mother vs self, Uncategorized, Write to Heal

How Did We Get Here?

In 2012, I began this blog as an exploration of my experience with postpartum depression. I wasn’t doing it to publicly rehash all the difficult details; I was hoping that in sharing my story, women who had been to the deepest depths that I had wouldn’t feel so hopelessly alone. And I did find others. They found me. I’ve forged some amazing friendships through the wonders of the web.

In the first part of 2015, I embarked on a new leg of the journey. My research began in earnest, collecting evidence of pre- and postnatal care and experiences, outcomes and interventions – all through the lens of maternal mental health. I completed Postpartum Support International’s Perinatal Social Support Webinar Series. In July, I attended Postpartum Progress’ Warrior Mom Conference in Boston, the first ever large-scale gathering of survivors of perinatal mood and anxiety disorders.

I was poised to bring my advocacy to a new level.

I sent my ‘baby’ off to kindergarten – and a month later, got pregnant.

Truly, she was the pleasantest surprise.

My past experiences armed me with a proactivity I hadn’t had in previous pregnancies. And I see now that my knowledge and experience have deepened in the intervening time to enrich my advocacy even more.

Still, even with my depression ‘managed’, motherhood was challenging. And not in a growth mindset sort of way; in a soul-sucking, all-encompassing sort of way. I realized that mothers needed support whether they were suffering from a mental illness or not. Untenable conditions with no support could mean a tip into mental illness. And even if it didn’t, what of a mother’s mental wellness?

With writing being such a cathartic and expanding experience for myself, I sought ways to share it with others. How could I use journalling prompts, easily accessible and customizable to anyone – even if they weren’t in love with writing like I was, to aid women in their journey to authentic and fulfilling mother- and personhood?

In a synthesis of my writing, experience as an educator, and lived-in motherhood, the idea of a workshop was born. A chance for women to share their experiences in a community of empathetic peers and to explore their own personal questions, fears, joys, and challenges through writing. A release and a way forward.

I knew I wanted to offer the inaugural in-person workshops in the month of May, to coincide with Mothers’ Day – not to commemorate that holiday, but to give mothers an alternative celebration of themselves in a world that often lets them down. This finally happened in May 2023. I gave three workshops in three different locations in my surrounding area. But that only served those within driving distance. Readers and supporters reached out to me from other states, even Canada, suggesting a virtual option.

Nothing can replace in-person dialogue and the energy of community and I am no Zoom-inista – but the subscription series was born. I tried to translate the thought and writing prompts into weekly sessions across a monthly theme.

I endeavor to make this a virtual community, even if the gathering place may initially be in the comments section of each weekly module. With the dream of gathering us all in a center of our own someday. A center dedicated not only to the worthy and fulfilling vocation of motherhood – but to the sacredness of our individual personhoods as well.

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anxiety, Living, Poetry, Survival

Mind Over Water

Treading water only lasts so long

At some point,
the pull of the boat or dock or shore
becomes too much

The edge of exhaustion creeps up
The doubt of how much longer the legs and arms can cycle,

When will the muscles or lungs give out?

The hand must be able to reach out –

To grasp the solid surface
To heave the dead weight up and out of the abyss.

Unless you decide to float

To rest your head in line with the water,
Arch your back toward the sky
Let your hands and feet sway like seaweed

Rest and freedom come with this release
But also require relinquish of control:

The moment your ears slip below the surface,
Deadening the sound of the world above,
Open only to the gentle sloshing below

The origin of your breath so close to submersion
Your lungs expanding above and below the water
Your bottom threatening to pull it all under.

Possible panic in action and inaction
All at the thin line where the water meets the air

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iStock

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Living, Poetry, Survival

Knots

Why do we not let ourselves be held?

Are we afraid of the fallout?

Of the softening
that occurs with the slightest
of pressure on the hard outer shell

Cracking the protection
we have absurdly built up

Thinking we can fool
the shadows that lurk
just out of sight

A touch, a push, a gentle squeeze
and it all comes rushing to the surface

Releasing the tension
that does nothing but tie us up

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Living, Poetry

Just Below the Surface

The earth is still brown, the ground dull and bleak.
Leaves of brittle rust, crumpled and curled in upon themselves.
Evergreen needles even a muted hue.

But the air is different.
A hawk cries out as it soars above the seemingly dormant trees.
The deer move, the squirrels feed.

The snow looks sad in its blankets now softened around the edges.

insidecaledon.com

insidecaledon.com

Piles of sand seal the seams of the roads.

Nature’s energy vibrates just below the surface.
All of creation holds its breath.
Breathe deep and release it.

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Living, Poetry

Release

A rivulet of water running off the splash block
cutting an eddy through the sand and shell shards
pebbles and pickings from the beach
that landed on my driveway
months after the pluck
only after ice storms,
freeze and thaw,
cracked the plastic pail they called home.
The terrarium my kids toted home,
a miniature tidal pool,
silica and shale, pebbled granite,
remnants of the ice age released yet again,
eons later
by the elements
only to dribble down my driveway
into the gutter.

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Living, Poetry, Spirituality

One

Disparate sources

Un-disjointed by you –

The common denominator

Umami

Ujjayi

States of higher being

Sizzling pan-fried hamburger

Time stops and you with it

Don’t be afraid

Let the universe hold you

I’ve got you, she says.

Let go.

You are the center from which infinitesimal spokes shoot out

But you are not the only one

Millions rotate through the atmosphere

Spun by One

 

Feel One thing at a time.

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