Reflections of Sangha and Spirit

I’m in a beautiful Sunday meditation circle called “Sit to Connect.”  It’s a Zoom group started by Alison Cohen, a mentor in my Mindfulness Meditation Teacher Program.  She’s very bright, articulate, and wise. I’ve grown to love sitting with her and other meditators from all over the world.  Our time together is forty-five minutes each Sunday evening.   The structure of the session is the same each week.  We check in.  We stretch.  Alison offers us an informal practice and then she shares thoughts and reflections before leading us in a fifteen-minute guided meditation.  We finish our time with questions or a closing thought.  It’s a beautiful practice.  It has become my Sangha. 

“Sangha” is a Sanskrit word meaning “collection” or “assemblage.” It’s acommunity who follow the teachings of the Buddha. Thich Nhat Hanh says the individual practitioner is the rock and the boat is the Sangha.  “When we throw a rock into a river the rock will sink. But if we have a boat, the boat can carry hundreds of pounds of rocks and it will not sink.”  In other words, together, we are stronger.  Community matters.

This past week, Alison’s topic was prayer.  Ann Lamott, writer and all-around-amazing human says, “prayer means that, in some unique way, we believe we're invited into a relationship with someone who hears us when we speak in silence.”  Prayer hooks us into something greater than just us alone.

I was raised with a more narrow understanding of prayer.  I thought of prayer as a noun rather  than a verb.  I was taught to say my prayers before bed.  Kneeling at the side of my bed with my palms touching at the center of my chest , I recited the Lord’s Prayer.   We attended Mass every Sunday at a beautiful church in town.   That foundation  of religion and prayer served and comforted me over the years. I felt supported in my struggles and have always felt a spirit.

However, over time, my understanding of God has shifted. I grew up believing in a Judeo-Christian God – an old white man with long hair wearing robes –   I now connect with more of a spiritual energy that I find everywhere, especially in Nature.  When I walk in the woods, ski at Alta, or sit by the ocean, I access a source larger than me.

I feel the presence of this Spirit in a birth room. There is a Holiness in the moment a baby is born. Every birth I witness, I whisper a prayer of thanksgiving for the new life. I believe in the power of that prayer. I am learning through my Mindfulness training the power of the Metta practice - LovingKindness.

I started sharing Metta at the end of each yoga class I teach. I have my students repeat after me:“May I be safe. May I be free from danger. May I be free from emotional and physical pain. May I be free from fear and anxiety. May I be free from judgement. May I be comfortable in the discomfort. May I be filled with peace. And May I be filled with lovingkindness.”

And I’ve started springing Metta on stangers. My teacher Howie Coen told about story of moving to San Francisco from New York in the ‘70s.  When he arrived, he felt like an outsider and didn’t find people very friendly.  So he made a conscious decision to practice what he called “Jedi Metta.” Everyone he encountered, he wished them well. “May you have peace. May you have ease”

My town has experienced an influx of population in the pandemic. If you can work from anywhere, why not live in beautiful Park City? When I sit in traffic, or circle the grocery store parking lot looking for a space, I can feel agitated. I practice Metta: for both myself and others. These people are just like me. We love the proximity to the mountains. We love the ease of a small town. We all need groceries. I whisper silently: “May you be well.  May you have peace.”  It’s a practice which helps me soften.

I believe in the power of prayer, spirit and community. I rely on my family and friends to share and witness what the Buddhists call the ten thousand joys and ten thousands sorrows of Life. I am growing to love my Sangha. I am not hung up on how we pray - if at all. As Ann Lamott says, “You can pray to God, to the Good, to the Universe, to an abounding energy of your own definition, to Life or Love. “Nothing could matter less than what we call this force.” Creating space to recognize sprirt is the practice.

May you be well. May you be filled with peace. May you be filled with LovingKindness.

Social Meditation

I’m a self-proclaimed life learner.  I love workshops, retreats, classes, and certification programs.  I realized lately that my plate is full with all these programs, and that it’s time to “close a few browser windows” and wrap up a few projects.  It’s hard for me to resist though.  Online learning has never been easier.

One of my favorite trainings that I’m currently enrolled in is Social Meditation. Created by dharma teacher Ken Folk, social meditation is when two or more people take turns reporting their experience in real time.  What happens in these sessions is that the space for mind wandering is reduced. This practice brings the benefits of traditional silent meditation in a social way.  This practice can be used in both an informal and a formal meditation and can be helpful for beginner meditators.   

It’s hard to know what is happening beyond my thinking mind.  I spend so much time thinking from the neck up sometimes I don’t even know what I feel, either.  In mediation, I can pause and notice my mind state: positive, negative, or natural; or my physical state: tense, spacious, or relaxed.  When I am by myself, my mind wanders.  When I am in a group of social meditators, my mind stays focused and on task.  It’s really cool. 

I was introduced to this practice last year in my mentor group for my Mindfulness Meditation Teacher program.  Our mentor broke us up into small groups on Zoom for five minutes, three of us took turns and shared what we either felt or thought. 

The instructions were simple.   We were asked to fill in the blank: “There is ______”   When it was my turn, I noticed a car passing by outside.  I said:  “there is sound.”   My next turn,  I noticed that I was thinking about dinner so I said, “There is planning.”  

“There is hunger.” 

“There is peace.” 

“there is calm.”

“There is smiling.”

“There is warmth.”

It was a nice practice.   In December, I received an email with an invitation to an upcoming training to learn how to facilitate social meditation.  I signed up.

My first training session seemed quite simple. It felt similar to my reflection of my first yoga class in 1996.  I took a class a studio below the Montgomery Street BART station in San Francisco.  The teacher looked like Jerry Garcia, complete with long grey hair, a shaggy beard, and a round belly.  It was an all-levels Hatha class.  We breathed.  We stretched.  We lay down for Shavasana.  I walked out wondering what all the yoga hype was about?  Yoga seemed easy.

Twenty-five years later, I know that the more I practice, the more reverence I have for the depth and difficulties of the practice.  Lessons learned on the mat have served me in my daily life.  Yoga has cultivated a relationship between my mind and body.  It taught me patience and presence.  I call yoga many things, but “easy” is not one of them.

Social meditation is similar.  I thought after the first class it was straightforward.  After a couple sessions, I realized that this practice was deeper than my initial thoughts.  

I had an insight after being in a group with two other meditators.  Every time one of my colleagues spoke, he named pain.  “There is heat.”  “There is throbbing.”  “There is discomfort.”  I felt horrible for him and I wanted to help.  I wished that I could push pause on the exercises and check in with him, “Are you OK?  What can I do to help you?”  Of course, that was not possible.  I simply responded:  “There is concern” and “There is wondering.”

We regrouped as a whole after our practice and debriefed the experience on Zoom.  I unmuted myself and shared my feeling of helplessness.  I admitted that I am a helper and it was hard to sit and listen to someone in pain.  I wanted to DO something.  And there was nothing to do.  

My teacher nodded.  He said I was experiencing the boundary between self and other.  It’s a tough one.  I often blur the line.   My nature is to focus on others even in a situation that I can’t do anything.  I risk losing my sense of self. 

It was definitely an “a-ha” moment.   I resolved to be more mindful in staying in my lane.  I know from experience that I am in charge of only myself.   I sit with people in pain, but it’s not mine.  They will work it out.  I can have compassion for them, which I do.  But it doesn’t serve me to lose myself in them.  

My initial perception of social meditation changed in a few weeks. I realize now, the practice like yoga has a depth that will reveal itself.  I can’t wait for more!  (To learn more about social meditation, click here.)

Spirit Rock

Three weeks ago today, I arrived at Spirit Rock Mediation Center on a foggy afternoon.  A Lyft had transported me from a quick lunch in San Francisco to bucolic West Marin, an hour from the City.  As five days of silence awaited me, I questioned my decision to begin 2022 on retreat. 

Spirit Rock is gorgeous.   It’s a spiritual garden.  Statues, prayer wheels and small temples are scattered over 400 acres.  The center was built in 1985 by the generosity of members of its community.  Hundreds of people donated time, money and resources to build this sacred center.  The buildings have tall ceilings and large windows.  The beautiful lush green landscape is visible from everywhere. The surrounding hills, forest, and creek add to the peaceful ambiance.  It’s a true refuge away from everyday life and a perfect place to quiet the mind.

When I arrived, my mind was far from quiet.   Nerves and anxiety pumped through my body.  First things first: a COVID test.  Even without any symptoms, I still worried about a positive test result.   In the great hall foyer was a huge Golden Buddha mural.  My yoga teacher and friend Amanda Giacomini’s project is to paint 10,000 Buddhas and this was her piece.  Amanda and her husband MC Yogi live nearby in Stinson Beach.   A smaller version of the painting hangs in my studio.  Imagining Amanda being in that place and painting the familiar icons on that wall calmed my nerves.  

Within in an hour, I had a negative COVID test and an assignment to a both a “yogi job” and a dorm room.   Everyone had a single room due to COVID.  I chose vacuuming the residence halls as my job passing on the opportunity to clean toilets.  I wondered if being OK with cleaning bathrooms and sharing a room made me a “better” person?  I noticed my ever-present compulsion to compare and judge.

We had a rigid daily schedule.  Meditations began at 6:15 am and wrapped up at 9:30 pm.  We sat and meditated eight times a day.  Each sit was either 30 or 45 minutes.  Some were guided and some were silent.  In between meditations, we walked or ate.  Walking meditation is different from hiking.  There’s nowhere to go.  The practice is to walk 15-20 steps and turn around walking slow and feeling each step.  As we spread out around the meditation hall, the retreat participants looked like a bunch of monks walking back and forth.  There is also a Walking Hall upstairs inside the center, but I welcomed the fresh air and break from my mask. 

In addition to the meditations, the work jobs and an hour of movement (Qi Gong), we ate three delicious meals each day.  I ate my meals outside by the creek and enjoyed the sounds of moving water.  The food was scrumptious. I paid attention to texture and flavor of each bite.  I sprinkled my oatmeal with nuts, seeds, fruit and agave and ate like at sloth speed.  I chewed, swollen and paused.  Several times during a meal, I’d place my utensil down and hold my tea or coffee cup.   I’d feel the heat of the mug: I’d smell the beverage and then taste it. I noticed the the cool outdoor temperature on my cheek.  I watched the mist cover the hillside.  I watched my thoughts wander and then invited them back.

Before I left, my thirteen-year-old daughter asked me, “Mom, what do you DO on retreat?”  I told her that I watched my thoughts.  And then I realized at some point in this five-day retreat, that the practice is not to watch my thoughts.  It’s not to think!  Of course, that is impossible, so then the practice is to bringing thoughts back to the “here and now”. 

A retreat center provides a container so practitioners don’t have to think.   With the goal of increasing capacity to stay in the present moment we don’t chose what to do next (there is a schedule) or what to eat (everything is provided).  They remove the “doing” and focus on the being.

It’s pretty awesome.  I realized quickly that even though we were not talking, I didn’t experience silence.  My mind is very chatty.  What I did experience was a deep relaxing.  A deep connection although I left without know a name of another.    I felt a spirit of kindness and sincerity in the group.  Fifty or more people living full lives carved out time to sit together and go inward.   I felt a politeness and basic goodness of everyone around me at all times. It was a nice break from the harsher divided world that I feel when reading the news these days.

And the teachers.  Oh, I loved all four of them.  They were wise, funny and clear.  I wanted to write down every word they said, I quickly realized that no one was taking notes.   I knew from my 2020 silent retreat that reading and journaling was discouraged but I thought taking notes was acceptable.  Since it wasn’t, I surrendered to listen and not write.  I experienced the teachings in a more embodied way.  I noticed a freedom in not writing.  I felt like I was more attentive and ultimately, I was not striving to capture every concept and word.  I often listened with my eyes closed. 

I left the retreat filled with peace and appreciation for Dharma. I love the practice of non-harming.  I love the truth that the present moment is all we have. It’s not a pass through.  When I focus on what happened in the past or plan for what is next, I risk missing the moment. 

The teachings are more of a philosophy than religion.  The first night, my teacher said that the Dharma is not Scripture.  We don’t have to believe what my teacher says.  The invitation is to experience this practice and notice how it works for us. How do we feel with more space?  With more clarity?  Do we make different choices?    

In a  Q&A someone asked, “How do I know if I’m doing this right?  If it’s working?”. My teacher laughed and referred to the Dalai Lama’s answer to this common question “Keeping doing this for 10-20 years and see.” 

This is not a quick fix.  It’s a practice.  There’s a simplicity which boils down to two words: “let go.”   The invitation is to let go: of story, thinking, striving planning, judging mind.  Life is so often not what we thought was going to be, and that’s the fun.  Being curious and noticing as things unfold is something that I am committed to. I invite you to try as well!

I AM

Each new year seems inherently loaded with expectations. 

Questions swirl around in my head: what do I want to leave behind in 2021?  What do I want to manifest? Create? Cultivate?  Although these are valid questions, it requires space and clarity to ask and answer them.  Finding the time to create this space and clarity can be difficult in the midst of my packed daily life.

In order to make it happen, I must schedule it. I knew I wanted to experience the holidays this year mindfully.  So I scheduled my first-ever retreat. The first Friday in December,  I hosted a few women at my parents’ beautiful home in Park City.  I knew I was at my growth edge because I was nervous!  All the feelings show up in my tummy.  I took that excitement and channeled it into my teaching.  

We started the morning with yoga and meditation. Then we moved into an exercise where we created intentions for our holidays.  We sat in a circle and I invited everyone to pause and consider how they wanted to feel during the holidays.  We created a map of intentions that was based on an exercise I learned from my good friends Stacey and Senti. Stacey and Senti founded LifeCourse, a series of experiential classes designed for awakening to “what is true” and “what is possible.”

We drew a heart in the center of the page and wrote “I AM.”  From the heart center, we drew lines out like spokes and wrote present-tense statements of intention of what we hoped to do during the holidays.  A few of my intentions were:

• I am watching my kids open presents

• I am skiing fresh snow at Alta

• I am sleeping well

• I am writing my holiday cards with joy

The idea is to create intentions for each desire.   Only with space and clarity can we name what we want.   Another intention on my map was about an upcoming birth.  My client was expecting her first baby on December 19th.  My son’t birthday is the 20th, mine is the 21st and then Christmas is a few days later.  We always say it’s a big week in our family!   The timing of the birth had potential to be very inconvenient.   My daughter asked me what I would do if the baby came on my birthday.  I responded that I’d be with my client.  “What about Christmas?” she asked.  I said I hoped she didn’t go into labor on Christmas, but if she did, I’d have to be there with the mama.  That is the job of a doula.  We are on call.

At my retreat, I wrote “I am supporting my client on a non-holibirthday”.  Of all my statements on my map,  that was the one that I hoped would come true.  Things often work out so I was hopeful, and in this case, it did.  

On Thursday, December 16th, she called me before 8am.   She was in labor.  We spent the morning on the phone until her scheduled 11am doctor’s appointment.  When she went to see her doctor, she was admitted to labor and delivery.  

I drove down to Salt Lake City and spent the afternoon with her coaching her through each contraction. I showed her husband ways to support her.  Her contractions did not let up.  They were coming one after the other.  She shook.  She moaned.  She breathed.  Her labor was intense.  She had very little rest in between contractions.  

Around 4pm, the nurse checked her cervix and she was 4 centimeters dilated.  She decided she needed a break.  She had been up since 4am in labor.   She requested an epidural.  

After the epidural is placed, usually, the laboring mama experiences full relief.  Unfortunately, with my client, the pain medicine did not work very well.  She could feel the contractions despite the epidural.  The anesthesiologist worked diligently over the next few hours to help her find comfort.  And finally at about 11pm she was able to rest.

Her husband also napped.  I sat on the hospital chair and wrote a stack of holidays cards (with joy!) At 2am, the nurse woke her up and checked her cervix,  She was complete.  Her cervix was 10 centimeters dilated and 100% effaced.  She was ready to push.  Her doctor came in and joined the birthday party!  

My client pushed for just over an hour and at 3:33am, her baby daughter was born.  Another miracle!  Tears streamed down mama’s face.  Her baby girl was here.  I was so happy for their new little family.  There is such joy in the room when a baby is born.

I drove home in the wee hours of the morning in a snowstorm.  It was Friday, December 17th.  Nearly 17 years ago, I my son was born that same hospital.  I reflected if that felt like a long time ago?  YES, I decided.  It felt like a lifetime ago.  I thought of my client.  Her family was just starting a new chapter.  I know she has so much to look forward to.  We all do!

Moving towards 2022, I intend to cultivate the clarity that comes from making the space and taking the time to name what I want.  I commit to  remain flexible, knowing everything is fluid and uncertain. 

I am hopeful that naming my intentions will help me identify and achieve my personal and professional goals.

Holiday Intentions

A handful of soulful mindful mamas will join me Friday morning for a mini-retreat to “start the holidays with stillness.”  The idea of leading a mindfulness retreat has swirled in my head for months.  I’ve hesitated.  The idea makes me nervous. That unsettled feeling in my stomach tells me that I am at a growth edge.  With some effort, I managed to ignore the impostor syndrome that crept into my psyche and pressed on.  I created a flyer, sent it out to my community and now it is time to execute.

Why is intention setting before the holidays important?

In prior years, I haven’t taken much time to pause and ask myself how I want to feel during the holidays.  In reflection, most of my Decembers were spent tired and on autopilot.  I did it to myself. My birthday is December 21st.  My son’s birthday is the day before. It’s a packed week.  I hand-write nearly 250 Christmas cards, which takes me days. I say yes to parties.  I play Santa Claus.  I wrap presents. I lead the charge on decorating the tree.  I plan family ski days and shop for and cook holiday dinners.  I stay up late and wake up early.   Is it any wonder why I’m exhausted?  

I want to do it differently this year.

The founder of Mind-Based Stress Reduction, Jon Kabat-Zinn, defines mindfulness as “the awareness that arises from paying attention in a particular way: on purpose, moment-by-moment, and non-judgmentally.”  This is a practice.  I create space each morning and sit for a fifteen-minute meditation.  My practice is paying off.  I feel more calm.  My mind is quieter, but I still catch myself lost in thought.

I know there is no stopping the thoughts. I’m a planner.  I love to reflect.  But I now know that when I am off somewhere else, I am missing the moment.  My work is to notice my patterns and gently bring myself back.  I am trying to remain curious.  The challenge is kind of fun. 

The holidays can be hard.  We all have some form of holiday baggage, traditions, and memories, which can be both positive and negative.  It’s difficult not to fall into old patterns.   Mindfulness gives us perspective.  Rather than fighting burdensome feelings and thoughts, I am learning to accept them and let them go.  

I’m creating a new reality.  When I heard this poem by Portia Nelson it landed.

Autobiography in Five Short Chapters

I.

I walk down the street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I fall in. I am lost. I am helpless.

It isn't my fault.

It takes forever to find a way out.

II.

I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I still don't see it. I fall in again.

I can't believe I am in the same place. It isn't my fault.

It still takes a long time to get out.

III.

I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I see it there, I still fall in.

It's habit. It's my fault. I know where I am. I get out immediately.

IV.

I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I walk around it.

V.

I walk down a different street.

I reflect:   What are the streets that I continue to walk down?  What new routes do I need to choose?  How can I approach the holidays differently this year?

My intention this holiday season is to be curious, show up and feel the magic.  I want to pay attention to the stories in my mind and practice listening.  By being more open I will feel more joyful.   As mediation teacher Jonathan Lehmann says, “Listening is the best gift I can give to those around me.”  

In the season of gift-giving, maybe my attention is the best present that I can give to those I love.  

An OMazing Water Birth

At the end of September, I witnessed the most beautiful birth of my doula career.  My friend and client, Megan birthed her son in a Japanese bath tub late one Saturday night.  Here’s the story: 

Megan and I reconnected last April.  She reached out after reading an OMazing newsletter.  Pregnant with her second child, she expressed interest in a prenatal yoga class.  In 2018, I had taught yoga to a group of soon-to-be-mamas, including Megan.  Her request turned into weekly prenatal yoga classes that I taught outside all spring, summer and fall. We’re now inside as the weather has changed. I thank Megan for helping build this beautiful community.

In August, Megan and her husband Andy came to my studio for a refresher childbirth education class. I knew they were on the same page with one another regarding birth preferences.  They wanted to labor and deliver at the birth center, intentionally foregoing any opportunity for pain medication. She thought her second birth would be quick so she didn’t think she would need a doula.

However, a few weeks before the birth, Megan changed her mind and hired me to be her doula.

At prenatal yoga class in late September, a few days before she was due, she declared that she was done!   I was leaving on my desert bike trip the next day and she said, “I hope I have this baby when you are gone!”  I smiled and said, “keep me posted!”  We had a back-up doula plan.

After being out of cell service for four days, I turned on my phone and looked through a hundred text messages. I didn’t see one from Megan.  Happy I didn’t miss her birth, I only hoped that I had time to take a shower before she called.

When I connected with Megan, she said that she experienced a few false alarms while I was gone but labor hadn’t started.  Disappointed and frustrated by the stoping and starting, she hoped labor would happen soon.   I reminded her that waiting for a baby is the “great surrender.”

The following day, our friend Carly sent a group text. “Tomorrow is Megan’s due date, so let’s send her vibes to allow her mind and body to let go and allow this process to unfold”. 

A half hour later, my phone rang.  I picked up.   Calmly Megan said, “my water broke.”  I heard a smile in her voice.  “Sweet.”  I said.  I looked at the clock and asked if she was having any contractions.  "Not yet” she said.  It was just a matter of time before she would be in the throes of labor.  

Over the next couple of hours, we exchanged texts. At 8pm I asked if she needed me.  “Ready!” she replied.  I drove down Parley’s Canyon to the birth center.  Her husband Andy met me in the hallway and showed me in.  I found Megan sitting in a yoga swing - a hammock-like rope swing in the shape of a chair.  Megan was focused, calm, and relieved that her recent back pain had subsided.

The rhythm of Megan’s contractions were consistent and building with intensity.  The midwife’s assistant listened the heartbeat as Megan rocked in the swing.  Everything sounded good. 

I invited her to change positions.  She walked to the toilet and stayed there for a few contractions. I rubbed her shoulders and pressed on her lower back.  I swapped places with Andy and he supported her through a few contractions in that same position.  I offered her sips of water and reminded her to relax. 

The only time Megan broke concentration was when she asked her husband if he had sent a text to his parents who were watching their three year-old daughter.   Confirming that situation was handled, Megan was able to go deep once again.  There was no more chit-chat.

For the next hour and a half every ounce of energy went to coping.  Megan met each contraction breath and focus.  Megan asked if I thought it was a good idea to go in the bath.  “It’s always a good idea to go in the bath,” I responded.  

The midwife assistant filled the beautiful Japanese style tub with hot water.  Megan walked over and stepped in.  She kneeled and rested her forehead on an inflatable pillow on the side.  Contractions were picking up in intensity and length.  Each one lasted between a minute to a minute and a half.  There was very little rest in between.

Megan wanted and needed relief.  Andy and I continued working together to create a constant counter-pressure on her lower back and hips.  Eventually, Megan said she felt like she needed to push.  The midwife suggested she roll over in the tub.  Her head was resting on the side, belly facing the ceiling.  The midwife gently checked her cervix and said she was 9 centimeters dilated.  Megan was almost complete.  With a few more contractions she’d be ready to push.

As her contractions continued, so did our counter-pressure.  Megan was overwhelmed.  She felt nauseous, shaky and unsure of herself which are all “text book” signs of transition (the last part of the first stage labor.) Megan asked for nitrous oxide.  The midwife’s assistant left the room to fetch it.  We all knew that before it would be set up she would likely be a mother of two.

Instead of nitrous, we gave her ice cold washcloths.

Megan squatted in the tub while the midwife sat at the edge outside of the tub.  Face to face with Megan, she coached her very calmly.  I was struck by the simplicity of this water birth.  No equipment.  No intervention.  Megan followed the cues of her body.  She simply trusted that her body knew what to do.

Alone in the tub, Megan continued to push.  The midwife held a mirror in the water to monitor progress.  The assistant continued to check the baby’s heartbeat with a hand-held Doppler.  At the midwife’s suggestion, Megan reached down and felt her baby’s head crowning.  

With the next contraction, Megan pushed and birthed the baby’s head.  The midwife instructed her to wait for the next contraction to birth the shoulders and the rest of the body.  I couldn’t believe that in between contractions, the baby’s body was inside of Megan and his head outside in the water.  It was wild.  My focus was 100% on Megan.  Incredibly composed, she waited for another contraction.   

With one more push, her baby boy was born.

The midwife instructed Megan reach between her legs and bring the baby up to her chest. I was struck by the natural beauty couldn’t of the unassisted birth and felt so fortunate to witness.

Andy walked over and kissed his wife.  Tears filled his eyes as he looked at his son.  Megan was smiling.  I was teary.  It was truly, truly amazing to see.

Very carefully, we helped Megan carry her newborn to the bed.  Twenty minutest later, she delivered her placenta.  It looked healthy and normal, just like the baby.  A few minutes later, she bought her baby to her breast.  He latched on for his first feeding.  It was not the most simple latch, but before I left, he was nursing.

I said goodbye and walked outside. It was a beautiful drive home.  The autumn night was warm and clear. Filled with amazement, I replayed the details of the birth in my mind.  A baby born in water!  The way he lingered in the water surprised me.  Because he spent ten months in the amniotic sac, he didn’t need air right away.  

Once again I remember the miracle of every birth that I witness.  What a gift to be a doula.

Say yes whenever possible

In 2003, my friend Charlie died of stomach cancer.  He was one of my best friends from college.    Charlie and I met in the summer of 1992, a few weeks before we both started our freshman year at Colorado College.  We had a lot in common.  He had recently graduated from the Taft School in Connecticut.  I had just finished high school in London.  We had both just participated in 30-day NOLS courses (National Outdoor Leadership School) in Wyoming.  I hiked in the Absaroka Mountain range while he was climbing in the Wind River Range.  Charlie’s parents moved to Lake Forest, my hometown. My parents had recently relocated back after four years of being abroad. 

Charlie and I met in a basement at a friend’s party a week before college.  We hung out all evening.  He was so easy to talk to.  Charlie’s dry sense of humor cracked me up. I always wanted to be around him.  He was cute, cool, and kind.  From day one, I knew we’d be friends.  When  we left the party that night, Charlie said, “See you at CC.”  I smiled.  Relieved, I knew I would have at least one friend at college.  

My first night in Colorado, I was unpacking in with my mom and grandmother.  My dorm phone rang.  When I picked up, Charlie asked, “Do you want to come over to my dorm and meet some people?”  I looked at my mother and grandmother and said “yes”.

Yes. I do want to meet some people.  I said good night to my mom and Gram and walked to Charlie’s dorm across the quad.  Sitting on a bed all together, there was a group of nineteen year-olds who are my now-best-friends: Christy, Meriweather, Conger, Kayto, Heisler, Lucius and Klopp.  Charlie welcomed me into the room like he was the mayor.  That night kicked off a most extraordinary chapter of my life.

Fast-forward five years, I’m living in San Francisco with my besties from Colorado College.  I’m working at a girl’s high school with a dear friend, Chantal who graduated a year ahead of me from Yale. She was smart, fun, and sparkly.  Chantal was effortlessly assimilated into our college friend group.  Eventually we all moved into together - nine women lived in two floors of an old Victorian house.  It was the best of times!

Chantal and Charlie fell in love - true, deep love.  They moved to Los Angeles together and became engaged.  Together, they returned to San Francisco for an engagement party at our friend Sam’s house in September, 2001.  Charlie had lost some weight and my husband remembers asking him about it.  Charlie said he just wasn’t hungry anymore.  We didn’t think much of it.  Feeling invincible, nothing bothered us.  Certainly, the possibility of one of us contracting a terminal illness was not on our radar.

Chantal called me in January.  The solid ground beneath me shattered.  Charlie had cancer - a bad kind: stomach cancer.  Charlie and Chantal made plans to marry right away.  Chantal asked me, can you be in Los Angeles on 02.02.02?  Although it was my sister Mara’s thirtieth birthday and I was hosting her party in Chicago, I pivoted and flew to Los Angeles.

We gathered, laughed, and cried.  We prayed that Charlie’s cancer would go away.

Charlie fought the cancer over the next year.  Chantal did not leave his side.  They moved back to Oakland and bought a beautiful house in Rockridge.  That’s the house where I said goodbye to him.  He passed away on May 17, 2003.

Our friends were rocked.  We hadn’t yet turned thirty and we had already lost a friend.  Chantal, was a widow.  A few weeks after Charlie died, our friend Christy married Ryan in Chicago.  We all flew out, dressed up and celebrated life despite the holes in our heart.  Two days after the wedding, Chantal came to Lake Forest with me to spend some time with Charlie’s parents.  We woke up at dawn and walked to the beach in Lake Forest.  A layer of mist hung over the lake.  Spring flowers lined the grassy park.  The air was cold.   That morning, on that beach, Chantal and I made a vow to say YES to life.  Together, we repeated, over and over:  

YES. YES. YES.

From that day forward, I have always tried to say yes.

About a month ago, my friend Sarah DeAngelo texted me with an opportunity to teach a yoga class with her friend, Manas Itene, a drummer from Nigeria.  Manas has played in Michael Franti’s band Spearhead for over twenty years.  Franti and Spearhead were going to be in town in the middle of September and Manas wanted to play live music at a yoga class.   I saw the text early in the morning. My initial reaction was “no, thank you.”  I figured I’d find another yoga teacher who was more qualified.  I know many teachers who’d love the opportunity.

After reading the text, I went upstairs to my studio to sit for my morning meditation.  I settled my mind and opened myself to the opportunity.  In my mind’s eye, I saw myself teaching alongside this talented musician.  By the end of my meditation, I knew that I needed try. I recognized that my resistance was arising from my “imposter syndrome.”  I decided to set it aside.  I went downstairs and responded to Sarah’s text:

“YES. Yes, I’ll teach.”

Isn’t that what life is all about???  Being open to new possibilities?  I grow through discomfort.  

For the next two weeks, I worked with Sarah and Manas’s lovely manager, Kylie.  Together we put together a beautiful event.  I decided to donate my portion of the proceeds to the organization “Too Young to Wed,” which is working hard to protect young women and girls in Afghanistan and all over the world.

Kylie created a poster.  We promoted our event on the radio, in the local newspaper, over e-mail and through social media.  On a sunny day in mid-September over forty yogis came to the park and mindfully practiced yoga together for a great cause.   The combination of Manas’s drums and the spirit I felt flow through me as I taught the class will forever make this event memorable.

We raised nearly $1500 for the girls in Afghanistan. That night, I went to the Michael Franti concert and watched Manas play drums on the big stage.  I saw him after the show and gave him a big hug.  Just like Charlie, Manas is cute, cool and kind.

If you are faced with an opportunity that you feel like you want to pass on, I dare you to say “yes” and see what happens.

Baby Blessing

Have you ever been to a baby blessing?  I first heard about them in a doula training workshop five years ago. This ceremony is based on sacred traditions of many different cultures and religions.  The idea is to gather friends and or family and circle around a pregnant mama and bless her and the baby.  Though the substance of the blessings offered may vary widely, the outcome is always the same.  Each blessing leaves the mother and her friends filled with love and gratitude.

Priya Parker wrote a remarkable book called The Art of Gathering.  I read it last year after hearing her interviewed on Brené Brown’s podcast, Unlocking Us.   The ideas presented in the book were not new for me.  I knew her message to be true: gathering with intention creates greater meaning.  Parker points out that the gatherings in our lives can be “lackluster and unproductive” and they don't have to be. Conventions of most human gatherings are routine. If we increase our focus on an intention and the people involved, there will be more soul in the gathering.  Maybe that is why I love my book club. We convene with an intention to talk about a work of literature, but this inevitably leads us to deeper, more personal subjects. 

After being isolated for the past year+, I am still experiencing the novelty of in-person socializing.  Being together is more important than ever.  And so, given the chance, there is nothing I love more than accepting an invitation to a soulful gathering.

The first baby blessing I gave was to my dear friend Carly who hired me to be her doula in 2016.  She asked me to work with her despite my lack of knowledge and experience.  Carly recognized my skill to hold space and stay calm.  She knew she wanted me to by her side on her journey to motherhood.  In preparation, I signed up for a doula workshop, where I learned about baby blessings.  I took the initiative to gather her tribe and bless her and her baby.

My daughter Sadie was 8 years old at that blessing.   She joined me and helped me set up.  We put out a few candles and crystals.  Carly’s friends, her mother, Sadie and I all sat in a circle and shared our hopes for Carly.  As we spoke, we passed around a ball of yarn.  At the end of the ceremony, we tied it on to our wrist as a reminder that we are all connected.  When Carly’s daughter Layla was born, we cut the string, a symbol of another ritual of birth - the cutting of the umbilical cord.

The blessing was beautiful, as was Layla’s birth.  Carly so appreciated the blessing that she continued to pass along the tradition to her friends.  Last weekend, Carly invited me to join her for another blessing of our friend Megan who is pregnant with her second baby. I’ve known Megan for a few years and she’s the catalyst for my prenatal yoga series that I started this spring.  Megan reached out in April and asked if I’d be interested in teaching prenatal yoga to her and a few pregnant friends.  Since then, I’ve taught a steady stream of pregnant mamas in my backyard on Mondays at 6pm.  And when they have their baby, I invite them to a Tuesday morning “Mommy and Me” yoga class.  It has been a fantastic way to build this community.  I love it!

Midmorning last Sunday, eight women gathered around Megan for the blessing, including Sadie and me. Together, Carly and I led the blessing. Carly started by passing around burning sage.  I invited everyone to take a few breaths and join me in three rounds of Om which is a sacred sound that is known generally as the sound of the universe.  Yoga classes and other rituals begin and end with Om.   Hearing Sadie’s twelve-year-old voice chanting “Ommmmmmm” next to me was delightful and so sweet.  I was happy she was there.

After our chant, I jokingly read this quote: “May your coffee be stronger than your toddler.”  Megan has a three-year-old daughter, Maeve.   Those of us with multiple children know that the newborn is not always the biggest challenge in a family with two children.  Everyone laughed. 

Next, I quoted Nishan Panwar’s salient observation that “being a mother is learning about strengths you didn’t know you had, and dealing with fears you didn’t know existed.”

Isn’t that true?

Carly then offered three questions to the group.  We went around the circle, passing a ball of yarn, and answered each question individually.  

1. How do you know Megan?

2. Share a piece of parenting advice.

3. What is something that you do in your marriage that you want to pass along to Megan?

All the women answered with true grace and vulnerability.   Everyone had something to share. Megan appreciated the sage wisdom and we all left taking away tips for our own lives.

Sadie made me proud with her answers.  For the first question, she said that she didn’t really know Megan and everyone giggled.  She did have thoughts on the second question.   Her parenting advice, from her expert perspective, is for parents to listen to their children.  She said sometimes kids want to talk, and they might not want to hear a suggested solution.  Parents just need to give them the space to talk.  And then for marriage advice, she stated that obviously, she was not married. She’s 12.  But she said that if you are going to have a screaming fight, don’t do it in front of the kids.  She said it does not happen often at her house (fortunately) but it has, and it “made my brother and me very uncomfortable.”

The next day, a few of the mamas texted me and shared how much they enjoyed seeing Sadie and hearing her advice from that age in life.   My favorite text was from a lovely mama who said “I wanted to send you a note telling you how much I appreciated witnessing your mother/daughter relationship. It was absolutely wonderful to see your daughter’s self confidence shine yesterday. She seems to have such a mature thought process, and I think that is a huge testament to your parenting. She is truly a special soul!”

Creating space for a ritual is something that has been somewhat lost in our culture.  However, I remember each time that I lead or participate in one a Blessing,  about the importance of connection.  And it’s important to pass on ceremony on to our children.

It would have been easy to head out the door on Sunday by myself.  When I asked Sadie if she wanted to come, she was on the fence because she thought it might be boring and she didn’t really know anyone aside from Carly.  And yet, she came.   Sadie’s presence made the event even more special.  

I closed the ceremony with one of my favorite essays by Kahlil Gibran - On Children - which I now share with you. Enjoy!

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, Speak to us of Children.

     And he said:

     Your children are not your children.

     They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.

     They come through you but not from you,

     And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

     You may give them your love but not your thoughts,

     For they have their own thoughts.

     You may house their bodies but not their souls,

     For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

     You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

     For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

     You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

     The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

     Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;

     For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Connecting Once Again

The mission of the nonprofit organization – Hive Family Collective – that I co-founded with two other mamas Perry and Joanna is to “connect, educate and support all families on their journey from pregnancy to parenthood.”  If you are a parent, you know the range of emotions raising a child can evoke.  It’s possible to feel utter joy in one moment and then despair the next.  All parents need a community to share our highs and lows, to address our challenges and to celebrate our triumphs.

Here’s an example of the “both/and” of being a parent.  This spring my daughter sweetly waltzed into my studio upstairs and asked me if she could bake.  She pitched the idea of macaroons, French Silk pie or brownies.  We decided on the French Silk.  She kindly offered to make the crust gluten free since I don’t eat wheat.  I said yes to baking.  She kissed me, walked away and said, “thank you mama - you are the best.”

My heart ballooned as I watched her leave my studio.  She was the sweetest darling - thoughtful, talented and super cute.  Two hours later, I walked downstairs to the kitchen was horrified. There was coconut all over the floor.  Chocolate covered dishes were stacked in the sink.  The mixing bowl lined with the last of the whipped cream hardened.  The pie cooled on the counter without any wrap over it. 

Next to the pie was a note.  “I went to R’s.” She left this mess and went next door!  Who did she think would clean this up?  I looked at the mess and wondered: what was wrong with her?  Where did I go wrong as her mother?  I was infuriated.  The moment of joy from two hours ago gone.

I spend a lot of time with new mamas.  They too experience the “both/and” of motherhood on a daily basis.  “The baby both slept for three hours and cried for two.”  “I finally made out of my house and then my baby had a blow-out.”  

The past year and a half of isolation has been difficult for everyone on the globe.  However, the postpartum families have not had the in-person connection which I know is so important when experiencing everything for the first time.  Without a community to share their highs and lows, these mamas felt alone.

Praise be!  This summer we are back together!  Each week Hive Family Collective hosts a new mama meeting outside at the Park City Library.  At the library, there’s a heart-warming coffee shop called “The Lucky Ones” which employs workers with disabilities.  For the past several weeks a handful of mamas have pushed their strollers over, grabbed a coffee and pulled up a chair.  

We are building community through laughter and tears.  We talk about all the things postpartum:  milk-supply, sleeping, and baby gear.  They connect on diverse but common issues like setting and maintaining boundaries with their in-laws and finding qualified and affordable childcare providers.  The mamas swap phone numbers and friendships are being made. 

A few years ago, my friend Carly was pregnant with her second baby.  Carly is my friend who hired me as a doula five years ago – the birth that started me on my OMazing journey.  Carly has a way of pulling out my seeds of talent and helping them grow.  Carly asked me if I would teach prenatal yoga.  She was having a hard time finding a class.  Being the “yes” girl that I am, I agreed.  Carly found a couple other pregnant mamas to join us.  We practiced for a few months in the local high school gym.  To this day, those women are very good friends.

One of the mamas from that class, Megan is pregnant with her second.  She reached out to me this spring and asked if I would teach another round of prenatal yoga.  I said, “of course!”  We started a text chain and invited a few pregnant mamas to my backyard on Monday evenings.  

The first couple months were touch and go because of weather.  It snowed or rained three out of the first four weeks. However, since summer started, there has been very little rain, allowing us to have a consistent day and time outdoor classes.  Word went around town.   I’ve received a few texts throughout the summer. “Will you add me to your prenatal yoga list?” 

As new expecting mamas join the class, others leave. Every couple of weeks, a baby announcement appears on the text chain with a photo of the newest baby in town.  In May, two of my yogi mamas had a baby the same day at the same hospital!  They didn’t know it until they shared their news on the text chain.  I love the connection.

In June, I started a second class.  This time, I teach a morning “Mommy and Me” yoga class in the park.  The library and coffee shop are both just across the street from the park and after yoga, if the mama have time, we all go to coffee and meet the other NewBee Mamas.

In addition to the coffee meeting, Hive offered a hike. A few of us gathered one morning and walked a Round Valley trail.  One of the mamas brought a friend whom she calls “Mimi”.  Mimi has grown step-kids and is happy to help out with these new mamas.  One of the women is moving next week.  I overheard “Mimi” offering to help watch the baby even though they met less than an hour ago.  After confirming that Mimi was vaccinated, she said yes. She would love the help. Who wouldn’t?

I thought later that I am so happy Hive is alive!  Born in COVID, we are transitioning out into the world, connecting once again.  I am grateful for this time.  Coretta Scott King said, “the greatness of a community is most accurately measured by the compassionate actions of its members." Filled with compassionate people who desire to support and be supported, Hive is bound to be a great community.

Climb out of the Darkness

Last Saturday, I was scheduled to teach an all-day Childbirth Class for the University of Utah.  Maybe it was my mistake - or maybe it was theirs, but I realized late Friday evening that I was not on the schedule.  This error delighted me for two reasons:  My husband, two dogs and I were driving to the Pacific Northwest and planned on starting our long drive after my class at 4pm.  We moved our departure time up a few hours and drove in daylight.  Secondly, I was available to attend the Postpartum Support International (PSI) fundraiser, Climb out of Darkness from 10am-12pm before I left town.

I recently completed a two-day PSI course on the components of care for perinatal mood and anxiety disorders.   I wanted to attend this event to add to my knowledge about postpartum issues and build my resource list.  This event brought survivors, mental health providers and community members together around the Summer Solstice to shine light on the devastating truth around perinatal mood and anxiety disorders.

Our culture does not often speak openly about the difficulties of life with a baby.  The hardships and challenges, although common, can be kept as if they were shameful secrets.  A new mom often lacks perspective.  She might think her anxiety or overwhelm feelings are normal.   Thoughts like “of course I am tired - I have a newborn.“  Or, “of course I am anxious and unsure how to do this.  It’s hard!”   Endless thoughts invade our minds and are hard to turn off. 

No one argues that the responsibility of feeding and caring for a newborn is not immense and exhausting.  Mothers healing from birth and beginning to nurse ache with sore bodies.  Their hormones are whacked.  80% of new mothers experience “baby blues.”   These short-term swings in mood are caused by changes that come with a new baby.  These feels usually only last up to three weeks.  But if a mother continues to feel sadness, anxiety or overwhelm beyond a couple weeks, she may be suffering from a mood disorder.

Here’s a list of differences between baby blues and a mood disorder (taken from webmd.com):

When It’s the Baby Blues:

• Your mood swings quickly from happy to sad. One minute, you’re proud of the job that you’re doing as a new mom. The next, you’re crying because you think you’re not up to the task.

• You don’t feel like eating or taking care of yourself because you’re exhausted.

• You feel irritable, overwhelmed, and anxious.

When It’s Postpartum Depression:

• You feel hopeless, sad, worthless, or alone all the time, and you cry often.

• You don’t feel like you’re doing a good job as a new mom.

• You’re not bonding with your baby.

• You can’t eat, sleep, or take care of your baby because of your overwhelming despair.

• You could have anxiety and panic attacks.

A new mama might not know that she has a mood disorder.  This is especially true if she does not have a history of mental illness prior to the birth of her child.  Her feelings can be confusing.    She might have waited her whole life to have a baby and imagined that the birth of her child will cause her to feel a certain way.  If feelings that arise are negative, and she does not feel the way she imagined she would, she might think there’s something wrong with her.  Mothering is not always wonderful and fulfilling.  We women have a superpower to “should” ourselves.

“This should be different.”

“I should be able to do this.”

“I am supposed to enjoy this.  I shouldn’t complain.”

“Why am I so tired?  I should just power through.”

The shame of “shoulds” like these robs us of our joy.    

Regardless of what she might feel, it’s important for a new mama to know that she is not alone.    One in seven moms suffers from a mood or anxiety disorder during pregnancy or after delivery.  Over twice as many moms of color suffer (1 in 3). And dads are affected too:  1 out of 10 dads are afflicted by a mood disorder. Often those dads suffer when the mother is suffering – a double doozy.

When a mood disorder goes undiagnosed, there is no way to rewind time to get that time back with the baby.  

At the event on Saturday morning, one young mother bravely spoke and shared her postpartum depression journey.  Her lower lip quivered with nerves.   She opened with the message, “If I can help just one mother out there, it is worth it to be here.”   

This mother suffered in silence for over a year after her baby was born. She felt like a terrible mother.  She didn’t enjoy the baby and did not feel capable to care for the baby.  Only her husband knew her truth.  Six months into the baby’s life, her husband helped her find a therapist and a psychiatrist.  Filled with shame, she thought she “shouldn’t” need the drugs or support to get better so she ignored them both and continued  to suffer in the darkness. 

By the time her daughter was a year old, she considered taking her own life. Thinking her family would be better off without her, she was saved by her husband.  At that point, she started medication and began therapy.  A year later, she still has hard days, but she is healing.  She knows that she is not alone, it is not her fault and with help, she will be well. 

Listening to her story, tears filled my eyes.

After her speech, she walked over to her husband and young daughter.   I shuddered as I considered what that little girl’s life would be like without her dear mother.  Thankfully, she found the help she needed.  I wondered if they were other women in the park that morning who also needed help? If so, I prayed that they heard her message.

I am grateful that there are events and groups like Postpartum Support International to help couples make the difficult transition from adult to parent.  The nonprofit organization offers peer support to families, trains professionals and then provides a bridge to connect them.  I am looking forward to bringing this important knowledge into my work to support my OMazing mamas.

For more information or if you or someone you know needs postpartum support, click here to view the wealth of resources of PSI.

A beautiful birth

I was not surprised when my phone rang at 1:30am. 

 “Hi.  How’s it going?” I said quickly and quietly.    Although I thought it would be my client on the other side of the phone, it was her husband.   His wife was in labor.  He responded, “She’s good.  We’re at five centimeters and we’re ready for you.”

 He sounded both excited and nervous.    

 “You bet.  I’ll be there soon.”

Knowing that I might be awakened in the middle of the night, I had packed my doula bag before going to bed.  It didn’t take long for me to dress and hop in my car.  I drove down Parley’s Canyon.  I looked at the clock. It was 2:22.  I made a wish.

When I walked into their kitchen, I was greeted by the soon-to-be-father.  He held a small cup of coffee and thanked me for coming.  Their two dogs barked making sure I knew they were there too.  He pointed me to the bathroom and said that his wife was in the tub and that their midwife was with her.  My client worked as a nurse and met her midwife in nursing school years prior.  They were dear friends. 

I loved what I saw.    It was an ideal laboring scene.   A candle lit the bathroom.  Music played quietly through a speaker on the counter.  The midwife was pouring water over her friend’s back through each long contraction.    My client breathed beautifully.     My client’s husband was outside the door, ready to do provide anything that was needed.  Now that I was there, the birth team was complete.

I whispered hello to the midwife.  We sat on the bathroom floor together for a few minutes until my client was ready to get out of the tub.  I stepped out of the bathroom and walked down into the kitchen.

“What an amazing gift to have the midwife here.” I said to the husband. He agreed.  “She is great.  We are lucky.”   Having her at the house provided a sense of calm and safety to my client allowing her labor to progress.

The husband walked up the stairs to the bathroom and the midwife came down to the kitchen.  We chatted for a minute and I gave her a short massage, rubbing her shoulders.  I know she appreciated the gesture.

A few minutes later, my client walked down the basement taking one step at a time.  We rolled out a yoga mat and she knelt on her hands and knees.  Her head rested on a birth ball.  She breathed and swayed through a couple contractions until she was uncomfortable and needed to move.

The sensations were tremendous and relief was difficult to find.  She was filled with doubt.  “I don’t know….” She repeated over and over.  I knew she was in transition.  When I teach childbirth, I talk about the emotional milestones of the stages of labor.  The final part of the first stage of labor, transition is the shortest and for a mama without an epidural, it is the most intense.   Transition is marked with doubt, overwhelm and fear.   She was showing all the signs.  I responded by looking her in the eye and said, “You’ve got this.  You are doing this.  Trust your body.” The affirmations helped her calm her mind.  She closed her eyes and continued contracting. 

We helped her move to the couch.  She laid on her side with a pillow in between her legs.  Her water broke.  We cleaned it up and decided that it was time to go to the hospital.

I walked her outside to the car.    The air felt crisp and cool, and the night was dark and still.  I assisted her into the back seat of the car, right next to their brand-new car seat.   I drove my own car and we caravanned down the empty streets of Salt Lake City.   We hit every green light.  There was not a single car on the road.  The clock read 3:33.  I made another wish.

Her husband dropped the midwife and her at the front door of the hospital and parked in the garage next to me.  Together, we walked to the second floor and into her hospital room. The action had begun!  My client was hooked up to an external monitor to measure both the strength of her contractions and the baby’s heartbeat.    Her cervix was dilated to nine centimeters.  She was nearly complete.  We were about to have a birthday party.

Her baby was doing great, as was she.  She continued to meet each contraction with focus and determination.  We reminded her to breathe, moan, and move.  I offered her sips of water and rubbed her head. 

My client was so polite to everyone in the room.  Being a nurse, she knew how it was on the other side.  I knew it was Nurse Appreciation week (one of my best friends is a nurse) and I mentioned how much we loved our nurses.

We were at the hospital for less than 20 minutes when it was time to push.  She tried laying on her side.  And then moved to her hands and knees.   And then returned to her side.  

She was a very good listener.  We were coaching her: “Bear down.”  “Take a deep breath in and push,” and “10, 9, 8, etc.”  Excitement filled the room.  “Yes.  Yes, that is it.  I can see hair.” 

I looked at her husband. His eyes were wide and filled with love and admiration.  He reached for his wife’s hand.  The anticipation was palpable. Moments before the baby was born, the midwife directed my client to take three quick pushes and then pause.  Pushing is more of an art than a science.  To avoid tearing, we want women to push and take two steps forward and one back.    It’s difficult to pause when the sensation is to push.  However, my client did not waver.  She remained calmed and stayed focused.  

I looked at the clock a minute before her daughter was born: 4:44.  One more wish. One more push and…….

She was here!  Her husband looked at the baby and paused.  He knew he had a big job of announcing the sex.  “It’s a girl!” 

“What?! What?!” My client exclaimed in surprise as the nurse placed her baby right above her abdomen.  The umbilical cord was short.  My client was surprised. I had asked her earlier to guess the sex and said said “probably a boy.”  Wrong!

Joy, joy, joy!  It was a true birthday party! 

My client only pushed for forty minutes - amazing woman.  That is not long for a first-time birth. 

I left the hospital at 6:30am after the baby girl had latched for her first feeding.   My clients were tired and looking forward to a nap.  Their baby girl was so comfortable.  So perfect.  So sweet.

There are many reasons why labor can be long and difficult.   The position of the baby in the uterus, how the labor begins (naturally or induced) and the shape of the mother’s pelvis are a few factors.  In addition, the feeling of safety and ability to relax in labor can contribute to a shorter labor. Creating a calm environment,  surrounding yourself with a supportive birth team and preparing for the birth through education and self-care can make a huge difference.  

This birth, last month, reminded me that laboring at home for as long as possible with a supportive birth team is an ideal approach to a smooth birth.   Lucky me to have been there.   It was a joy and an honor to witness.

Believe what you receive

Being in the middle of a difficult situation is no fun. Often when I look back, hindsight provides me with perspective.  I understand that life usually unfolded was the way it’s supposed to be.  Our real estate experience taught me valuable lessons: patience and trust pays off.

In June, 2016, my husband and I invested in an historic old miners’ cabin in Old Town Park City.  We partnered with a builder who had vision to renovate and resell the property.   Although we had never participated in an opportunity like this before, we were optimistic and excited about our “fixer-upper.”  My husband is a real estate attorney and sees many deals like this which all seem to make money.  We wanted in!

We spent the next year making plans and exploring the city permitting process.  Our ski town is very strict with historical homes and the regulations were stunning.  In addition to being historical, our cabin had “landmark” status making the guidelines even stricter on renovating old homes.  Paint was OK, but even a new window needed a permit.    

As laborious as the process was, I appreciated the history of the home.  It was the “gatehouse” for the Ontario Mine.  Back in the 1860s, the gatekeeper lived there and closed the gate when all the miners had gone home for the evening.   I imagined their life inside the cabin.  The wood stove, molding and closet-less bedrooms would have been the same. Families sat on the front porch and cooked in the kitchen.  If the walls could talk, I wonder what they’d say.  Some workers reported to us that they thought the house was haunted.  I never experienced that first-hand, but it doesn’t surprise me.

For over a year, there was very little progress.  We lost faith in our partner, so in 2017 we bought him out and resold his share to another builder.  We were optimistic for the future of the house.

The next chapter was painful.

In 2017, we knew that we needed to do something with the house in order to rent or sell it - it was not in good condition.  In order to add square footage to the cabin, our builder partner suggested lifting the house up with a crane and digging a foundation.  We could add a basement, a garage and then gut the inside of the house.  We’ have to leave the exterior exactly as it was per the historical guidelines making it very difficult and expensive.   The proposed budget was over a million dollars. 

We opted for Plan B: the “lipstick” plan.  We planned to upgrade the kitchen and bathrooms.  We could freshen up the floors and paint the outside and then hopefully sell.  All of the planned work could be done without City permits and inspections.

The adage “we plan while God laughs” sums up our experience.  A few months into the renovation, our carpenter Ellie pulled up the bathroom floor and saw dirt.  The entire foundation was rotted. Surprised and horrified, we stopped all work.  

Slammed with with other projects, our building partner stopped paying attention to this project. There were holes in the floor and my heart. We didn’t know what to do and my husband and I could not fix it ourselves.  We needed to either hire another company to fix the entire bathroom foundation or work with our partner, who at the time was MIA.

Of course we wanted to work with our partner, but weeks passed with no action.  Without any other viable options (and mortgage payments due with no rent coming in), we drafted an email to our partner with a proposition to end the relationship.  We began to surrender to the reality that we were going to have to take out another loan to buy them out and hire someone to help us rebuild the cabin.

When I’m stuck, I often turn to angel cards for guidance. I own a deck of cards that have various messages.  Knowing there is no right or wrong card, over the years, I am continually surprised on how apropos the cards’ messages can be.  The message often seems fated or synchronistic.

After we sent our partner the “break-up” email. I pulled a card.  It couldn’t believe it.  It was the  “Angel of Union”.  The guidebook described the card,  “A merger, partnership or relationship of some kin is being formed which holds long term benefits for your life.  This relationship, partnership or merger which is with someone you already know or deal with, is blessed and destined for great success of some kind…Thank the universe for this wonderful blessing!”

I laughed out loud.    I didn’t quite feel like this relationship was a blessing, but I was relieved.  And I was even more relieved when the next morning our partner called me and apologized for being out of touch.  He received our email and said that there was no way that he was going to leave the project in that state.  He recommitted to the project.  I accepted his apology and we moved on.

The rest of the renovation moved forward, albeit painfully slowly.  We finished the project in January 2019.  The miners’ cabin had a new kitchen, two new bathrooms, gutters, and fresh paint.  Our partner’s wife decorated it beautifully.  Right away, we tried to obtain a nightly rental license from the city and were denied.  We had to replace a bedroom window for fire egress, upgrade a railing and do a few other things to pass inspection.  Due to the delays in getting a permit for the window replacement, our house remained unoccupied until the spring of 2019 when a long-term renter moved in for six months.   Though his rent didn’t cover the mortgage, we finally had some income to offset the cost of ownership, and the construction phase was finally over.

While the renter lived there, we listed the house to sell.  Over the next year, it went under contract four times and fell out each time for various reasons.  The last offer we accepted was even lower than our break-even point. We resigned to “stop the bleeding.”  However, even that contract fell through.   Buyers were wary.  We understood.  We were wary too.

We obtained a nightly rental license in 2020 and rented it for the winter until COVID struck.  With no business after March 13th, we decided to find another long-term renter.  I found a millennial woman who said she needed a place to live.  She successfully leveraged the pandemic to negotiate very low rent and turned out to be a high-maintenance nightmare.   She rented the house on Airbnb over Thanksgiving and left the country.  When she came home there was an eviction notice on her door.  Bad news.

Facing eviction, our tenant moved out in time for the ski season.  We worked with an amazing property manager who rented the cabin almost every week this past winter.  Park City became a very popular place to vacation during the pandemic.  The real estate market has been on fire and there is little to no inventory left.  When the ski season was wrapping up, we prepared to list the house again.  Before the house was officially on the market, we had a cash offer for nearly two hundred thousand dollars more than the last offer we accepted just a year before.  Twenty-one days later, we closed.

My husband and I went over to the house after we signed the closing documents a couple of week ago.  While I loved the location, the history and sweetness of the old cabin, I was not sorry to say goodbye to that project. We walked around the house one last time and I noticed the paint peeling, the gutter disconnected and the deck spongy.  But none of it was my problem anymore.

What a relief!  I couldn’t be more pleased how the story ended.    Like Churchill says,  “ If you are going through Hell, keep going.” And I say, along the way, pick an angel card and “believe what you receive.”

Rainbow Babies

In 2004, my oldest sister and I were both expecting. She had a two-year-old son and was elated to be pregnant with a girl.  Although I didn’t know my child’s sex, we dreamed about close these cousins were going to be.  My son was born in December she was due in March.

The day before my sister was induced, her baby stopped moving. In preparation for the birth, my mom was staying at her house.  She assured my sister that everything was fine.  “The baby’s so big, there’s nowhere for her to go” she said.  

But my sister intuitively sensed that something was wrong.  A mother’s intuition is strong.  She and her husband went to the hospital, just a few hours before they were supposed to check in for her induction.

Soon after arrival, they learned the devastating news that there was no heartbeat.  My niece had died.  My sister was immediately induced and gave birth to her lifeless baby girl.

In shock, I flew to California, holding my three month-old baby boy, crying.  I arrived at the hospital in time to see my niece.  She looked like my mom with her dark hair. Despite having no pulse or color, she was a beautiful baby.  Peaceful and still.

That baby girl, Whitney Ann would have celebrated her sixteen birthday this past month.  It’s hard to believe that much time has passed.  Every year on her birthday my sister and her family go to the California coast to remember their daughter/sister.  Somehow it is simultaneously a beautiful and heartbreaking tradition. 

Whitney is our angel.

How did my sister recover? She has a strong faith, incredible friends, solid family and a loving husband.  They continued to have more babies and are raising three boys who are so fun – just like my sister.  

Her pain was neither permanent nor personal.  Losing Whitney was anything but perfect.  Her experience reminds me that every child born is a true miracle.

A few weeks ago, I responded to a text from the University of Utah.  There was a mother in labor requesting a volunteer doula. I had the honor of supporting her through the end of her labor and birth.   She was a strong, determined and focused mama.  Every contraction, I pressed her hips - offering counter pressure and reminding her to breathe. 

She was desperate for her daughter to be born.  She continually talked to her baby girl, Iris, and invited her come out. 

I asked her partner why they chose the name Iris.

“She’s our rainbow baby” he said quietly.  I didn’t know what he meant at the time but I pieced it together.  The mother told me after Iris was born that she had had experienced nine miscarriages and a stillbirth.  Iris was their first live baby.   “Oh,” I whispered as I held her hand.

Later, I read that a rainbow baby is the name for a healthy baby born after loss. The name “rainbow baby” comes from the idea of a rainbow appearing in the sky after a storm, or after a dark and turbulent time. Iris is the personification of the rainbow in Greek Mythology.  

Baby Iris was a beautiful as her name.

My nephews Charlie and Tommy are also rainbow babies.  We waited a long time for them and now that we know and love them, we can say that it was worth the wait.

Flipped Upside Down

My family called March 2020 “the decade of March.”  I can’t remember a month that dragged quite like it.  Almost a year ago, on Friday the 13th, my sixth- and ninth- graders came home from school with smiles on their faces.  Gleefully, they announced that school was closed for two weeks.   A fun and spontaneous break!  We cleared our calendars, slept in, and started school and work on-line.  Zoom, masks, and social distancing were all new words in our vocabulary and became essential parts of all of our days.  At first we didn’t even mind that we couldn’t see friends, or were limited to weekly grocery store visits.  That was until the novelty wore off.    Slowly, our sense of euphoria about the “new normal” gave way to the frustration and disappointment that have ebbed and flowed all year.

This past year has been a year of surrender, sacrifice, and growth.  I’ve been forced to shift and change.  In other words, I’ve had to grow.  Personal growth isn’t easy.   Like many, I prefer certainty.  I don’t gravitate towards situations that plop me into discomfort.  But this pandemic has reminded me that I am not divinely in charge.  This reminder is humbling. 

Through hard situations, I found new ways to cope.  When things in my life were cancelled, I adapted.  I created a way to teach childbirth classes online. My kids pivoted this summer and filled their days with local adventures instead of sleepaway camp.  I cultivated patience needed to support my kids in remote learning.  And recently, I managed to avoid contracting COVID despite my teenage son being sick.  

A year ago, I don’t think I could have ever predicted how upside-down everything could be.

In yoga, inversions are part of class.  We teach going upside-down as a way to change the blood flow as well as perspective.  Taking the metaphor off the mat, has this pandemic, which flipped my world upside-down, broadened my perspective?

What is better in my life as a result of flipping?  

Undoubtedly, my relationship with my family has strengthened.  Without a social life, I’m home. I spend a lot of time with kids.  I help my twelve-year-old daughter process the highs and lows of middle school, making sure that the inevitable dramas do not cause real traumas.    I savor time with my sixteen-year-old reminding myself in just over two years he’ll be off to college.  Gulp. My husband and I walk the dogs nearly everyday together, noticing the change of seasons, the birds, the clouds, and the sparkles of sunlight on new-fallen snow.

I’ve also strengthened my relationship with myself.  Through a quieter life, I meditate, read, listen to podcasts and spend time outside. One of the shiniest silver linings of the past year is my connection with my college friends through a video app called Marco Polo. We share details of our life day after day. I’ve never felt closer to these women than I have this year.

It’s amazing!  I am awake. I notice both the beauty and pain in the world.  The dismay I experience when I read about the health and wealth disparities in our country are balanced with the joy I feel when I help parents prepare for childbirth.  As I pray for those who are suffering, I am elevated by the hope and excitement that soon-to-be parents feel about bringing a new child into the world.

I don’t who I would be in a “busy” world today without the pandemic.  So, I can actually be grateful about the past year, while also acknowledging the global pain caused by COVID.  

What has flipped in your world this past year?  Are you holding on to what was, or are you accepting what is?

The poet Rumi wrote:  “Try not to resist the changes that come your way. Instead let life live through you. And do not worry that your life is turning upside-down. How do you know that the side you are used to is better than the one to come?”

Finding Comfort in the Discomfort

My son Brewster turned sixteen a month ago. We found him a car, but his use of the car was conditioned on his payment on a monthly payment on a loan that we co-signed.  My husband and I wanted to give him an opportunity to build credit while being invested in his car.  My son readily agreed and was all smiles until he realized that he needed income.  His birthday and Christmas money would last only so long.

“I need to make money. What should I do Mom?” he asked.  

“Get a job.”  I said.  (It’s tough growing up!)

Brewster was hired as a food runner at one of the last local après-ski establishments at the base of Park City Mountain Resort.  It’s a perfect first gig.  He delivers baskets of wings, fries, and nachos to tables inside and out.  He fills bottles of ketchup and buckets of ice.  He earns an hourly wage and tips.  He’ll make enough to pay his monthly car payment and still have money left over to satisfy his basketball shoe habit.

His first day of work was just before his birthday so I drove him.  He said very few words in the car.  As we approached the resort, he admitted to me that he was nervous - really nervous.  He said it wasn’t quite as bad as how he felt before the first day of school in France, but it a close second.  “Oh God, I hate this” Brewster said as he opened up the car door.

There was nothing I could say that would make walking into the front door on his first day of work any easier.  He had to do this alone.  He’d go inside and find out for himself.  Whether he had an easy first day, or a brutal one, it would be over in six or seven hours. I refrained from responding with my favorite “This to shall pass” I just nodded and blew him a kiss.  “Good luck!”

As he walked in the front door, I too had to take a deep breath.  He was a ball of nerves, but so was I.   I breathed and inspected my emotions.  All the feelings: uncertain but hopeful; excited but nervous; proud but protective.

Uncertainty is what I teach!  Childbirth is filled with it.  There is no crystal ball as to how long labor will be and how the sensations will feel in the body. Fear and anxiety build in pregnancy.    What tips do I give my students to face their fear?  I tell them to stay present and feel into the body.  By being in their body, it’s harder to be tangled in the web of their thoughts. The breath helps with that.  By focusing on breath, you can’t simultaneously create a story in the mind.   Bu this takes practice. 

Once Brewster started working, the day passed quickly.   He reported he had a great first day. When I picked him up he said that walking in was super awkward, but he survived.  With the benefit of hindsight, it really wasn’t that bad.

As a parent, my first instinct is always to protect my children from experiencing anything hard.  But when I reflect on it, I know better than to rob them of these difficult experiences.  Vulnerability is required for growth. 

The more we practice, the more natural we become in being comfortable in the discomfort.

2020 Lessons

The unforgettable TwentyTwenty is over.  Well, at least the calendar says it’s over. But how do I move forward when not much has changed? January 1 does not really feel any different than the December 31. The days are still short and I’m still isolated in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic. The whole world is on shaky ground. Yes, there is light ahead, but it’s like the sun has not come over the mountain. All I can do is wait and hope that patience prevails.

I appreciate the ritual of New Year’s. I love the chance to reflect. Although 2020 was a dumpster fire of disaster, there were indeed some morsels of goodness that I am taking with me into 2021.

Here are a few lessons I learned in 2020:

• My morning meditation practice helped me remain calm in challenging and turbulent times.

• Walking my dogs every day cultivated my appreciation for Mother Nature, her seasons and the wonders of the universe.

• Minding my business and staying in my lane helped me be more compassionate and less judgmental.

• Letting go of things that I “should” do created space to focus on meaningful work.

• Some days parenting was my only job. I had to surrender and realize that my career and family are not mutually exclusive.

• Listening and responding is superior to reacting.

• After the murder of George Floyd, I learned that my white privilege comes with various benefits and advantages not shared by people of color, and that there is no such thing as just not being racist. I am either a racist or an anti-racist. I know which I want to be, but being truly anti-racist takes time and training.

• Technology is a brilliant way to connect, but it is also an easy way to disconnect. I prefer connection.

• I didn’t realize how much I valued traveling, concerts, reunions, dining out, and hugging friends until those things were taken away from me.

• I have never so appreciated my family and their ability to adapt and maintain their senses of humor.

When my 2021 calendar is packed again, I wonder if I will remember these lessons? I hope so, but time will tell. To do that, I will need to remain mindful and disciplined.

I have resolved to make 2021 better not just for me, but for many. Instead of making a New Year’s resolution to improve myself, I want to help the community in which I live and work. My goal for 2021 is not just to leave 2020 behind, but to bring with me my learnings and share the wisdom 2020 brought. 

It was a year far too rich to leave behind. 

I wish you all a beautiful and prosperous 2021.

Cheers.

Lunar Eclipse

The final lunar eclipse of 2020 occurred , November 30th. It’s called a penumbral eclipse, and it is only visible from North America for a few hours.

An eclipse is like life. It’s temporary. 

I just wrapped up a six-week childbirth education series. Twelve couples joined me over zoom every Thursday night.  My students’ questions are always the same: 

“How will I know that I am in labor?” 

“How long does labor last?”

And I know the big question swirling around in their head. Silently, each mama is questioning her own strength and ability. Wondering, can I do this? Can I birth my baby?

The answer – every single time – is yes. Yes, every couple in my zoom class will have baby. The good news is that, like a penumbral eclipse, labor is only temporary. Unlike a torn ACL, the sensations of labor are predictable, anticipated, and normal. Contractions are not like the unrelenting pain of injured knee. Labor contractions are like a wave. They intensify and then they dissipate. There is always a break in between each contraction. 

I teach my students different comfort techniques. I introduce them to the medical options available at the hospital to soothe their labor pain. I explain the benefits, risks and alternatives to each option. And the message that I repeat each week is that the more knowledge they have going into childbirth, the more empowered they will feel.  Statistically speaking, the more empowered they feel, the higher the satisfaction they will have with their birth experience. That direct correlation is what motivates me to teach.

I love teaching them to face their fears. Every emotion they feel is normal. There excitement and fear in anticipating childbirth. It’s the ability to recognize both that will lead them to less tense experience. 

A full moon happens when the moon and sun are directly opposite of each other in the sky. What I find compelling about a full moon is that it is a time when we can remind ourselves that we can hold both the dark and the light at the same time. The Buddhist psychologists call it equanimity. The ability to hold it all.

As a parent, I am constantly challenged to find that equanimity. Last week, my high school son tried out for the basketball team. Last year, he didn't make the team as a freshman, so the stakes were high this year. He’d grown a few inches and has been playing hoops constantly with friends. He was hopeful that this would be his year.

Tryouts were delayed two weeks due to COVID and rescheduled during Thanksgiving week. Our family had plans to spend the holiday week in southwestern Colorado. My son really wanted to try out for the team, so we drew up a Plan B. He stayed in town with my parents, tried out for the team and met us down South mid-week. 

The second and final day of tryouts, I sent him a text asking him how it went. His response? “Alright. I got cut.” 

Gulp. Instantly filled with disappointment, I felt horrible. Angry, confused, and sad. I thought, what do you do with an athlete who doesn’t make the team? My spirits sunk low as I hopped in the car to go meet him in Moab.

I drove north from Durango with a heavy heart. The sun set over the Utah red rocks as I approached the Canyonlands National park and I thought to myself, this is the most beautiful place on earth.

How could I feel so good when I was so sad? I experienced both joy and sorrow simultaneously.  This is equanimity. I felt it all.

I picked up my son after dark. Feeling strong and brave, I was ready to listen to him commiserate.  Although disappointed, he was also extremely level-headed about the experience. He explained the dynamics of the 2020 team which gave more spots for freshmen over sophomores. He understood and was not nearly as upset as I anticipated.

My despondent feelings vanished. Just like the sunset, the tryouts, and a penumbral eclipse, they were only temporary. 

Hold life lightly. Feelings are like the weather. Some days are blue sky and sunny, and some days are grey. Hard things will happen to our world, our kids and ourselves. We can remember the lunar eclipse and remind ourselves that this too shall pass. 

A Week of Silence

On the morning of Friday October 2nd, I hopped in my car, shut down my phone, and drove south.  Listening to music with a smile on my face. I passed through the red rocks of Moab, Dead Horse State Park, Arches, and the Canyonlands.  I took a left in Monticello and an hour later I was cruising through the ranchlands of Colorado’s western slope.  Bushy cottonwood trees lined the hayfields, weaving swaths of bright yellow leaves into the green landscape.  When I reached Cortez, I turned down a county road.  At just a few minutes after five o’clock I found my cabin: my silent retreat center.

In preparation for the Mindful Meditation Teacher certification program, I am required to attend a six day silent retreat.  I had originally planned to go to a retreat center in Estes Park, but, like so many other 2020 events, it was cancelled due to the Coronavirus.  Fortunately, some meditation teachers have used technology to create virtual retreats.   I chose one based on the dates, subject, and teachers.  Since the instruction was over Zoom, I could be anywhere.  I wanted to experience silence, so I rented a cabin and left my family, phone and to-do list behind. 

I didn’t care much about the cabin location.  I just needed two things: seclusion and reliable Internet access.  I had booked another place, but two days before the start of the retreat, the Airbnb that I rented in Dolores, Colorado cancelled.  I scrambled to develop plan B.  I found a cabin named “Rustic Getaway” on Airbnb which turned out to be perfect.  There was a creek, a porch swing, ample outdoor deck space, and good Internet.

First order of business was unpacking the car.  I carried my bags in and got organized.  I brought all my food for the week, and a stack of journals and books. I looked forward to reading fiction, one of my spiritual books and planned to start reading a book about writing a book.  I thought I’d have time to knock out a few pages of the novel that I am writing in my mind.

At six o’clock, I logged into the welcome Zoom call. I learned there were 150 participants from all over the world participating in the The Four Foundations of Mindfulness retreat.  The four teachers introduced themselves.  I loved them immediately.  They were all smart, compassionate, present and funny.

About an hour into this first Zoom call, I heard a housekeeping detail which took me by surprise.  Along with keeping noble silence, the teachers recommended not reading or writing during the week.  My heart quickened.  I felt  slight panic as I processed those words.  My teacher Howie explained that the practice of the retreat is to be in the present moment.  Reading takes us to another world.  Writing takes us to the past.  I sat in silence, pondering the week ahead.

When I shared this detail with my daughter after returning home, she asked, “Mom, if you didn’t read, write, talk or watch TV what did you do?”

“Exactly Sadie.  I didn’t DO much.  I learned how to just BE”.  

She looked at me for a minute with a confused look and then glanced back at her phone.

Lesson number one.  It is a lot easier to do than be.  I’m  good at organizing.  I like to plan.  I was most comfortable when it was time to log on to Zoom, cook, practice yoga, or take a walk.  The in between time felt long and lonely - and surprisingly loud.  Loud with my thoughts.  There were times during the week I wanted to bolt - hop back in the car and bail.  I learned a second lesson which was very powerful:

Stay.

It’s hard to stay.  When I want to leave, I stay. I’d have an itch in meditation and was instructed to not scratch.  Instead, I’d use it as a practice to stay.  My teacher said, “no one has ever died from not being able to scratch”.  Stay, stay, stay.  

On the third day, I called in for the first of two small-group sessions.  It was one of the few times I spoke.  When it was my turn,  I shared with my teacher Bonnie that my leg constantly fell asleep.  The tingling was very uncomfortable and as a result,  I was focused solely on the sensation.  She told me to move it.  Confused, I asked her about the message to stay.  She said, “Notice the moment when your foot is not asleep and then the moment when it starts to tingle.  Watch your intention to move it.  Then pause.  Take a breath and move it.”  Bonnie continued, “there will be times in your life when you are in pain and you can’t fix it by simply readjusting. This is not that moment.”

Lesson three: have self compassion.

Over the six-day course of the retreat, I attended more than 50 hours of instruction over Zoom.  I attended four two-hour Zoom classes and meditated for almost five hours each day.  I studied the four foundations of mindfulness, taught by the Buddha:

• Awareness of the body.

• Attention to feeling-tones.

• Attention thoughts, emotions and mind-states: everything is impersonal, imperfect, and impermanent.

• Ways that we get caught and practices to free ourselves from suffering.

The insights gained that week were life-changing.  Most profound was noticing my thoughts and emotions in a frame of mindfulness.  I watched loneliness, fear and joy rise, exist, and then dissipate.  Without attaching a story, my feelings didn’t linger.  I was able to say “this too shall pass” and notice that they did pass.  Every single time.

Being with my thoughts for a week was very intimate. I noticed what type of thoughts fill my mind.  I’m a forward thinker – a planner.  I rehearse.  When I ate a piece of chocolate, instead of enjoying it fully in the moment, I went inside my mind and silently retold the experience to a phantom audience.  I did that all day long.  I realized it is not bad, but it is a habit.  Part of my personal mindfulness journey is unlearning my unconscious behavior. 

By the end of the retreat, I experienced stronger concentration.  That’s the point of a retreat.  When I  had a continuous practice of mindfulness on and off my meditation mat, I experienced longer periods of the present moment without interruption. 

I drove home on Thursday, October 8th without music.  I listened to Pema Chödrön and drove in silence.  I  watched the landscape more closely than I had on the drive down.  What a beautiful world we live in.

I walked into my house,  My husband and daughter were sitting at the kitchen counter.  They looked at me and put their finger to their lips.  “Shhhhh.”  We were all silent for a moment.

It was a funny moment which ended with joyful tears and a group hug.  I was filled with a full heart of joy and sense of accomplishment.  It took me a few days to readjust to our fast-paced world.  I don’t think I have fully returned.  Life seems a little slower to me, and I try to notice my thoughts every day.  I have continued with my meditation practice and I am, somewhat surprisingly, looking forward to my next silent retreat. 

Teaching LovingKindness

We sat in a circle on our yoga mats on the lush lawn. I instructed everyone to take a deep breath.  “Feel the air on your skin.  Notice the sun and the breeze.  Listen to the the sounds around you.  Take another breath.  Land here on  your mat.” 

For the first time in months, I taught yoga.  My supervisor from the University of Utah asked me to lead our perinatal education staff in a gentle yoga flow and mediation.  It had been six months since we met as a staff and our theme was self-care.  Undoubtedly, the pandemic has ben difficult personally and professionally on all of us. Many of the teachers also work as nurses, doulas and lactation consultants supporting pregnant and new mom which is particularly stressful and challenging during the pandemic.

Some of my coworkers were new to yoga. I started by sharing that that the word yoga is derived from the Sanskrit word “yuj” meaning to “join, yoke or unite”.  The physical practice of yoga connects the mind, body and breath.  I encouraged everyone to use their breath as an anchor.  Noticing breath is a way to stay present in the practice. Thoughts inevitable creep into the mind during practice.   There’s no stopping them. However, the practice is to watch the thoughts and not attach.  Thoughts are like clouds. They float by. In yoga, we watch the thoughts float by and come back to the breath. Come back to the body. Come back to the mat.

The purpose of yoga is to feel good and to create space.  By stretching and tuning into the body we notice what’s going on inside.   Every time we practice our bodies feel differently. I start slowly because my 46 year old body creaks!  When I notice something sticky, I pause and breathe into that spot.  I encouraged my students to do the same.

We practiced an few easy postures: cat and cow, downward dog, warrior II, side angle stretch, reclined pigeon and bridge pose.  I finished up with a twist. I invited everyone to sit on their mat and close their eyes for meditation.

I noticed my nerves. Never have lead a formal meditation before. I felt like an imposter. I took a deep breath and began. “We are going to do a practice called ‘LovingKindness’ which is rooted in Buddhist tradition also called ‘metta’. Through this meditation we open our hearts to ourselves, to others and all beings everywhere.  

 Starting with yourself, imagine yourself under rays of white light.  Feel the goodness and love inside yourself.  Silently repeat to yourself, letting the words wash over you with great sincerity.  

May I be happy.

May I be peaceful.

May I be free of emotional pain.

May I be free of physical pain.

May I be filled with lovingkindnes.

Next, imagine someone who is easy to love.  Maybe it is a child, a partner, a pet.   Imagine them under rays of white light. Silently repeat after me:

May they be happy.

May they be peaceful.

May they be free of emotional pain.

May they be free of physical pain.

May they be filled with lovingkindnes.

 Bring to mind someone neutral.  Think of someone you recognize but do not know; maybe it is a checker at the grocery store, or your postman.  Bring them into your mind under rays of white light. Silently repeat after me:

May they be happy.

May they be peaceful.

May they be free of emotional pain.

May they be free of physical pain.

May they be filled with lovingkindnes.

Now we are going to widen our circle of compassion.  Think of someone who is difficult in your life; someone who you do not agree with, are challenged by or do not respect.  You may know this person personally or not.  Imagine this person under a ray of white light.  Silently repeat after me: 

May they be happy.

May they be peaceful.

May they be free of emotional pain.

May they be free of physical pain.

May they be filled with lovingkindnes.”

 I ended the meditation by saying, “when we practice lovingkindness, we enlarge the capacity of heart to love unconditionally.  Through  this exercise, we can change our thoughts towards a person which may lead to behavior change.  It starts with intention.”

After the practice, we sat quietly and took a few more breaths.  The sun had set and the energy in the circle was calm and quiet.  I invited everyone to bring their hands to their heart center and bow to the center.  

“Namaste” I said.  

“Namaste.”

I smiled.  I lead my first meditation and didn’t bomb it! In fact, I loved it. I have come to appreciate the lovingkindess meditation.  My heart is softening. 

I hoped that my coworkers enjoyed it and by their reaction I sensed they did. I had an affirming email the next day. Another teacher wrote, “I had spent the day thinking of how to apologize to someone who is unhappy with me and I felt like our practice session brought it all together! It was a wonderful evening!”  

Indeed was a wonderful evening.   

We all need a little LovingKindness.

Loss

I’m not one of those who sneeze and gets pregnant.  No. I’d describe my journey to motherhood as bumpy.   It was around Thanksgiving, a couple years after Matt and I were married that I quit taking my contraceptive pill.   Both in our late twenties, we were primed for parenthood and ready to change some diapers. 

Although our decision to become parents was steeped in hope and optimism, it took us nearly a year to conceive.  Every month that my period arrived, so did the disappointment.   Month after month, I raised my hopes and only come crashing down to Earth.  At the beginning of my cycle, I would do the math.  Counting ten months out on my hand, I would think to myself: If I got pregnant in May, I’d have a baby in March. I would imagine myself pregnant through the seasons.  I would forecast the unborn baby’s astrological sign.  I manifested like crazy until the dreaded day when my period showed up, each time tossing me back to square one.

I was consoled by the fact that parties in my twenties were still really fun.  I said “yes” to every invitation.  Living and working in Bay Area, I earned a large paycheck and had no kids, so I travelled all over the country. The summer of 2003, before I conceived, I flew to Utah, Minnesota, Santa Barbara and then back to Utah. I went to a baby shower in Connecticut, visited family in Chicago, and stood up in a wedding in Sun Valley.  I attended bachelor party in Las Vegas and then celebrated the bride at her wedding in Martha’s Vineyard.   Looking back on that summer, it’s no wonder that I didn’t have a baby in my belly – I didn’t stop moving!

But everyone around me seemed to be pregnant.  I saw women with swollen bellies and baby buggies all over San Francisco.  Filled with spite, I calculated how much money I’d spent on birth control over the years and wondered if I could get a refund.  What a waste. 

At the time, we lived in a tiny cabin on Mount Tamalpias in Mill Valley, California.  Our brown and green hobbit-like house was deep in the redwood forest.  My husband was in law school and I sold radio airtime to advertising agencies.  It was October when I finally missed a period.  

I wrote in a journal dated October 7, 2003, “I like to remember back to the night we took the pregnancy test….I had one test left over from a packed of three (this was my 3rd test I’d taken.  Both had been negative and quite disappointing although I tried to brush it off) I asked for Matt’s opinion.  Should I take a test or wait to do it?  I really only wanted to know yes.  Though a no would be disappointing, Matt reminded me that it’d probably be a no- but if it was positive, we should know so I could take care of myself. “ 

 I took the test and much to our disbelief it was positive!  I wrote, “Matt was confused.  ‘There is a line in the square box, ‘what does that mean?’ he asked.  We didn’t have the directions.  We went on-line and then it was pretty clear that it was a positive test.  Neither of us slept much.  Oh My God. It happened!  I had to do another test the next day.  Same thing.  Confirmed. I want to take tests all the time.  It is hard to believe!” The journal entry makes my heart ache because I know the ending.  

I lost the pregnancy a few days later.  

It started with a bout of what I thought was food poisoning. I threw up all night.  I remember thinking, “this is bad for the baby”.  A few days later I bled.  I looked up my symptoms in What to Expect when Expecting, the bible at the time.  I don’t know exactly what the text said but I remember reading “spotting during a pregnancy can be normal or a sign of a miscarriage.”  I knew in my heart that I was miscarrying.  It was a Sunday so I walked down the mountain to the local Catholic Church.  I prayed.  “Please God” I wrote in my journal.

I knew at that point that whatever was happening in my body was already done.  There was nothing anyone, even God could do. I must have been praying for the strength and grace to handle the inevitable.

October 15th:  “I write tonight with a sense of loss.  That is for certain. I am not pregnant.  I was, now I am not.  I am some part of the statistic.”  I wrote about how angry and upset I felt and how about the miscarriage.  I documented every detail.  I went to the doctor on Monday and had an ultrasound.  She saw a sac in my uterus but no fetus.  My hormones were tested and my hCG levels went from 13,000 to 10,000 in a day.  They were going in the wrong direction.   By 2pm on that Monday, I knew I had lost the baby.

Friday, I went to the doctor’s office alone, which was a terrible idea.  What was I thinking going by myself?    The doctor walked into my patient room. I had never met him before, and I remember him looking at least seventy-five years old.  Although he was very kind, I could not bring myself to like him.   He shared a personal story of how he and his wife also had a miscarriage before birthing five healthy kids, some of which were then in college.  I appreciated his words, but I also resented every single word that came out of his mouth.  I wanted a baby, not sympathy.

I was scheduled for a D&C.  Prior to the procedure, the doctor inserted lamaria to open my cervix.  The pain was excruciating, and I begged him to stop. I bawled.  The physical discomfort combined with the devastation of the past few days washed over me.  I cried snotty tears in his office and demanded another option.

He sent me home with misoprostol, a synthetic prostaglandin and a promise that within one week more than 90% of the tissue would pass.  He apologized one more time as I left.  

I rode the Marin Commuter bus back to Mill Valley. I am sure I looked out the window and cried.  I proceeded to spend the next week calling family and friends to share my sad news.  While it felt good to be comforted, I was exhausted and bitter.  Through those conversations, I learned how common miscarriage was in women’s lives.  I did not know that 1:4 women lose a baby.  I was told over and over that often a miscarriage occurs prior to a healthy pregnancy.  I had hope but needed to heal.

The most difficult part was letting go of my dream.  June 2004 was going to be filled with many special moments, but not a birth. 

I didn’t blame myself, although I constantly revisited the events of the weeks I was pregnant.  What happened?  Comforted by the knowing that that pregnancy wouldn’t have been healthy for reasons beyond my control, I slowly let go of my loss and looked towards the future.

 On a beautiful, warm, clear day later in October, I wrote from Stinson beach.  “I love the sound of the ocean, the sand below my feet…I’m tired.  My body feels tired.  I have been through a lot/a ton. I am feeling more detached from my pregnancy everyday.  But I take with me all the wise words and thoughts and conversations that I have had with every friend. I am loved.”

Loss is a part of living.  The sharp intense feelings of my miscarriage have faded.  Time heals.  And so do viable pregnancies.  A year later, in December 2004, my baby boy was born.   Because there is so much joy in the children that I have, I rarely reflect on the pain of my 2003 pregnancy.  Although, over the years, I’ve wondered what would our lives be like with our Gemini baby?  Different.  I wouldn’t have the children I have now if I had not lost that pregnancy, and that is a wild idea.