Tag Archives: alternative parenting

Hard Seasons of Parenting

Ti’s the season… to be really honest about the phases of parenting that can look really dark and despairing sometimes, especially for neruospicy folk. It might be the new year and all that in the Gregorian calendar, but here in the northern hemisphere, the earth is still deep in her slumber, the days are dark, and as mammals, we should be curled up in the warmth in community, not isolated and out in the cold at all hours of the day.

The last few weeks of festivities and house move have been a real rollercoaster for me parenting wise, and now, I’m taking the time to record and reflect on them. I had been having a really tough time with K, with major meltdowns night terrors multiple time a week. Night terrors are especially scary because at least in my experience, my child isn’t really there at all, they look like themselves but actually have no resemblance to the sweet or fun personality of the kid I know. I’m grateful he’s my 3rd child, because I am aware this happened with both my older children and that this stage doesn’t last forever. That said, when you’re in it, in that moment, it feels like forever, especially when 20 minutes can cause so much damage. The screaming and rage is scary and hard, trying to keep them safe, from each other and themselves, trying to hold on to the knowledge that this is their primal brain, and that they are not consciously or willingly trying to hurt you … but then comes the after, and the pain I feel when the little sobs haven’t quietened yet and I’m stroking their face wondering what I can do to help. It is one of the hardest, darkest parts of parenting I have ever faced. It is one of the loneliest too, because who talks about how their kids tore the room apart or screamed that they wanted to destroy everything in the depths of feelings… nobody I know does.

I do sometimes to be fair, and when I have done so, the looks of horror or surprise, or then relief (depending on who I’m talking to) are always so visible. It’s hard though, and when people don’t understand, it’s easier to make small talk.

I’m really fucking bad at small talk though.

So I share … and recently I share more. The hardest bits, like when A told me she didn’t want to exist anymore because she was so sad in the middle of the night. Or when we played a game at the park, she didn’t fully understand it and thought she’d lost, and screamed and scratched for 45 minutes once we’d made it home, telling me we should have never started that game and she wanted to cut her jacket to pieces. I looked at her and saw that in this game and her reaction, she had created the perfect storm to play out her feelings of not getting what she wanted. She was bubbling over and trying to process her lack of control, and because children speak and heal through play, this was her doing the work of healing.

Thankfully, we have the resources to see that, to resource them, and to repair when ruptures are made. That night, as she sobbed in bed, and said she didn’t know why she’d found it so hard, I held her and said seriously “there is literally nothing you could ever do to make us stop loving you. You cannot hurt us, and we will keep everyone safe as much as we can, but your feelings are always allowed.”

I read the other day about how resources for emotional regulation and tools for a safe nervous system are a form of generational wealth and honestly I love that. These are tools that yes feel foreign to me at times, but are going to be (hopefully) passed down for generations to benefit from. Teaching them and learning with them is healing, for all of us.

I think this literal dark season of winter correlates with some of the darker hours of motherhood, and I am grateful to find moments to reflect, breathe, practice on my mat or go to the woods and let the trees and river hold me in my processing. The depths these kids feel… it scares me. And it’s a mirror. They are highly sensitive and notice everything, but so do I. As a kid, I didn’t understand it. In fact, even into my 20s I didn’t… and I still struggle now. As a neurospicy house, we all feel deeply, H too, though he says less words, and P in his own way tells us through his games or stories or sensory seeking comforts. We are all looking forward to the light.

Lighter days and lighter loads. It isn’t forever, and as the seasons cycle, we do too. Every year, these months around Christmas and cold are, in their own ways, a challenge. Every year, in the midst of it all, I wonder if it will last forever. And every year, we grow, we hold each other, we cry and we laugh, and we get really honest about much we miss the sun.

This year, the lightness feels closer, as we settle into a new space, and we ride the waves of all that comes with big transitions, we exit the festive period and move into new beginnings, not in the Gregorian calendar sense, but in a whole family, new home, new spaces, new learnings and new resources kind of way. I am learning that the more honest I am about the darker seasons of parenting, the lighter they end up becoming.

This might not be the end of all the hard moments this season, and I guarantee there will be more rollercoaster days to come, but right now, sitting with it I am beyond grateful for the cracks shining through these dark hours, and for the darkness – because it is in these hours that I really see just how imperfectly human we all are. I’m sharing it in the hope that someone like me will find it, and feel a little less crazy, a little less lonely and a little more hopeful about their own magick darkness – not to romanticize it or glorify the chaos, but because when I’ve dug deeper, survived those minutes and hours, and loved on my little ones even harder than before, I am reminded that allowing them to feel this means it doesn’t get stuck in their little bodies. Allowing them to feel it means that maybe one day, they’ll be holding space for their own babies, and find it easier than I do … and that is important work.

Until next time, with love and ramblings,

Rohana xox

The Conditioning of Birth

We are conditioned by everything in life.

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’d love to hear.

With love,

Rohana x

Should you make a birth plan?

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. 

Get your *free* copy of the birth preparation checklists to set you up to create your beautiful story.

For now that’s it, with love,

Rohana x

The Birth of S

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.

Day 40 – Unbecoming

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.

I’ll see you in a few weeks, with love,

Rohana