Sunday, April 30, 2006

learning to swim again.

Today has been an odd day ...

There are so many things swimming around me regarding babies and the lack thereof.

One of the doctors who works at the same (small) hospital as hubby recently lost a baby. His wife was 20 weeks along. This afternoon, they had a memorial service at the church two doors down from my house. I met this doctor, his wife and their four kids last fall when I interviewed him for the local newspaper. Very nice people. He's 32 and she's 28.

It's funny, when I did the interview, he asked me if we had any kids. I said no, but I was actually 8-10 weeks pregnant at the time and wasn't telling anyone outside of family & good friends. And, now, here it is they lose their baby at 20 weeks, as did we just over five months ago. I have been thinking about them all day, remembering the surrealness of the grief. I'm trying to decide if I should bring them a plant or something, but I'm worried it would be awkward.

A co-worker of mine is due to have her baby any minute now. Well, more like any day. Her esitmated due date is May 7, I believe. I saw her yesterday, she's 3mm dilated ... only 7 more to go. So, she's getting closer to having her baby girl. I almost teared up speaking with her Saturday afternoon, as happy as I am for her having a little girl.

I've been working on the cutest little booties for her and finished them tonight. In the pattern picture, they're shown w/ a pair of little socks. And, I thought I'd do the same. So, I went to the basement and starting digging through our stash of baby stuff. And, it all hit me. Seeing the little onesies and tees and a pair of socks w/ little butterflies.

It all just hit me. Another baby lost. And another one the way. And us in our fourth month of trying to get pregnant again.

For the past three months, I have been focused on the science of getting pregnant. Timing, eggs meeting sperm, hormones, testing, the menstrual cycle, vitamins, no alcohol, folic acid, ovulation ... all the details and medical terminology involved in trying to conceive. It creates in me obsessive compulsive behavior in a personality that borders too closely on Type A-ism.

But, tonight, while I'm digging through boxes of stuff I haven't touched in 4 months, seeing the stash of tees & onesies ... I get a mental rush of pictures, of dressing my little baby in these tees & onesies. It suddenly became so personal, so real and so precious. So precious are those little feet and the gift of motherhood ...

It just hit me ... as it does, so often unexpectedly. Maybe it's compounded by not being pregnant again yet and coming up on 6 months at the end of May. Feeling the sadness of another pregnancy lost and soon the joy of a new life for my friend.

All this baby stuff ... just floating around me ... and the best I can do right now is tread water. I guess that's better than the alternative.

Thursday, April 27, 2006

Saturday, April 22, 2006

Vulnerability. I know what you are saying. I am vulnerable, and I am myself. To me, it's the same, you know? To be one's self is to be vulnerable. It is hard. I hate feeling judged. And you do get judged so much when you are authentic. Ouch.
But I am so with you!

Sunday, April 16, 2006

vulnerability is not weakness

beneathLately, I've been interested in how people react to vulnerability and kindness. I've noticed that the two traits are usually characterized as weaknesses to which there are only two ways of reacting -- by offering protection or taking advantage of the person. This seems a rather counterproductive method if we ever want to empower each other.

I am a kind person who is not afraid to show vulnerability. This makes it difficult to find people who are willing to really be with me and I'd rather not waste my time posturing. Instead, I'd like to dive into acceptance and have it reciprocated.

blossomUnfortunately, I find that most of the time my vulnerability is taken advantage of. The old adage "Give em an inch, they take a mile" is something that happens to me frequently. It's as though being vulnerable is mistaken for "Here take my crap, too. I don't want to be responsible for it." How does this make sense?

Well, I'd like to see that change for being vulnerable is also more importantly known as learning to be yourself.

Who's with me? :)

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Finding that balance

I realised I needed to post this here as well as on my onw personal blog...mainly because as we tell our 'stories' to each other here and share our lives - it helps us to better 'know' one another. To tighten the circle. To make us grow closer as humans, as women, as creators of life. This post was prompted by an article I read today about Yoga becoming 'big money'

The article is HERE.

Good article...good points.

As always, in everything I do I strive to maintain a semblance of balance in my days, in my work, in my personal life. Often it's a struggle because I am simply too busy. There is too much going on. I take on too much. Biting off more than we can chew. That's the danger I see with Yoga as well. While I desperately want to preserve my integrity as a teacher and promote the 'true' aspects of Yoga - I want to be successful, I want the program to grow and horror of horrors I want to make money being a Yoga teacher.

But last night, when the person who used the room before me, left behind dry erase markers and an eraser I decided to use it to actually 'teach' the class a 'lesson' not just movements but about the underlying principles that help govern Yogis/Yoginis: the Yamas and the Niyamas. As I was writing on the board, putting up the words and definitions, I noticed on the other board an 'erased' drawing of the human body complete with arrows pointing to the various parts and joints and then to the right of this 'ghostly' remainder of the body was an erased 'OM' symbol. I was suddenly overtaken by joy and I began to remember why I teach this practice to others. I re-traced the 'OM' symbol and went out to gather my class....

I think I am going to make it through everything that modern/materialistic society has to throw at me.

Saturday, April 08, 2006

Women Birth So Many Different Things

I posted this on my new blog, but realized it needs to go here too. A bit of a femininst rant perhaps. Or maybe, just the truth.

Women Birth So Many Different Things.
Ideas, inspiration, babies, art, PEACE. Women are to be revered as peacemakers. Men can do this too, Nelson Mandela, Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., Buddha, my husband, Troy, pictured above with our son. It takes strength to make peace happen in our homes, in the world, on this amazing planet.
Eve Ensler is my spirit mentor. I have followed her for years and look up to her. She gives me HOPE, she impassions me, she challenges me. I get so angry at Women who don't fight the good fight. I need more compassion in this area. I know about denying one's feelings, psychic numbing as a means of survival, denying other's pain because it triggers our own. But I really feel that I have a responsibility to face my own pain, which is terrifying and immobilizing at times, so I can be an anathema to apathy and complacency. I will never be complacent about violence, whether it is against Women, which it is for the most part, and children, the most susceptible victims, and what men do to each other. Why do men commit the majority of violence? Is it God, as some say, free will? That's bullshit. Testosterone? More crap. Do I have the answers? No. Does that mean I will give up my innate ability to think for myself, get angry at the injustices, and use my PERSONAL PAIN TO DO WHAT I CAN TO FIX THIS WORLD? Fuck NO.
Yes, I feel angry at the Women who choose to look the other way when their husband is sexually molesting their daughter or son, when men make up ridiculous and arcane rules and torture Women and abuse children in the name of God or the government. When Women deny their power and go along. There is a balance, I know it. An equal respect between Men and Women. I have it in my marriage. No one should be subservient to anyone. Men can be and should be tender, able to embrace their emotions, to express freely, which is our birthright as humans. It's about sharing, embracing what is masculine and feminine in ourselves and not being threatened by that. For those who use Christianity to dominate others, or the planet and her resources, I ask you, is that what Jesus would do? It seems we ignore his basic teachings when we retaliate in war, like Iraq, Mr. Bush. What ever happened to turning the other cheek. Doing unto others.
I guess some feel they can just adjust the interpretations as they see fit.
No one should be a slave, whether to Uncle Joe who molests you every Sunday after church, or for an African Woman who has to have her clitoris severed to serve some insane man made rule. Do I accept any religion that serves to keep Women submissive and dormant, NO. Because it does not have to be about anyone ruling anyone else. Would it be easier for me to assimilate, just join a church, "give it all to God", to numb myself and let another think for me? It seems that way sometimes.
But then I enslave myself.
It is a courageous act to stand up and say, hey, wait a minute, I disagree. I am going to live in a different way, and I will deal with other people's opinions of me for that. Emancipate Yourself From Mental Slavery.
We should all be free to be ourselves, to live in harmony and respect, to be safe, to care for our Earth, to be loved for who we are. I know this is what I am teaching my 2 children, two future men. This is how we change the world.
Here is her piece that is moving me to integrate more, to heal more even though it hurts, and to challenge myself to face the things I let fear tell me is unfaceable. Not only are these afflictions faceable, we can NAME them. And in doing so, we change the trajectory of this world.

The Power and Mystery of Naming Things by Eve Ensler
I believe in the power and mystery of naming things. Language has the capacity to transform our cells, rearrange our learned patterns of behavior and redirect our thinking. I believe in naming what's right in front of us because that is often what is most invisible.Think about the word vagina. I believe that by saying it 128 times each show, night after night, naming my shame, exorcising my secrets, revealing my longing, was how I came back into my self, into my body. By saying it often enough and loud enough in places where it was not supposed to be said, the saying of it became both political and mystical and gave birth to a worldwide movement to end violence against women. The public utterance of a banished word, which represented a buried, neglected, dishonored part of the body, was a door opening, an energy exploding, a story unraveling.When I was finally able as an adult to sit with my mother and name the specific sexual and physical violence my father had perpetrated on me as a child, it was an impossible moment. It was the naming, the saying of what had actually happened in her presence that lifted my 20-year depression. By remaining silent, I had muted my experience, denied it, pushed it down. This had flattened my entire life. I believe it was this moment of naming that allowed both my mother and I to eventually face our deepest demons and deceptions and become free.I think of women naming the atrocities committed against them by the Taliban in Afghanistan, or women telling of the systematic rapes during the Bosnian war, or just recently in Sri Lanka after the tsunami, women lining up in refugee camps to name their nightmares and losses and needs. I have traveled through this world and listened as woman after woman tells of being date raped or acid burned, genitally mutilated, beaten by her boyfriend or molested by her stepfather.Of course the stories are incredibly painful. But I believe as each woman tells her story for the first time, she breaks the silence, and by doing so breaks her isolation, begins to melt her shame and guilt, making her experience real, lifting her pain.
I believe one person's declaration sparks another and then another. Helen Caldicott naming the consequences of an escalating nuclear arms race, gave rise to an anti-nuclear movement. The brave soldier who came forward and named the abuses at Abu Ghraib prison was responsible for a sweeping investigation.Naming things, breaking through taboos and denial is the most dangerous, terrifying and crucial work. This has to happen in spite of political climates or coercions, in spite of careers being won or lost, in spite of the fear of being criticized, outcast or disliked. I believe freedom begins with naming things. Humanity is preserved by it.-

Eve EnslerEve wrote this essay for NPR “All Things Considered” This I Believe series. The piece aired on “All Things Considered” on March 20, 2006. To listen to the audio or to learn more about This I Believe, visit

feminine expressions

feminine expressions
I found this blog, and it is so lovely. Poetry that touches me.

Friday, April 07, 2006

Bald Eagle Tends to Nest As Single Dad

Bald Eagle Tends to Nest As Single Dad - Yahoo! News

What a great story!

insecurities and uncertainties

For some time now, this community participation factor of this blog has steadily decreased. I certainly don't want to be a nay-sayer, (I picture an old goat naying when i say that word...baaah!) but perhaps it's time I faced the facts.

I am certain that there are many reasons for the decrease to a trickle in participation. Life is about change after all. Now, I must determine if EWAG's time is spent or if it is just in need of change. If it is time to let go, then I will have great comfort in knowing that this lil goddess blog has given much joy. It has served its purpose of acceptance well.

Thank you for being a part of it, from the depths my heart.

Weigh in on this...let me know how you feel about it. Now's the time to speak and be heard, dear goddesses.

Hi Girlies. Sarah(BohemeMama) here. I want to say hello, and say that I really need to post more. See, I have some issues. I'm afraid no one will care what I have to say. Core self worth issues. Instead of running from this, I am offering it up as something to share with a community of Women.
My mother abandoned me at age 2, my dad molested and raped me until I was 11. This is why I have a hard time reaching out.
Yes, I am in therapy! Have been for years. But my point is, I wonder how many Women feel this isolation from others..Will anyone care? Will I be accepted? Those are the voices. But I am not listening, not today.

Thanks for reading.