by Augustine Colebrook
Sing your song
Any experienced midwife will tell you she can 'hear' a woman reach 'complete'. The sound of birth is fairly ubiquitous - individual and unique for sure - but there's just this sound. It rattles your jaw and tingles your spine - we midwives just KNOW it's time when we hear it.
Midwives also like to encourage women to be loose and mobile and SING THEIR SONG.
But what does that mean?
What does it mean to sing your song?
This recommendation to pregnant women is akin to telling a nulliparous woman, "you know, how it feels when the baby kicks?"
No, she doesn't know - she can imagine possibilities, but she has no actual reference for that magical feeling. So too is it for primiparous women being told to just let go and make sound authentically. She can imagine various ways that might sound/feel, but she really has no idea until she's in it.
Singing your song is simply telling your truth.
And this is truly the magic of natural birth in this day and age. How often are any of us really in 'beginners mind' anymore? We can google, Wikihow, or YouTube how to do anything. Seriously, ANYTHING. Except Birth.
Birth must be felt and experienced. Birth must be lived.
No one can adequately prepare you to birth - except you, and your own willingness to walk into the unknown; the shadows. For some women the unknown is entering the hospital and pondering the different options of pain medications. For others it's wondering about the pain and how much they can take. For others still, it's about who will be there and how they will help.
As much as we'd like to, we can't plan birth anymore than we can plan life.
"Did you really think you'd be HERE, 5 years ago?"
No matter what we plan, birth demands that we show up and see just what unfolds.
All women need midwives
Women are stronger than they think, but the degree to which they will believe this or not is entirely dependent on the people that they surround themselves with. The music and books and media they consume are more impactful than some might realize. An environment free of toxic exposure is just as important for the mother as it is for the baby.
Here's the real reason all women need midwives - we're literal experts at walking/living without a plan; without a script. We can't do it for them or even adequately communicate what it feels like.
Just try to explain what opening feels like...
But we can demonstrate courage in the face of the unknown in our own lives. We can say, "I too, will walk into the fire."
Courage is an old English word, meaning to speak your whole truth with your whole heart.
We can sit in all the uncomfortable places in life and choose to smile with courage. Midwives, it is we who can model the way. SO midwives, how are you modeling courage in the face of the unknown in your life? How are you stepping into your own shadows/fire/underworld? And who midwifes you?
Are you singing your song?
by Augustine Colebrook
I am a grandmother and recent empty-nester, and it’s given me the time and space to reflect on this gigantic, twenty-year, “Life 101” course from which I just graduated. I read Kahlil Gibran’s masterpiece, “The Prophet’ when I was a teenager, and remembered the swelling feeling of recognition in my chest reading the chapter on children. When I had my children, I knew they did not belong to me. I tried to parent them accordingly, and I think I succeeded mostly.
Here are my #parentingwins
1. I was always just honest with my kids.
Speaking the truth to anyone takes courage, but to kids it’s a gift that grounds their developing brains in reality. Also, I always had a reason, and wasn’t just the ‘heavy’ with the rules they had to follow’. Kids really want and need to know “why”. I frankly told them when I didn’t have extra money for going out or buying things. I shared my emotions with them – I believed that it was better to be sad and say so, rather than pretend I was ok (because they would know anyway). And then maybe they would just be sad when they were sad without trying to hide their real emotions.
2. I choose to live in community as much as possible.
Co-housing, community dinners, room-mates, house-mates, live-in nannies, close neighbors, in-laws in the guest room and big family holidays over the years all helped me raise kids in a village and therefore life lessons came repeatedly from many sources.
8. I made a conscious choice not to use violence to teach my children.
I used to hold their little hands in mine when they were being aggressive or hitting their peers or siblings and say earnestly, “these hands are for helping, NOT hurting”. The one time that I involuntarily slapped my rude, disrespectful, teenage daughter’s face, we talked about it for a month. It took a lot to forgive myself for hitting my child.
9. I forgave myself regularly.
I messed up, forgot, lost track of, or downright dropped the ball so many times. I tried and tried and failed again and again. And I learned how to be gentle with myself – I believed that I was a newborn parent and then a toddler parent and then a teenage parent and I was gentle and forgiving to me and to them.
10. I took breaks.
This parenting gig is so much more full time than any other experience in life. It didn’t used to be, however; we used to parent in a tribe with others helping with the daily chores of life. This nuclear, secular family living in a vacuum is unnatural and it’s exhausting. I took personal days and played hooky and I am better for it. I also encouraged my kids to take breaks sometimes, not just sick days, but personal days to stay home and bake cookies or go riding horses on the first snow day, or stay under the covers when they were sad.
11. I got divorced (twice).
When it was clear to me that my household was growing up believing that disrespectful or abusive behavior was the norm, I took a stand. My kids saw me modeling self-respect and radical self-care their whole lives. I think they will be better prepared to live a whole, full, and fulfilling life because I took this stand, rather than sticking with a marriage only so they could grow up in a two-parent household.
12. I fed whole foods at home.
Sure, Halloween candy and chips and cookies crossed the threshold too, but almost all the time, my kids only had access to fruits and vegetables, traditional fats, organic meats, etc. Exposure is ½ the battle with nutrition – they like what they think is normal. Comfort food is simply the food that feels the most like home. For some people that’s TV dinners; for my kids, its homemade chicken broth or pot roast.
13. I took my kids on vacations that had no agendas.
Our lives are scheduled enough – they needed to have days of un-ended time to let ideas and inventions bubble up. They needed to taste freedom and then take a bath in it. No rules is a good way to live sometimes!
16. I kept switching schools till they found something that was both fun and challenging, inspiring and where they felt successful.
If I hadn’t been a working mother, I probably would have homeschooled. But instead I let them switch and switch until they found what they loved and thrived in, including letting one and then another go to live with their dad in another state. I let them be in charge of as much of their own lives as they could handle, because this is the goal, right? With so many parents experiencing the phenomena of ‘failure to launch’, I wanted to ensure their development was always centered around self-determination.
17. I kept the focus of our lives on how we wanted to feel.
If we can define how we want to feel, then choices become a lot easier. Want to feel successful, then get things done. Want to feel joyful, then hang around joyful people and do the things that bring you joy. Want to feel responsible, then be responsible for your own life. This simple exercise will do more to inform their life than anything else – It’s radical and simple.
Ok, some things I wish I had done differently.
5. When looking back I really wish I had more grace when they decided to move out. My kids all at different times launched sooner than I was ready for them to leave. I wish there was a workshop on how to prepare yourself for the end of daily parenting. I knew all along that raising strong, independent people was the goal, but then in the end, I wasn’t ready to not be needed any more.
But, what's the point?
I think that in birth and parenting and life in general, we finally become experts right when that expertise is no longer needed, and it’s said that you ‘master’ a subject after 10,000 hours immersed in study. So here I am, graduated from parenting with an unnecessary master’s degree. Of course, it’s not til they have very little need of you and launch into their own lives, that you officially graduate. And yet, I’ll never parent daily again (in this lifetime) and no, grand-parenting is NOT the same, so what exactly was the point of the last 20 years of my life?
This is the question that keeps me up at night. What was the point of spending all that time and money and energy raising people that don’t even seem to even like me some days and certainly don’t have need of me daily anymore? Most of my elders tell me that they really don’t appreciate you until they’re 30 years old… gee, that’s reassuring.
I have come to believe that parenting is the most extreme personal growth workshop any of us will ever experience. It’s the most magical and diabolical collection of joy and heart-ache. A mystical, shamanic journey into the heart of humanity. Welcoming a tiny, helpless human into your heart and home starts a odyssey of epic proportions, weaving through a ‘candy land’ of hormones and histories, morals and ethics, physical, spiritual, mental and emotional exhaustion. The trials in the show ‘survivor’ have nothing on the lived-experience of surviving parenting. In fact, the challenges little people inflict on their parents, no TV producer could ethically replicate – much of parenting is downright torture.
But we keep doing it, not just in all of humanity, but many of us have more than one child, and although the way babies are made sure does ensure a modicum of success; this still doesn’t explain why many of us have devoted huge portions of our lives to parenting. And I know, we don’t all do it for the personal growth. So why? Why do so many of us not just sign up for a 20+ year odyssey, but in fact give it all our focus and determination?
I believe it’s more than the biological imperative, hormonally driving us to procreate. That may be why some of us GET pregnant, but it doesn’t account for slogging through the next 20 years of painful challenge.
To be stable, to be still, to hold space and be flexible - this is our most precious job. I have been bent mightily – I am a long slender bow made of willow – and I have been bent nearly in half. I have sent my arrow children flying on their own paths of freedom, but when I read and memorized this chapter as a teenager, I didn’t have the foresight to read the chapter on giving, and even if I had, I’m not sure I would have understood its meaning.
Parenting is giving – giving all of ourselves until we are emptied out - carved and hallowed. Some stay here craving to be filled again or sadly lamenting their emptiness, but I – I am glad for it. I feel completely hollow – ready to be filled with the experiences of the second half of my life. Someday I will be emptied again, but right now I am happily gathering experiences like seashells on the beach. All the sparkly and stripy ones catch my eye. All my years of parenting was an exhale of breath, now, I am inhaling life sharply. The season of giving is over, and it is a celebration not a mourning. Just as each new seasonal shift is welcomed – I feel ready for this winter spiraling into myself and then the spring that will follow.
In the goddess tradition there are 5 life phases – maiden, lover, mother, queen, crone. Using this imagery, I have donned my crown this year. I am happily reigning sovereign over my own life for the first time ever! Were we still living in tribal culture, I would be celebrated and honored for my service.