There were really very few things I enjoyed about being pregnant with my daughter. I was sick every day, all day for six months. I spent the first three and a half months laying on friends couches and puking in their trashcans while we looked for a place to live. I hated the giant boobs (little did I know they would get even bigger when I started nursing). I didn't like the constantly changing body. I was a magnet for unsolicited, arrogant and annoying commentary and advice. I literally couldn't walk or go anywhere without a chorus of voices. I had fleeting moments of excitement and happiness during my pregnancy with Olive, but not the kind that so many women in my life told me I was surely having or should be having.

What I experienced the most in those months was free-fall. For the first time in my life, I had no choice but to stop fighting and just listen. Listen to what I needed in a way that I had never been able to do before. I became completely unapologetic about my needs. I became unabashedly unafraid to disappoint and be myself. Because my Self no longer belonged to me. In fact, I became secondary. I became a vessel. I became the earth for someone else. And so I learned what service felt like in a way I couldn't have ever had before. I did not feel excited or happy nor did I enjoy this process.

But I accepted it. And in the acceptance, I let go. In the letting go, I received the experience fully. In receiving I drank it in. In drinking it in I made good choices. I let myself be consumed by it. I allowed transformation to happen.

I really disliked being pregnant. There I said it. Like I basically hated it. So much so I actually do not look forward to being pregnant again one day.

But here is the thing. I loved giving birth. I loved giving birth so much that I still have dreams about giving birth. I dream about giving birth to other peoples babies. I'll do the pregnancy thing again just to give birth to another human again. The most wonderful experience of my life was birthing my daughter. And guess what? My birth did not go to plan. I transferred to the hospital at forty two weeks and a few days after spending months planning a home birth. And I managed to have an incredibly empowering birth experience despite this change. I think it was in part the great education I had received from my midwife and I felt totally capable of speaking up for myself. I think I also felt total relief that I would no longer be pregnant.

The idea that perfect mothering comes from perfect pregnancies is a horribly unhelpful myth. The idea that our children are damaged if we hate being pregnant with them is also a myth. Because they are also marinating in all the other feelings and self-talk too. Like surrender and acceptance and fortitude and grace. Our babies do not need to marinate in the perfect soup of hormones. They need to marinate in Love. And by Love, I mean that "deep okayness". By Love I mean, that sense of wellness, not perfection. That sense of peace. I felt a lot of that during my pregnancy even though I struggled a lot.

My toddler has a deep capacity for emotional regulation and is perfectly healthy and fine. She didn't get a perfect womb. She didn't have the perfect birth plan. She wasn't born on her due date. She doesn't have a perfect mommy.

One day she'll need to reconcile with her body. She'll need to learn to love it even though it feels yucky sometimes. She'll need to accept all her parts. She'll need to love herself. She'll have to reconcile my insane love for her and the fact I didn't love my pregnancy with her. I hope I've taught her about love, juxtaposition, reconciliation and wholeness. My kid needs a whole mommy. Not a perfect one. My pregnancy wasn't enjoyable, but it taught me self-love. Olive taught me self-love. She taught me about being whole.

Birth is the ultimate reckoning. 
Of Love.

I'll never forget the moment I realized Olive was going to come out of my body at any moment. I had reached down and felt her head.

Something inside said, "stop pushing."

So I did.

Something you may not know about me is that at times I suffer from debilitating anxiety. I choose to use this word "suffer" because when these moments hit, I am indeed suffering. I am totally suffocated by my own neuroses. Lost in the land of can't breath and can't think. 

I lose myself. 

Last week I called my husband to come home from work because I was on the verge of a panic attack and needed help with our daughter. When he arrived I simply began crying. Olive, our two-year-old is incredibly perceptive and empathic. She began to cry too. And my husband as our rock, calmed us down and then proceeded to make us run through the sprinkler and lay in the hammock. Which reset everyone. (More on why this resourcing works further down the post)

I suffer from an anxiety that has two distinct streams. The first is this: 

I have always been incredibly sensitive and moody. I can pick up on others thoughts and emotions very easily. I have had to create impeccable boundaries and have been called uptight, rigid, unable to relax and bossy more time than I can count. But I am also incredibly sensitive and accommodating. And when I get out of center I do not always speak for my needs. I give my power away and then I am lost at sea, drowning in so many feelings at once that I choke back the anxiety until I can't anymore. Sometimes I do not realize I have been suppressing these feelings until my body breaks down or cries out. Honestly, I have observed that this has been made worse by social media and the easy way we compare via this medium. It is too much input for my system to hold. 

The second stream is this: 
I come from a lineage of survivors. Transgenerational trauma if you will. This lineage has granted me a very vigilant nervous system and a severe lack in the ability to feel safe. My cellular imprint includes captivity, hiding, terror, migration and a real fear of death due to mere existence. It has worsened since our political climate has deteriorated. And since having a child and becoming more indebted to my lineage, to this world and to my body. As the love has increased, so have the stakes. And some days, the existential fall is too much. 

These streams manifest in the kind of anxiety that includes visceral terror even in the presence of privilege, health, and safety. I panic. Sweating. Crying. Sure I might be dying. Or something is wrong. 

For me, my anxiety and panic manifest in a hyper-vigilant neurosis of my body and what is happening inside my body. Can I breathe? Is this ok? What's this bump? Should this be here? What if it's not ok? Whats that sensation? Is that ok? It's a neurotic checking. Checking. Checking. Prodding. Poking. Checking. Am I alive? Am I real? Am I ok? 

I share this with you because there is still a way we believe that yoga magically heals. That it removes suffering and pain. That it makes us immortal and incapable of becoming sick. We still think it can solve problem therapy can't. 

This is not true. Not true at all. It is not that simple.

For some people going into the body and its sensations is incredibly resourcing. It supports the nervous system to relax and orient. Using forms and shapes gives a safe container to feel. After years of being out and frayed, it is time to recognize we have a home. A body. A sensation. Feelings. Some people need to go I N to wake up.

For other people, they are already drowning in themselves. In every sensation and every feeling. So when we ask them to feel, they get flooded by all that's in there. It is not a relief. It is a suffocation. For those of us, who tend towards hiding inside our own sensate vigilance, we need to peer
O U T and towards nature. We need to lay on the ground, feel the cool water on our skin. Feel the contact of another human. 

I share this with you because I am hearing that as somatics becomes more of a trend in our yoga culture we are leaning into sensation tracking more than before. This is wonderful. It is taking the practice of yoga into a deeply human and present time. Making yoga about embodiment and life. Not one of dissociating and going up and out to someplace more ideal. 

But this process is incredibly nuanced and I want to help us refine our awareness of how the nervous system works and what we are doing when we talk about resourcing and developing the sensate world. (more on that another time) 

I share this with you too because we also need to continue to dismantle our own shame and hiding around our wounds and lineages so that we can be freer to teach, lead and learn from our souls. Not a single teacher of this practice is free from a wound. And most people I know, myself included, put on a good front. It's not cool to talk about anxiety or depression or addictions or abortions or flailing marriages or being rageful at your kids. It's not cool to admit that the yoga hasn't cured us of our humanness. It's not cool to say we need something else besides our daily dose of #yogaeverydamday or being #heavilymeditated.

We need these practices to refine our consciousness so that we can see our fears, anger, grief, and joy and all our experiences as normative--until they aren't. These practices can help anchor us in a truth and give us an "Island of sanity" that nurtures our emotional and sensate experiences. And these practices can help us create meaning where we otherwise feel lost. 

Last week I felt really lost. This week I feel found and tender and real. I feel contacted and located inside my truth. Which means I had to see some hard dynamics in my family and have a tough conversation and admit some hurt. The yoga helps. The dance helps. The trees help. Music helps. Speaking the truth to friends helps. 

As one of my teachers says....

Lather. 
Rinse.
Repeat.

So this one deserves a little context.

One of the ways I work with my own Shadow material is to work them into characters of myself. By taking impulses, feelings, movements, patterns of relating and seeing them in a crystallized way, as a mere one-side or character of my full self, I am able to add some humor where there is often lots of grief. 

So please don't take offense to the list below. It's in good fun and shadow work should be fun. And its hard and dark because there is truth to it too. It's funny because it's also true. Not the whole truth or only truth, but a truth nonetheless. 

Lately, I've been feeling into all the archetypes, characters and stereotypes the word Mommy comes along with. I had a great laugh last night with Elliot when I described to him All The Mommys I Cannot Be. I put on quite a show. And of course, it was disarming to hear which ones he likes, which ones he hates, and which ones he instigates.

Sometimes I feel like I walk through my day, simply playing out one of these roles. Like the clothes I chose from my closet that day, I choose a mommy to wear that day too. And sometimes, depending on where I am out in the world I feel almost forced to put on one of these outfits. 

Of course, I am none of these and all of these. And I wish to be the me that is the deepest core to all of these. You see, I am not a mommy because I am a woman. I am a mommy because I am in relationship to my daughter. And for her sake, and mine, these are all the mommys I cannot be. 

~~~~

Introducing the newest line of Barbie dolls. Sure to give your children all their cultural introjects for a lifetime of psychological fun. Be sure to mix and match so as to solidify their play as neurotic expressions and idealizations of the feminine.

Perfect Mommy

High-heeled Mommy

Crafty Mommy

Homestead Mommy

Hipster Mommy

Yoga Mommy

Business Mommy

Intellectual Mommy

Sexy Mommy (sometimes also known by her other names as fuckable mommy and MILF)

Frazzled Mommy (comes with a set of talking Kens ensuring the Frazzled Mommy feels extra frazzled with her Emotional Labor and Mental Load tasks.)

Earthy Mommy (you'll love her flowing pants, whimsical hair, and gardening tools)

Cool Mommy (don't be fooled. Cool Mommy fits into your home perfectly. She has learned to morph herself depending on the situation she's in)

Working Mommy

Busy Mommy

Martyr Mommy (Warning: this one appears rather lifeless and comes with a chip on her shoulder, which has been known to be rather sharp.)

Hysterical Mommy (She even cries when you push the button on her butt)

Blaming Mommy

Shaming Mommy

Evil Mommy

Silly Mommy

Gorgeous Mommy

Hygge Mommy (which is actually a combination of several mommys including Crafty, Earthy, Hipster and Perfect. Be sure to get the whole set!)

Jackie O Mommy (Those glasses just never go out of style!)

Exhausted Mommy (complete with dark circles under her eyes)

Do-Everything Mommy

Organized Mommy 

Please note that each of these Mommys is sold separately, though we highly advise buying all the mommys for a complete and long lasting neurotic construct. Does not include matching Ken.