What to do?

• I contemplate a shower. They are such a drag these days for some reason.
• I came to terms with my stinky armpits, and decided to shower after all.
• But not until I stood in front of the mirror running through the “what-if” scenario of actually shaving my head. I thought better of it.
• Instead I made funny ponytails with my hair which looked like a web all over my face, like a mask. Never done that before!
• Showered. (It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.)

• I Read a few essays from a book by Louise Plummer, including “Thoughts of a Grasshopper”

• I reflected on my starving relationship with the special girl who gave me that book. She was right. I really am a Grasshopper.

• I thought about writing on exactly that topic and about how I really feel like a Grasshopper in a world of Ants.  (seemingly)

• I thought about how writing it all out overwhelms me…So I stopped and decided to do something else I’ve been meaning to do for a while. Not write, but…

• Sharpen my colored pencils. Fifty-nine of them. By hand.

Okay. Got that done. Time to write. I can’t procrastinate it any longer.
Grabbed the laptop, trusty iPad for some music (currently: Tracy Chapman Radio on Pandora) and my uke. (because THAT always helps me write.)
Then I spent about an hour surfing various Ukulele sites. What a quirky little obsession I have with that instrument! A lot of the sites help force me to realize just how ameture I am on the uke. But I still attempt songs that are beyond my skill level. Just in case I can nail it. One of these days that strategy will work…

Tonight’s song: Country Road by John Denver. I know. Everyone should know that one, right? Singing/playing that song I thought that maybe Mr. Denver didn’t really die in that airplane wreck back in ’97…what if he really is still alive and just hiding from all that fame?! How difficult would it be to arrange your timely death, just to live on in peace?

I finally put the uke down and began this little bit of writing. Which, to my surprise, actually is funny to me- that I would share this. Because, after all, what exactly have I accomplished?

Just another night of procrastinating what I set out to do in the first place: to write something meaningful.

Welp, goodnight!

We were browsing through some old videos and stumbled upon one of little Natalie from about 18 months ago. She was 2 1/5 years old and I think Henry was just born or he was due soon. The video is of us stomping barefoot in the puddles of a recent rain storm. We were looking for worms together. Near the end of the video, you can hear my timer go off and me asking Talie what the timer means. This time, it means that our cookies are done and we have to go inside and get them out of the oven.

In the video, she looks up at me and with her big doe eyes says very matter-of-factly”…come back outside?!” As if saying she’s cool with going in to deal with the cookies, but after that, we’ve got to get back out here!

The clip is priceless. It shows so much of her little brains working, her sweet tiny voice and huge personality. I watched this video with her and my husband and we laughed, but then I burst into tears. And grabbed Natalie and held her tight. My little girl is growing up. I am in awe at the things she says and does. I am so in love with her! I don’t often get emotional at the thought of my children getting older. I mean really, yay for no more diapers, spilled drinks, wet beds…all that stuff. But in the end, it really is those small moments that make this all worth it.

The next day, I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth while Natalie was sitting on the potty and after she said, “I’m ALL DONE!” to me (while assuming the position to be wiped) she said so innocently, “I don’t want to grow up, Mom. Am I growing up right now?”
“Yes.” I said. “We all are growing up. It’s just what happens to us.”
To which she replied, “But I don’t want to grow up! I don’t want to get big.”
I told her I didn’t want her to grow up either, but it was going to happen. And she shouldn’t be scared.

I guess I ought to not be scared either.

It is a good thing I have so many pictures to remember her by. We can both look back and see how wonderful and fun growing up really can be, one stomping puddle at a time.

I had been involved with my high school’s service club and was the acting Local Director. Earlier that year, the club had organized a Book Drive for our county jails and a few shelters. The drive went well and some how the adult leader of the club got the news station to come do a story on the club’s service projects, highlighting the book drive and a few other things we were involved with.  A few of us were interviewed and got to be on the news. I remember sitting in front of that camera and talking about how great it felt to be a part of something bigger than myself, and my little town. I genuinely glowed with that feeling of belonging to something so great.

Later on that month, there was to be a gala with the Governor. A special dinner where a few high school clubs and certain prominent  people of the community were invited. We were to be recognized for our service in the community. I guess it was sort of a big deal, because I went out and bought a dress for the occasion. The day came and I skipped swim practice to come home, finish  my homework and then get ready. I put on my little black dress (with feather boa on the hem), curled my hair even and then waited patiently for my carpool ride to pick me up. It made sense for me to just get a ride, since both my parents were working and I was home alone. Also, my little house was the last one you drove past to get to the city.

I waited. The appointed time for pick up passed. Thirty minutes passed. Then 45.

The phone rang. It was the club’s adult leader- my ride. “Holly, I’m so sorry! I forgot to pick you up!”

I remember the pit in my stomach. The tears welling up. She forgot me.

“Can you get here?” She asked eagerly.

“No, I can’t…I’m the only one home.”
I lied. I did have a way to get there, and I stared at the Jeep. You see, it was not about whether I wanted to go anymore. I just could not wrap my head around the word forgot. Even if I had jumped in the Jeep and sped to the function, it would not have changed the fact that she forgot me. And in my teenage mind, I just didn’t think I could face her.

“This thing starts in 15 minutes, are you sure?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. That’s okay…um, I’m not feeling that great anyway.”

That was not a lie. In fact, I felt as thought I was going to throw up into that phone listening to what sounded like pathetic remorse…though there was little effort for her to jump in her car and come get me. We would have been 30 minutes late if she did do that. That’s enough time to eat dinner. That was the time it would have taken for her to save me from the storm of emotions that came crashing down on me as I hung up the receiver.

Humiliated. Deflated. Forgotten. Broken. Alone. 

There never was an apology. Never a word about it again. Just a little brown bag on my porch a few weeks later with a VHS of the news clips and a message from the Governor.  I watched it alone and cried when I saw my interview clip.

I quit the club soon after, and felt hurt for a long, long time. Even as I write this, I feel those emotions again. It hurt really bad. And I let myself be in that for a while. In fact, I loathed in self-pity and became withdrawn around those people.  I kept thinking why is it that I can allow myself to feel so alone, and at the same time be surrounded by so many people who obviously care for me? I have friends, teammates, a church community and family- are those not all elements of belonging to something bigger than yourself? Why then, do I remove myself? Where is the maturity in that?

I never did talk to that lady again. And after a while, I grew up and moved on.

***

Through the years, I have learned that sometimes you just feel lonely, even if you are not consciously removing yourself from those around you.

I think about someone who truly did know what it felt like to be alone. I think about Him quite often. And I continue to just be alone, knowing that I am not the only one that has ever felt this way.

The irony in that truth is thick. I guess I am not alone after all.

I never thought that I would be in the category of women who experienced postpartum depression. But I am.

When I had my first child, I was in the blissful land of Motherhood for the first time and I just did not understand how anyone could have any negative feelings during that new sacred time. Cloud Nine was a wonderful place. And then around my daughters first birthday, I finally came down from that euphoric feeling. I experienced a mild sadness in the realization of where I had been emotionally and where I was sinking to. It was like the end of your favorite roller coaster ride. The ride is wild, up and down and fast, but you can’t wipe that silly smile off of your face. And then the ride ends and you are left with a wonderful memory, but you have to get off. And its like, BAM!-over and blah. Such a contrast. Not depressing, just a little bit of a downer.

I thought that would be my bout with postpartum symptoms.

Fast forward two years and enter stage left child number two. The pregnancy was good, the child huge (we’re talking 11lbs huge) the birth plan perfect.  The space was perfect down to the color of paint on my walls and the playlist of music. My home birth unfolded without too much of a hitch. (If you don’t count the size of my baby or the hemorrhaging afterwards…) I had all the wonderful support a mother could want.

But something was just off.

The only way I can describe it is that suddenly I was feeling EVERYTHING. It took me by surprise because I realized that I had gotten pretty good at not feeling things, as a coping mechanism. I was in a state of constant trance-like melancholy. And to be honest, I think I liked it. And all in the same thought I said to myself often: “What is happening to me?”

There is a lot more to my experience going through that time, but my intent here is not to go through that again, but to share with you that if you think you are going through similar things (either BEFORE of AFTER the birth of your baby), there is help. There are resources, forums, -an ENTIRE community of people wholly devoted to getting the word out about Postpartum Depression and helping women in need. I have found peace in just reading the blogs and websites of other women who experienced this, some worse than others.

For me, the key has been to “lean into the discomfort” and work my way through the emotions. Actually letting myself feel when something was welling up helped me explore emotions that I had not experienced in years. In a way, it was refreshing and I found myself feeling like I didn’t ever want to come out of the place I was in. Strange? Maybe.

I learned to respect and protect that sacred postpartum time where I truly was “cycling so close to heaven” (as my loving midwife explained to me). Those first six weeks were difficult for me in so many ways that I just don’t have words for. From my experience, I feel I have gained a greater compassion for new mothers around me. And believe me, I am surrounded by them!

Below are a few wonderful resources that I have skimmed from during the past year as I’ve been swimming to the other side of this river called Postpartum Depression. I hope that if you are experiencing PPD, or know of anyone that is, you will find the support you need. There are so many women who understand. So speak up.

Postpartum Progress  This site laid out in dimple terms the symptoms of PPD so that I could understand and more easily see that I was indeed experiencing PPD.

Beyond Postpartum is a blog that I have recently stumbled upon. One of my favorite posts is called: “Baby Products that Lead to Unrealistic Expectations in New Moms”. Its so perfect!

Living Self Care. If you are not already a follower of this blog/website, I highly recommend you add your name to the list of readers. While this site is not specifically about PPD, they publish daily essays that help us remember to take care of ourselves so that we can take care of others. I love particularly that the authors are pulled from a wide pool of people, so its not the same person writing all the time. I have a close friend who has an essay published, that is great.

The Healing Group A group of therapists who specialize in Women’s Health. If you live in my area, I highly recommend The Healing Group.

The list of resources is endless. You could spend hours just following link after link after link reading of others’ experiences and seeing that you are not alone. For me, doing just that was enough for me to come through it relatively unscathed. But the truth is, I am a changed woman. And I don’t really want to go back to the Me before all of this. I guess this is where Wisdom is grown, through tough experiences like this. Some day. I hope that you, too, will gain wisdom through the madness.

1) Social interaction

2) Academic support

3) Daycare

I was intrigued why some parents were enrolling their not-even-three children and why others were waiting. To put it short, I came home a little flustered thinking that maybe I was missing the boat with my 3.5 year old in not enrolling her in some sort of program. When speaking with my husband, he was supportive of whatever I wanted to do, but having not thought much on the subject, was little help. So, when making big choice involving my child, I do what I normally do: I read as much as I can and I talk to many different people who have differing views. Then I decide where I fit and what I think on my own.

Here are the results of my study of the topic of preschool.

I shall entitle it: “Why I choose NOT to enroll my child into Preschool”

First off: Social.
I have two thoughts on this. I believe that my child’s “social needs” can still be met in the home. I know she thrives off of Mom and Dad time (positive) and loves just being with us. Sure, she enjoys her play dates, but really when it comes down to it, I can see that her need is more Mama time. Not more Madi time. When my husband and I meet that need, she is more teachable, happier and generally open to learning. (She is not acting out to get our attention, because she gets it.) Also, we live in a very unique living arrangement where all we have to do is step out our front door and there is a plethora of children her age to play with. Seriously, its like an elementary school playground out there! It is when she is out playing with them that I can see she is learning to communicate, to share, to problem solve and cooperate. All of these things I know can be learned in an organized setting of preschool, but I guess it is included in our rent payment!
Also, she gets a structured learning environment while at church every week. With classmates and teachers!

Secondly, the concern of Academia. My question is this: what is the benefit a three year old learning the alphabet, numbers and writing in a classroom setting? I am all about teaching these things in the home, and my child can do all of these things, but I just wonder why I feel so much pressure to have her keep learning so much before she’s even four years old? I was talking to someone about this very thing. She is a First Grade school teacher and made the comment that by the third grade, most children are all on the same level (average) academically- regardless of whether they attended preschool or not. If that really is the case, then why the rush? I am NOT saying that parents shouldn’t teach these things to their children in preparation for Kindergarten, I just needed to ask myself the question, “Whats the rush?” in order to let some pressure off. Another point that this person brought up is that she could see a difference in the children who were “new” to school vs those who had been attending preschool (some two years in a row), before Kindergarten. She noticed that by the time they got to her First grade class those who were in preschool were already burned out!…and they still had another 11 years to go! Don’t get me wrong. Academia is important. Literacy is important. And it should be taught. I believe it can be taught easily in the home through everyday activities like reading books, talking about road signs (she called me out on running a Red Arrow just recently!), counting clouds and bugs, cooking together, playing and on and on and on. In my own home, I can see how doing the everyday activities together is exponentially more effective than sitting down to do a worksheet.
On the other hand, I know that having a teacher who is NOT mom or dad helps a child learn respect, and discipline among other things. I am not against my child ever being in an organized classroom setting. She has thrived in a few extracurricular classes in the past few years and I love to see her interact with other children and adults without me there. I know she learns and loves going to those classes. The reason I enrolled her into those classes (gymnastics, dance and swimming) is because they were things that I knew I could not teach her. I have no expertise in those subjects. Outsourcing those things was great and I feel they were worthy and worthwhile investments.
I can, however, be an expert on teaching my child how to tie her shoe. How to count beans. Recite her ABC’s. Differentiate between a square and a triangle. Sing nursery rhymes. Follow a bug. And so much more. Those are things that I choose not to outsource because I am capable, it costs me nothing (except maybe what it costs to buy glue and glitter for the never ending crafts we do) and for now, it is just what she needs. I feel it is my responsibility, and I like doing it.

3) Daycare (and/or “mama time”) Where this is not a need for my family, I have no ground to stand on. All I can say is that if you do have to enroll your child in daycare, then why not have it be a quality preschool? I once did some teaching for a Preschool/Daycare. And while it was sad to me to see so many children there all day, I was glad that the activities were educational, fun and structured.

I am happy to have have my daughter with me as long as I can. She’s still so young. I certainly don’t judge those who choose to enroll their children in a preschool program. Each family has different circumstances and needs.

I realize that this topic is not black and white. Honestly, I think if we did enroll my toddler into Preschool she would do very well and love it. I know there are many reasons why parents DO put their child in preschool, and I’d love to hear the reasoning and what you feel worked or didn’t with that choice.

For me and my children, I feel a strong sense that it is my responsibility to provide the preparatory education from our home in everyday, on purpose exploration and teaching. I am so blessed to be home to be able to invest my time in doing this for my children.

Amen.

In lieu of the 10 year anniversary of 9/11, I thought I would share some brief thoughts and memories concerning the matter.

1~ Has it really been 10 years?

2~ I still remember clearly turning on my radio to The End, 102.7 fm (it has since changed frequency) and hearing the DJ’s talk about an airplane crashing into the WTC.

3~ What the? I turned on the TV and watched as plane number two hit the second tower.

4~I remember the feeling of panic thinking, is this real? Do things like this really happen? And then just waiting for more information. I still went to school that day. I was at UVSC in Orem. Students lined the hallways and crowded around TVs everywhere. It was such an eerie feeling- people were not talking. Just watching. Taking it all in.

5~ I recall driving past a huge Honda dealership just the day before 9/11 and looking up at their giant American flag that was blowing majestically in the wind. I was overcome with a sense of patriotism and gratitude. I am so grateful I had that simple moment, a confirmation from the Spirit of my blessings living in this great country. I even took a picture. (Posted here)

6~ Later on that evening I sat with my roommates and listened to the comforting music from the Mormon Tabernacle Choir who had gathered for an impromptu concert. It was a  much needed relief from the banter of the rest of the news channels. We cried together and prayed for the people in NY.

7~Seeing the firefighters and other emergency personnel via video feed from Ground Zero was very touching. It still is.  I have not been able to keep my emotions in check whenever I see or hear of stories about our Service men and women in regard to the events on 9/11 as well as the War in Iraq. What an honorable profession and sacrifice. My heart says thank you for your selfless service.

8~So much has changed in 10 years. One day we will teach our children about these events, they will study them in school and I will be able to relate where I was when the towers went down.

9~I can’t help but wonder what else is coming.

10~No, I will never forget.

Worst decision ever.

But what do you expect from a 14 year old?

Music was always a big part of our family gatherings. My childhood is written to the beat from bands like: Abba, Madonna, Marty Robins, Alison Krauss, John Denver, Peter Paul and Mary, The Beatles, The Beach Boys, and Joni Mitchelle. And when my parents divorced, they both remarried people who also had a love of music. My mother to a Folk musician, and my father to a sweet gal who sang in the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. I have always been blessed to have amazing exposure to all kinds of music and I think I have a pretty good appreciation for all genres because of my upbringing. Thanks be to my parents!

I have spent the last few years craving music in my home. It seems that I have nothing to offer my children except for the nightly lullaby and road trip obnoxious karaoke sing alongs to Journey. We listen to lots of music in my home. Seems like there is always a Pandora station rolling. Yet I still wish for those piano keys beneath my fingers, the violin tucked in comfortable beneath my chin or my voice tuned perfectly and able to improvise to an accompanying guitar.

Tonight I headed up to Red Butte again with my family to listen in on Alison Krauss perform her yearly concert here. I love her. Love love love her. Folky, bluegrassy, pure musical genius. And a voice of an angel. I sang along.

We came home and sat around a little fire with some neighbors. One gal shared her talent of music as she sang quietly among us to her little ukelele. She’s got talent. Real talent and I found myself hmming along to her songs in harmony. It felt so good. Her voice, also like an angel, but with brilliant power- it all just flowed so freely from her little frame, like it was always meant to be. I am so grateful that she shared her talent! Go here to listen to Emily’s music.

I am motivated. I know this may be “copycat”, but I want to learn the uke. I played a little on it and it felt really comfortable. I think I could get the hang of it quite easily. More easily than a guitar, which I’ve been dinking around on for years…
I want my children to see their parents practice an instrument and get better at it. (hubby can play the guitar) I want THEM to do the same.

I want to find music again and bring it into my home.

*****

I am not even sure how to go about writing about what is on my mind right now. Its something that has been on my mind for quite a while now and I cannot help but let a few of my thoughts spill over into the virtual world, in hopes that someone will be listening and take action. One can hope. For the sake of our Men.

I cannot speak highly enough of my husband. He is my rock, the one who pulls me down from the clouds. He calms me when I am spiraling. He sees into me like no one else can. And I let him. He takes care of me and our children both monetarily and emotionally.  Among all that is good and sacred in the work of a Man, he accomplishes it. My needs are met, and I can’t help but be grateful in all he does. Through the years (all 6 of them) of marriage, I have learned how easy it is for me to meet his needs, few as they are. For a glimpse into what I believe a man’s simple needs are, take a gander here.

Food and physical intimacy (aka: sex). Yes. I really do believe it is that simple.

Food: Seriously, this has been a difficult one for me to master, and I’m still working on it. But I think I am getting the hang of it. For the month of August I made a deal with dear hubby that I would cook 31 day of consecutive dinners if he would buy me a new dining table. I think the one I have is about 100 years old. No joke. Naturally, he agreed.  You see, he hates that table too! And who doesn’t love a hot meal?! Well folks, I did it. I could share my menus if you’d like, but that is neither here nor there with what I want to say. The fact is, I did it. Thirty-one days in a row of home cooked meals- usually around 5:30pm. And I saw something magical unfold:

I was happier. (Serving others lends itself to happiness)

I had a plan.

I stuck to a schedule.

My body felt nurtured.

My children were content.

We ate together.

We prayed together.

We had wonderful conversations.

He did the dishes.

My home was in order.

All because I took the time to make meal time a priority. When our bellies were fed, our hearts were happy. The change in my home was magical. My family was at my fingertips- in the kitchen, helping, talking, singing, cleaning- being together. Being with my husband and seeing him off before he was off again to school or study was amazing. He was a priority.  My heart felt good knowing that he was fed and happy. As I did this, I saw his behavior change. He openly thanked, helped and loved me in a way that came from a man who was truly grateful. When is the last time your husband came up behind you in the kitchen to kiss you on your neck and say Thank you. MY needs- BAM!- met. (Recognition for my hard work…who knew it would be so easy to get?)

You can bet that I will be keeping that 5:30 dinnertime ritual alive. Tomorrow’s dinner? I’m thinking this.  (Can I just tell you how much I love Pioneer Woman. She amazes me!)

On to the next thing. Physical intimacy.

It has been said by many experts, that the successful man is highly sexed. I also believe that a man’s need for sex (AND physical intimacy, because they are different) is indeed just that: A NEED. Call it what you may- perverted, primal, base, degrading-HUMAN- a man needs sex. The drive that is in him needs to be satiated. Who better to meet that need than a willing wife? And I don’t mean that in a sexist way. ALSO, I should say that women (I) need it too. This is not to say that we treat physical intimacy as a Duty, but that it is something that we share, enjoy and explore together.

Author, Ayn Rand’s character, Lillian from Atlas Shrugged had these thoughts on the matter:(I hate her by the way)

She did not censure him. She made it clear that she took it for granted that men had degrading instincts which constituted the secret, ugly part of marriage. She was condescendingly tolerant. She smiled, in amused distaste, at the intensity of what he experienced. “Its the most undignified past time I know of, ” She said to him once, “but I have never entertained the illusion that men are superior to animals.”

Am I really to believe that the man who takes care of me in ways that I could not myself would deserve the  treatment and lack of respect like that of an animal?! Who deserves to be made to feel like that? Beaten down, embarrassed or ashamed of a simple need that is so easily met. Would you really have your “man” come begging you? When was the last time you initiated intimacy? Deny them as you will, but sooner or later, that need will find a way to be met. He may just “take care of it himself” (eew), it may cost you $50 bucks (is that the going rate for tricks on the street?), or worse, your marriage.

The secret, ugly parts of marriage?  How sad.

I know the truth is that many women feel this way. Do we not realize just how much control we have in our homes? If withholding sex makes a woman feel powerful and in control, I wonder what she must feel like when she uses her power for good. I think she may find she has a happy home with a husband who, not so much by accident, begins to meet the complicated needs of his wife without even knowing it. And that is a feat! Control freak anyone? Ya. That’s me. Lets face it, that is most women!  As for me, I’m learning slowly to use my control for good.

I am rooting for my husband to be as successful as he possibly can. I know that if I can relieve him of as many stresses as possible, it is better for everyone. He can focus. He can provide. He can feel loved. He can love himself. I want that for him most of all. And gosh, if feeding him and sharing myself with him intimately on a regular basis is the trick, it’s the least I can do.

I understand that these needs are not always so cut and dry and I am not claiming to be perfect, but I can see by experience that doing these two things in my home and marriage work. I value my marriage. I value the simple advice to give, give, give to those you love and you will be amazed at how much you will receive.

I know.

Without fail she was home everyday just in time to turn on the tube, sit down with her bowl of Ramen and glue her eyes to the tele. Don’t even think about starting up a conversation, asking a question or blocking her view! Bad idea!

Although I felt her priority was a little skewed, I still felt her commitment to something she loved so much was admirable. And though her grades probably suffered, she was connected to this show on a level that I have never understood…until now.

My friend had an obsession with Passions.

And now, ten years later, I finally see her wisdom. Not in the failing of classes, but in the finding of something you love and doing it. We call that a passion. You know those questions?

What is your passion? What moves you? What do you love? What lights you up?

I have dabbled in many things in my short life: writing, swimming, animals, languages, books and reading, mountain biking, ballet, children, teaching, massage, pregnancy, motherhood, nutrition, and art among other things. And it has taken a long time for me to finally find my way into my passions.

I think I can safely say that my passions at this point in my life are all things pregnancy, birth and motherhood. Of course it took me actually becoming a mother to find the joy and enthusiasm in Mothering. My love for this has helped sculpt me into a sort of a Sherpa for those in my circle who are going down the path into parenthood.

But this is not about my passion- just that I have one and I am confident in identifying it. I am also continually exploring and finding new things to be interested in and perhaps become well-read on. What else is this time on Earth for if we are not learning and soaking up all that we can? How boring to not?!

I realize however, that not everyone has had that “coming to Jesus” with discovering what moves them. I read a blog post today where this was just the case. It took this woman 57 years to find that writing was her passion. Fifty-seven years. Can you imagine living almost an entire lifetime without that? My heart is happy that this woman finally did realize her passion.

But I have questions.

How do you find it? I guess some people just happen upon a passion. Others actively seek. And I think the people who don’t ever find anything they love is because they have not fully realized who they are. How can you possibly find a match to this puzzle if you are unsure of your own shape?

How to find “you”: self exploration through:  discipline, taking risks, doing hard things, being alone, thinking, writing, following a curious thought, working, talking to people, listening and watching the world around you, taking time to be quiet, being brave enough to be loud, allowing yourself to feel awkward and just be in that feeling- questioning why you feel the way you do, be open to change. Change. Grow. Feel. Decide. Stand Up. Love.

There is an interesting ebb and flow of life. There are time when I feel like this:

closed. small. quiet. unwilling. push away. yin. safe. nostalgia.

And I guess that is okay too. But I think there is danger in nostalgia. “What if’s” sneak in. “If only’s” whisper temptingly. Regrets show their face. Unreal memories are created. And then all of a sudden the now doesn’t look so great. Then the cycle starts again: closed. small. quiet. unwilling. push away. yin. safe. nostalgia.

See? Dangerous.

So. Passions. Those are things that help drive me forward. They beg the question, “What next?!” For example. My interest in Birth began with Massage. Let me take you through the process, if I may.

Hmm, massage seems to be pulling at me. Enroll in school. Dabble in 10+ different modalities. Intro to Prenatal massage class piques my interest. Take it. Love it. Take it beyond. Buy specific pregnancy massage supplies. Incorporate what  I know in my own pregnant life. Love it. Read more. Graduate massage school. Get license. Begin practice. Invest in extensive certification course for Prenatal Massage. Practice prenatal massage. Love it. Feel fulfilled.  Read more and more and more. Have two babies. Love it. Get involved in network of other mama’s just like me. Gather info on becoming a Doula. Work with/for Midwife. Love it. Read more. Do more. Talk more. Read more. Listen more. Watch my midwife. Notice that world. Flirt with the idea of Birth Assisting. Love it. Feel excited about it. Read more…realize the can of worms that has been opened. Breathe.

“What is next?”

Do you see how easy it is to be taken away in something you love? One thing leads to another and without fail, you are bound to find something at the end of some line that will define who you are. In fact, it is not that one thing that will define you, but your entire journey that has shaped you.

How divine.

Each of us has something. What is your passion? What moves you? What are you so committed to that the clarity is unmistakeable? People who have that drive and direction are easy to spot. They have a glow about them. If you don’t feel like you have that, I encourage you to start asking the hard questions and get to know yourself.

What is your passion?