Life is a kaleidoscope. Ever changing, so complex…
I believe we live many lives within one human lifetime, as well as many human lifetimes in the lives of our souls. Whatever you believe, my guess is you’ve been through events that have changed who you are as a person, and perhaps braved physical changes as well.
Being human is an ever-unfolding journey. This post is about honouring that journey.
Three-and-a-bit years ago, I gave birth to twins. They are healthy, beautiful, and intelligent. I’ve been doubly blessed, and I am so grateful.
And it’s been a rough road.
I didn’t feel like a lioness when I came into motherhood (maybe a very beat-up lioness), but these days I’m feeling stronger.
Becoming a mother is stepping over a threshold into a new identity, and it is a very physical transition as well. The mental, emotional, physical, and yes, spiritual changes that happen to every woman who becomes a mother are underestimated and underappreciated by many cultures and especially western societal norms.
Every woman’s journey is different, just as every man has a different journey becoming a father. I can only speak about my own experience, but I believe there are universal truths in every story. Here is part of mine.
How many you got in there?
When you’re pregnant, everyone asks you: 1) “When are you due?” 2) “Do you know what it is?”
With me, when I informed them my due date was many months away, some people would come back with the question, “How many you got in there?”
For a while, I told them, convincingly, “Just one,” and waddled away breathing heavy. I was due in the fall, and, no, I wasn’t going to find out what sex the child would be. I declined all of the “normal” ultrasounds and tests, preferring to allow my star child freedom to grow.
Nature knows what she’s doing. If my midwife thought there was a reason to get something checked out, I told her I’d go. Everything proceeded normally, other than the fact that my belly was huge. But I’m only 5-feet tall. Little woman, big belly!
When I was 34 weeks, my midwife listened to one side of my belly, then the other. She felt around, focusing intently. Then she looked at me and smiled.
“I hear a heartbeat there,” she pointed at one side, “and a heartbeat there.” She pointed at the other side. “And there are lots of little limbs in there. I think you have two!”
I was excited. Seriously, I was overjoyed. I knew twins were a possibility, given they run in both sides of the family, and I was really, truly happy about it.
I wanted two children, as close together as possible. The universe provided.
Careful what you ask for, eh?
This was me at 34 weeks. I still had 5 weeks to go!!!
Every birth is sacred.
I don’t even know how women choose to give birth again and again. I’m not going to go into much detail about my birth story, but I’ll say a few things.
I pretty much read two books: Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth by Ina May Gaskin, and Natural Hospital Birth by Cynthia Gabriel. Those books were hugely helpful.
I had a birth plan, a doula, a midwife, a TCM friend who did acupressure for me and was massive moral support, and an obstetrician. And my man, of course, who had to deal with my nails biting into his hands for hours on end. I apologized afterwards, but I didn’t have it in me to feel sorry for him, cause he’s the one who wanted kids and ohmyfuckingGod did it hurt!
I survived 16.5 hours of life-splitting agony, gave birth to two sons naturally, and got the biggest private hospital room available. The “twin room.” One nurse told me she was amazed I’d had given birth to twins without pain meds or intervention — apparently that doesn’t happen often.
After giving birth, I felt like I’d been run over by a semi-truck that had backed up and run me over again to finish the job. I was dead-tired, but had two tiny, helpless earthlings to keep alive.
The nurses helped some, and my parents came by for a few hours each day. My man was there when he could be, but he was working on the house, getting our bedroom windows swapped out before we brought the kids home (I will save you the very long rant about home renovation that goes with this part of the story).
The first night in the hospital, the kids’ father had such a bad sleep on the hospital cot that he was no help whatsoever, and I didn’t need another child to care for (sorry babe), so I sent him home. I figured at least one of us should be getting a good night’s sleep.
So I was on my own, trying to figure out how to be a mother. Even when a father is there the whole time, as supportive as possible, I still think a woman walks much of her path alone, trying to rediscover herself in this new life of motherhood.
Birth is sacred. It is miraculous. And it can break a woman even in the best scenerios.
Becoming a mother is taking the pieces of who you were and putting yourself back together.
Whose body is this?
So, yeah, I was in the hospital for 5 days, alone through the night, but for the odd nurse check-in, trying to nurse these little humans. I learned how to change a diaper quickly, and loved cuddling them close, yet my body was so messed up!
Everything hurt. I was dead tired, but hormones kicked in and I did my best to care for my babies. I could hardly breathe when I stood up, my internal organs massively confused with the sudden space. My once-beautiful, flat belly had become a mess of stretched skin and split abdominal muscles. It was hard to look at myself in the mirror. I had aged years in a matter of days.
We took the twins home, and my body slowly healed.
S-L-O-W-L-Y.
In fact, my body is still healing, now, more than three years later.
The process continues…
One of the hardest parts of motherhood, for me, has been letting go of who I used to be. The depression and anxiety that was mostly under control before having kids had a heyday with my new and confused hormones. I’m doing well these days, but I have to be vigilant to keep myself from the downward spiral.
I’ve worked hard to keep my self-talk kind, and I don’t compare myself to who I used to be as often, but there was a real process of mourning my old self. I’m not even sure I’m finished mourning the death of who I was, before I became a mama lion.
I was an athlete. Before having kids, I was so strong! And so driven! But I was also burnt out. I quit teaching yoga to have children, but my adrenals were already taxed from pushing myself so hard. Even now, my body is still depleted.
It is time to self-nurture.
I don’t teach much yoga these days, it takes a lot of energy when I don’t have much extra to give. I have to be careful with myself. I can’t do what I used to do. It feels limiting, and that’s a tough pill for this free spirit to swallow.
But I’m grateful for all I know. Yoga helped me through massive postpartum depression, and has helped me recover physically, along with physio exercises. After three years, my abdominal muscles are almost back to where they should be, and my body is much stronger.
But I still feel fragile. And that’s hard.
So I keep going to my mat. I keep turning to the guiding principles of yogic philosophy and other big-picture perspectives I’ve gathered from various places (shamanism, energy healing, Taoism, etc.)
I keep coming home to Mother Earth, and coaxing myself to embrace who I have become.
Being a mother of young kids means part of my mind is constantly focusing on the kids—are they safe, do they need me? It means functioning with long-term sleep deprivation while trying to raise good humans.
And it means letting go of who I was to embrace who I have become.
Motherhood is a journey, one that continues to evolve. I wrote this post as a reminder to honour the transformations in your own life, and to acknowledge the rebirth that happens when a woman becomes a mother.
Take care of yourself. You are a gift.
Peace. @katrina-ariel
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Author bio: Katrina Hokule’a Ariel is an old-soul rebel, a musician, a tree-hugging yogini and mama bear to twins. Author of Yoga for Dragon Riders and other books, she's another free-spirit swimming in the ocean of Steemit.
dragon art: Liiga Smilshkalne
