it is to allow kids to have all their feelings in a safe space, without feeling judged. It means they know feelings are normal and that everyone has them, and that makes for healthy adults who don’t hold back feelings or end up in spirals of depression and guilt because expressing feelings is seen as ‘wrong’.

“But feelings can’t be ignored, no matter how unjust or ungrateful they seem.”

– Anne Frank.

And yet, when the feelings seem ungrateful, or extra noisy, or just plain overwhelming. When they are loud or in public or I just don’t really have the time. When the feelings of my children come and I am feeling frazzled or guilty or my own needs haven’t been met, it doesn’t matter how much I know that allowing feelings is important, I just want them to shut-up and change the subject because I am so triggered by it too.

This is the hardest part of holding space. Holding it even when we don’t have anyone holding for us. It’s not their fault they haven’t figured it out yet, it’s our job to guide them… and so regulating even when we don’t feel regulated is the ultimate goal. Allowing them to feel, while maintaining boundaries so they are feeling the feelings without being hurtful – it takes so much practice. Compassion for when we don’t manage it too, because we’re human.

Recently I had a meltdown over one of Ila-Rae’s big feeling moments, being triggered because she was loud, it was late, the baby was tired, I was tired, she was tired, and it was generally just a crappy time for her to be screaming about whatever it was she was upset about. I told her to ‘shut-up’ … and immediately regretted it. Theo actually pulled me up on it and said I shouldn’t use that word, and in the end, I apologised and we had a cuddle; I empathized that she was just frustrated and sad at the situation, and we moved on. In parenting circles, we call this rupture and repair. It has been revolutionary in my own parenting experiences to view things in this cycle.

Apologise

Rupture – repair.

We have a rupture, we shout, we tell our child off, we say something we wish we could take back, and then, what do we do next?

We take a deep breath, some space if needed, and get down on their level, and sincerely tell them we are sorry. We tell them that we are human too, and that we make mistakes, and that no-matter what happens ever, no-matter how angry we may get, we will never stop loving them. We tell them they are incredible, and that they are still learning and we are here to help them.

We repair.

And then we move forward… because sometimes we get it wrong too, and in the big picture, normalising apologising to our children means they will become adults who are not afraid to own their mistakes, apologise and move forward. It’s probably one of the most important things we do in our house, and it does make a huge difference.

Model adult regulation

Ooh this last one is so hard sometimes. Especially when we have triggers from our own childhood that we haven’t really processed yet. Modelling regulation is hard but with practice it does get easier. Plus, there’s a lot of stuff we can do to prepare, or purposely model positive scenarios when we do feel regulated, which mean when react before thinking, and yell or get angry, say things we don’t mean to (my go to is usually along the lines of “for f***s sake, again!”).

The good news is, modelling happens all the time whether or not we plan for it. So when we treat people like our parents, partners and children with respect and kindness, they pick it up. When we talk to kids like we would our best friend, then they learn they are valued as people to us, and they begin to do the same.

There is nothing sweeter that a 2 or 3 year old complimenting you as an adult with all the sincerity in the world, because they think that’s just what everyone does. Or hearing their beautiful little voices tell you about the day or view because you’ve done it for their whole life, and they want to share the joy. All these amazing moments you have, they are because of you, your modelling, your hard work… you are always doing it. Building emotional literacy into this is a step further yes, but it becomes part of life too… and when we model all of the above, we name, we allow and accept, even embrace, we hold the space and apologise for ruptures when we can, we can build some incredible skill for our children, and hopefully, in the long game we will see them be much more emotionally capable and healthy humans.

Kids will be kids

They will bite, kick, hit and scream… because they need to communicate and these are tools of communication.

Our job is not to stop these behaviours because they are ‘wrong’ but rather, to guide them to a new toolkit, with communication skills that mean they can tell us what they need without hurting anyone, including themselves.

Changing my mindset in these ways has helped me immensely, I hope that this may help you too!

We Can’t do it all, Even if we want to.

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

“Wow, I don’t know how you do it!”

“You’re a superhuman!”

“You’re always so busy!”

Sound familiar? If so, I’m going to bet you are a parent; more specifically, a mother, probably of relatively young children. Yeah, me too.

The truth is, it’s easier to congratulate us than to help. Not in a selfish way, most people are all dealing with their own version of villageless life, complete with the stressors of work, family, friends and trying to keep up with everything in between. We are all just figuring it out in our own way. Which leaves parents, and often-time it’s mothers here, trying to juggle all the balls without dropping them, and when we do, the mum guilt hits hard!

In reality, we know that we can’t do it all, but we are so conditioned by society to try, and to push ourselves, that we take on the housework, childcare, cooking, family administration, educational responsibilities, and either paid employment or some kind of side hustle – because society doesn’t view our worth in love and care, but in ‘stuff’ and we buy into it. Until we can’t anymore.

This past year, I’ve learned again and again that every time I try and take on something extra, even things I used to do, my mental and physical health has taken a real hit. Though society tells us that we are superhumans, we are not. We are just trying not to let anyone down… and as a result, we let our own needs fall to the wayside.

I had a moment like this at the start of 2022… I started therapy, I took some time, and did all the ‘self care’ things to tick those boxes. It was great, for about 3 weeks, and then I began to feel old habits creep… until I learned about this: the mothering triad.

I made a quick graphic below.

As a stay home mum, my 3 daily pulls are housework, cooking, and time with my children (plus some home ed thrown in there with Theo!). Learning about this triad, and choosing 2 priorities makes the hardest days manageable.

  • If I spend hours cooking, prepping and cleaning the house, I’m 100% guaranteed to have not spent time with the kids, and usually they’ll be grumpy or fighting as a result of it. But sometimes, shits gotta get done!
  • Equally, if I spend loads of time playing with them, and we attempt to bake or they help with dinner, the house is absolutely going to be a mess. But the kids will be happy (hopefully!) and I’ll probably have filled my own cup with some baking.
  • Same goes for cleaning and time with the kids. Theo LOVES – yes I mean loves! – to clean the toilet with me. So some days, they get a cleaning cloth and a spray bottle of water, or a sponge and the plastic dishes, and we clean, and play and clean some more. But as a result, I’ll likely chuck something easy from the freezer into the oven (or get a treat take-away), and they’ll be happy with that… so why shouldn’t I?

There is often so much guilt about these standards we set for ourselves and then don’t meet, but for me, this has been liberating. I have it scribbled into my diary, and I’ll remind myself that I can only meet family needs so long I’m not burnt out, so on a good day, I’ll pick 2… on a bad day, I’ll stick to the 1, and try again tomorrow.

It’s not perfect. I’m not perfect, but something is better than nothing, and this helps me take the pressure off.

I’m not superhuman… and I absolutely don’t do it all. I try and fail, and that’s just part of mothering. I am however busy, but not because I have to be anymore; because we choose to be busy some days, and live slowly on others; and right now, that’s enough.

Have you heard of a mothering triad? What do you think?

November Musings

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”

Mary Oliver

I began to write a post on the bus the other day. I began one in my head as we walked. I began to think again while at the park watching Ila-Rae on the swings. Truthfully, my musing this month is that although my heart and soul want to be creating, writing, expressing; my body and mind are busy and exhausted. That’s okay.

I am only just out of the 4th Trimester with Ezra, and still very much finding my feet as a new mum again. Theo is thriving in his own way, and also challenging in others; Ila-Rae is the same. Both of them remind me daily that there is absolutely no point in trying to control the way they want to live their lives, because the only things I can control are my own reactions (or responses as I’m trying to reframe them), and the environment I create – to an extent anyway.

There is a part of me drawn to minimalism and so when things get too chaotic, I end up having a big clean out and resort – today was that day. Unsurprisingly therefore, I have finally made some time to write, because my brain and body are that little bit calmer within our environment. Yes the playroom is still messy, and yes there are pens ALL over the kids bedroom floor, and yes, Ila-Rae went to bed with felt-tip marking over pretty much her entire body; BUT they had real dinner, we played and had some wonderful connection, the bedsheet is clean AND we even managed to hoover up most of the rice and chickpeas from the sensory tray spillover. I’ll take this as a win!

Autumn has pretty much gone now I feel. Though we have had some sunny days, the nights draw in fast and the cold is beginning to make it self felt. This year though, Theo’s old enough to talk to about extra layers, turning lights off, saving energy when it’s possible – and as a result, he’s being conscious about it, which is both the reason and motivator for H and I to model using our resources responsibly. We’ve had some wonderful conversations regarding sustainability, and he’s actually even more excited to take the bus when we go out now, regularly checking that the fuel/energy being used by our family is not ‘too much’. It makes me sad to think at 4 he will already have a sense of climate anxiety; but I am also determined to make positive changes with him (and Ila-Rae and Ezra as they grow of course). The next big thing I need to organize with him is a neighborhood little pick – which sounds simple and cheery but with 3 babies under 5, it’s something I am yet to manage as whenever we do go out and pick up the few loose bits here and there, I always make the mental note to pack some little bags… and then forget.

Homeschooling

As Theo officially reached school eligibility age this year, I had panicked a little about the face we are home educating. I wholehearted believe it is the right choice for our family right now… but I am also someone who feels nervous about doing things ‘wrong’ and home-ed is very far from considered the ‘right thing’ from conversations with family and friends. Slowly though, I feel like it is being more accepted – or maybe I’m just getting better at navigating the harder conversations.

We bought Kindergarten Math with Confidence and I was so excited to start in September … but Theo wasn’t bothered and so I didn’t push. Instead we played and got used to life with Ezra around. Numbers though were still featuring heavily in his interests so we have watched a lot of Numberblocks on CBeebies and I ignored pretty much every part of me that wanted to quiz him. Until the last 2 weeks where he’s been playing with numbers, adding and subtracting and asking us to join in and throw questions at him. The joy he shows when he knows the answer is palpable; and the curiosity when he needs to try and figure it out is incredible. Had I pushed, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. So I’ve been looking at the curriculum this week to find ideas for ways to bring in the challenges he is showing signs of wanting… and for now, we’ll go from there.

He has almost no interest in letters and says he has no need to read because he can read with an adult; while Ila-Rae will draw shapes and tell me they are letters… so already I see their needs are so different, even though she isn’t yet 2 (almost though!). He loves his construction play and so I am debating getting a Teifoc building set for him, but the cost is holding me back. I’m sure it’ll be worth it, but maybe one for the future – right now he is content with our Grimms Pyramid styled blocks that a friend made for us.

Lastly in terms of home ed, I’ll add that though we aren’t doing anything formal, I am going back to keeping records because of the court case in Portsmouth ruling in favour of the Learning Authority (LA), because it falls into the growing sense of worry that more requirements and restrictions are going to be placed on families who are choosing this path. I have an Instagram account that focuses more on sharing what we’ve been doing and I am also using pen and paper to journal important observations… alongside photographs because I always enjoy capturing their moments, but that is partly because of my own interest in photography. For now, our life won’t change really, but I am conscious that I don’t want to do things ‘wrong’ and end up with problems with our own LA here in Plymouth, or any other in the future.

Photography

Here are a few choice images from the last few months. My hope is that if I manage to make this writing a monthly occurence, I will be able to share between 2 and 5 favourites from the month past, and hone my own skills while I do so.


Inspiration

Currently I’ve got a few things that are keeping me going. Inspiration is one of those things that, in my opinion, is very personal, because we each have a different need that should be met in order for inspiration to feel authentic.

I subscribe to Julie Bogart’s newsletter and, although I don’t read every single one that pops into my inbox, a while ago she sent one that really resonated. She spoke about parents finding hobbies, to stop stressing over our children’s learning and instead, learn something new ourselves. To demonstrate a love of learning and a passion for a project or activity or anything really, because when our children see it, we are modeling a healthy relationship with learning. It really struck a cord with me, and so I’m keeping it at the forefront of projects or ideas I have. Maybe it’ll work for you too.

I’ve also been listening to Life Without School podcast, as a little reminder and breather during the week. The episodes are short enough and beautifully thought out. I love the honestly behind conversations and although my children are younger, I find a lot relatable.

Lastly, I’ve put reminders on my phone to smile more! It’s a small thing, but the reminder every couple of hours pops up and it is a way for me to check in with what my body feels too. The idea is that by reminding myself to smile, I am rewiring my brain in positivity – I don’t always want to smile, but the reminder is soft, and a happy word, so I soften my jaw a little, breathe and if I want to, smile. Rather than a reminder to meditate or do some ‘self care’ which ends up feeling like another job on the list, this is gentle and effective for me right now.

I invite you to try it… smile. Just for a second. Then for a bit longer. Deep breath through the nose if you can first, and then soft your jaw, cheekbones, eyebrows… and smile. 💕 How does that feel?

I’ll tentatively promise another update next month. With lots of things in my head, I hope to share a few projects then too.

Until next time, with love

Rohana x

Diwali

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

As far as our family goes, we don’t really celebrate very much from my own upbringing. To be honest, though my mum is Indian, my dad is English, so growing up, we had a mix of culture, but also didn’t really do much for either I guess.

Diwali though, we always celebrated.

It was a part of our rhythm; and sure enough, the diwali playlists create a sense of home and comfort for me. A physical sense of being back in the familiar, even though I have actually been trying to navigate this familiar with a totally new set of people. My 3 children have very little knowledge of my Indian heritage – and I am definitely feeling some guilt around that. Recently I’ve been talking more and want to change this … because I want them to know their history – which means I need to as well.

But also, let’s be a little realistic here… because I’m often finding that I get caught up in my brain and need to ground back down to remind myself that sometimes things need to be slower.

My kids are 4, almost 2, and 3 months … they have an immense capacity to learn AND also, they don’t care. They’ve got no idea.. and so reading a bunch or talking isn’t actually going to have an impact. Ground down. What do they need? How can I tell them a little this year, so next year we can build on it?

YouTube.

I honestly wouldn’t be without it. YouTube a 4 minute clip about Diwali… make some rangoli powder from rice… craft a little… and light a lot of candles. It’s small. It’s nothing to write home about right? Wrong. It’s enough. I tell myself. I believe it. Small actions, done with love, repeated every year… they create the rhythm. That rhythm is a sense of home.

Today we’ve talked a little … lit the candles, done a pooja, played a lot, and in between the running of daily life for us, we’ve celebrated the lights and joy that comes on Diwlai.

It’s not been a perfect day. The house isn’t clean and I’ve barely cooked thanks to leftovers 🥰. It’s okay. It’s still wonderful and it’s still filled with life and light. It may not have been as well prepared as I’d like, but in years to come, maybe it will be.

Theo asked why we do this. And aside from the stories of Diwali… I told him that the reason why we do this; for us in our family, is to celebrate that we come from a mix of people from different parts of the world, and not to forget that there are different traditions in different places. That we may be different but that all have a light – and that light is powerful; just like the candle that brightens a dark room. We played a little with this, and enjoyed the shadows.

We spoke about the pooja, the milk, water, rice and petals. We also gave thanks to the earth and world we live in ( a nightly ritual now) and before bed, I saw him holding our Arti dish by the door and circling it just as we had done together for the pooja.

I guess for 2021, with 3 kids under 5 and a day on my own, I am proud. I am grateful. I am blessed.

Happy Diwali 🥰

The Birth of Ezra Krishna

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

I’ve avoided writing about ezras birth story. I keep saying I will but I’ve procrastinated constantly… and I know why.

It was hard.
Beautiful, but hard.

** All images included in this post are taken by Gaby Sweet, our incredible photographer **

In many ways I think I’ll view it as the hardest birth of all of my children, and the most empowering experience by the end. I’ll endeavour to make this is chronologically as possible, but the reality is that birth isn’t. One thing happens after another but when we look back  there are moments that stick with us – moments so intense that we are fully transported back. I know with each of my births those moments have been intensely different.

These are late in the third trimester, taken by Gaby on film, at our 2nd pre-birth meeting.


Ezra Krishna was born almost 2 weeks over the NHS due date we’d been given, and I was exhausted. By 35 weeks I had already starting counting down the days and weeks, never thinking I’d be pregnant for another 7 weeks from then. I was convinced baby would arrive by 38 weeks, and I was ready – or I thought I was.

But 38 weeks came and went. Then 39, then 40 and midwives started suggesting interventions. In the weeks leading to our due date, I’d had several periods where I thought labour was starting, only for things to frustratingly taper off again. At one point I was so sure I called Harrison home from work, only to find that the labour signs stopped with the kids bedtime. Exasperating! I learned a lot of patience through my impatience, and had to do a lot of letting go.

I was offered a membrane sweep, which I had made clear I would not be having early on. I was told at 41 weeks I would be booked in for an induction in 5 days; again I declined. I said I would go in for monitoring instead.

41+5 arrived and I lost a fair amount of my mucus plug, with the blood on my underwear to prove it. I called to inform the hospital I would not be attending my appointment for monitoring as I was in early labour. The response was shocking – passed around to various phones, I was finally told that I wasn’t on the system.
This annoyed me, as if I had gone to the hospital I would have been alone, leaving my 2 kids upset with my husband …  but I said okay, and goodbye. I was prepared and excited to relax and look forward to meeting my baby.


Just a few hours later, things felt slow but similar to Ila-Rae’s labour, when I got a callback from the maternity service. They wanted to know why I had missed my scheduled induction (the one I’d refused and said not to book as I’d be waiting for spontaneous labour!) and told me I was required to come in for monitoring. I said I would go in tomorrow for monitoring ONLY but I was not leaving the house that day – and so the Midwife began to rattle off the dangers of having an overdue baby, telling me “it would be a shame if something were to happen, or if baby was stillborn”  because I had refused induction. I was talked to like I knew nothing, and told there was medical necessity for me to attend that day. I declined, telling the Midwife I knew my rights as a birthing person and that I knew my body and baby – I would not be leaving my house. The firm message for me was “the first intervention in labour begins when you leave the front door.” I knew I wanted a homebirth AND I knew I would transfer if needed – I wasn’t going to risk my health or baby’s… but I wasn’t going to be bullied either.

My oxytocin levels plummeted. The stop and start labour for weeks had been frustrating but this was 100× worse. I felt so angry. And sad. And annoyed by a system that believes so little in womens abity to birth their babies. I had no contractions for hours, and then when they came they were less intense… it was clear that our baby would not be arriving that day.

So I shared about it on social media carried on with the day, did bedtime and all that jazz. Once the kids were asleep, Harrison and I had an angry and enjoyable conversation about the social media responses I’d received, which let out a lot of tension I was holding. I am grateful to have a partner who gets angry with me, and who believes in me so much that he was perfectly fine going against the professionals.

After a while, decided to go to sleep. I knew this labour was the real deal, but like so many birth stories I’d read, I still didn’t feel safe enough so my body was holding on. I tried to create my oxytocin bubble again, using my affirmations, and visualising what I hoped for in this birth. I slept intermittently between 12 and 4, exhausted but unable to fully rest. I remember downloading a contraction timer app, but honestly gave up because it was more of a hassle. I knew this was labour, my back hurt in a way that it hadn’t in my previous labours, but the rawness was there. At 4am, I gave up, went to make a sandwich and started to watch the clock.

The surges got more regular. Every 5 minutes or so, raw but manageable. I text Gaby, and got busy getting into my zone. I was so excited. A day labour! I hoped we’d have some beautiful light and a day birth … by evening it was a point of joke that I’d even thought it would be possible.

The day was stop start… some moments extremely intense, some moments of laughter and relaxing. I was so frustrated at points because I felt like everything I thought I knew was going out the window. Ila was by my side, the whole day. Harrison made sure everyone was fed and had drinks, he kept checking on me, and was flitting between the kids and my needs.
Theo spent the whole day watching Maddie’s Do You Know… honestly that woman has saved so many moments for me, she deserves a written thank you! He binge watched telly and ate and played a little… got in the pool briefly and then back to telly and sleep. Completely different to how I’d imagined – we’d spent hours over the weeks leading up talking about birth and waves and crowning, but on the day, he knew he needed his space. In the end, I’m grateful for that.


The pool with Theo and Ila was not what I’d imagined. I thought it would be nice and calm and homely to have them with me… but they were so excited. Theo kept splashing, Ila was stuck to me. She knew something was happening but she didn’t understand. And as the back pain got worse but contractions didn’t seem to regulate, I started getting more and more frustrated. She picked up on it all.

Eventually I kicked both kids out the pool to watch a film. It was needed but then the guilt and sadness began to take over. The excitement was fading… and I was struggling.

Midwives weren’t much help. They came which was a surprise as we’d be told they might if they could be spared, but we were given no time frame. I asked for a VE which was agony – but I couldn’t carry on without knowing…. I don’t regret it. They said 4cm… except, it could also be 6… they couldn’t decide. So they stayed and observed me for an hour. Contractions were irregular, some almost unbearable, some much more manageable. Before leaving they checked my dilation again – this time talking between themselves about babies position (but not telling me at all!) and then telling me it could still be 4, but they could stretch me up to 7/8 (that was painful AF!).

It was around this time with the midwives I think that Harrison suggested the TENS machine… I had totally forgotten about it, but it was a welcome relief. I had only used the water until that point, and lots of movement breathing.

Then came the most intense part. This memory holds the most strength of labour still for me, and the vulnerability I felt brings me to tears. I remember lying on my bed. Curled up into my inner space; this was my time for rest… and I did. I slept in between contractions so intense I felt like I was being ripped apart. In the later moments as I lay down, turning my TENS machine up so high I felt the reminence of those shocks for days after – I text a friend telling her I felt like I was dying. In that moment, though I knew this was the intensity of labour, I truly felt like I couldn’t go on.


In between my sleep Harrison brought me toast. The kids fell asleep..  Ila lay next to me, wanting to know I was close. But then things got too much… Harrison took Ila, and just as he got her to sleep downstairs, I had an intense contraction. Instinctly I moved onto all fours. Something shifted.

Harrison downstairs.
I told Gaby – who had sat with me and gently assured me that I was okay, that I could do this, that I was doing this – that I was going to get back into the pool.

Tens machine off, I got into the pool and transition began. I was so deeply in the zone that although I registered Harrison telling me he thought we should call the midwives again, i couldn’t respond. He made the decision and got on the phone.

This is one of the few really intimate moments we had … because he was so busy making sure I had all I needed. He’s exhausted, I’m in the deep space of Birth…but when I look at this image, I see the trust and support. I see the love.


The next contraction came, and my body took over. I was pushing.

I could feel our babies head. I screamed. I roared. It was intense. 

"Sometimes we roar our babies out"

The midwives told Harrison to call paramedics instead, but I was pushing, the baby was coming and I would not have been able to wait even if I wanted.

I don’t know how long it took from then to holding him, but he arrived, roared out with such intensity that I woke Ila up.

Then he was here… Harrison told us baby boy. I just sat,  having caught him and pulled him up onto me, unwrapped his cord from his neck, I was still in awe. Somehow my body had known I needed the water… that I was ready, but I had doubted myself so much that the reality of holding my baby was still a shock.

My loudness had woken Ila up, so Harrison had brought her in, and she tried to get into the pool with me again. Instead, I got out.

Before I even sat, our placenta was out. Easy as anything, and intact. I put it into a bowl and curled onto the bed, with Ila there, munching a biscuit and our baby boy wrapped in a towel on top of me.

Ezra. He was here.

I drank some herbal tea to avoid major bleeding – given my history with Theo, this was a precaution and a mental safety net.

Harrison was still on the phone. The paramedics were on their way… but it would be hours yet.

Theo woke up, cried and came up the stairs. So soon he was cuddled in… completely indifferent to the newest addition in my arms. Harrison was already sorting out the pool… checking in on us while he worked. I had afterpains… and they were Intense! It’s true, they get worse with every child.

We moved the towels I’d been sat on, put some fresh ones down and began to just settle in, trying to latch Ezra but he wss mostly sleepy and content.

When the paramedics arrived, 2 hours after we had called, they were shocked at the fact midwives hadn’t even called to check in. I showered, and was still bleeding steadily so, against my deepest wish, but following advice, I decided to transfer in.

I am a person who deeply believes we can birth in the way we want. That we intuitively know if something is wrong and that I was in tune enough with body to trust it. I knew I hadn’t torn, and that my bleeding was normal. I also knew my previous bleeding with Theo’s birth was for concerning, and that this pregnancy I had not been given an iron transfusion. I knew I was fine… but I also knew I didn’t want the trauma for my children of rushing mummy into hospital hours later because of bleeding. So I transfered, to be safe.

I have to say though, the paramedics were very respectful about my hesitation. The male paramedic was concerned by blood loss, because he couldn’t gauge it from the pool (which was gone) and towels had soaked up so much water as well as blood. The female paramedic was trusting, she gave me the space and made sure I knew the power was in my hands. It was my scene, and they were there as an assist.

Gaby was still with us too, hours after the birth by this point, so she prepared to leave as I did. She was so incredibly calm and centred. She was exactly who I had needed with us, not just for me, but for our whole family. I told the kids they’d pick me up in the morning and kissed Harrison goodbye. It was bittersweet and part of me hated it. I wanted to be in our bed, snuggled up with my children. But there was no Midwife coming… and I knew this was to be part of our story, so *deep breath* off we went.

Story to be continued in the immediate postpartum writings … below are more images from our day 💕

These are some more of the parts of our story.

I know that for some people, birh photography is something they wouldn’t dream of… but others are curious. These images form part of our story – they capture both of my older children on the day their brother was born, they capture the support I had from my husband, they capture the depths of my commitment to birth my baby in a way I knew I wanted. It hard, but ultimately healing.

If you think you might want someone to capture your birth… ask around. It is absolutely something I don’t think anyone would ever regret…. because it isn’t just a photo, it’s a story of the journey.