GBM to GNM - The Prequal

It’s been a masterful work of art this transitional season of life. I’ve never felt so uncomfortable, so sure, so afraid, so vulnerable, so trusting of the miracles that are still unfolding. But it’s been an arduous and abundant road.

I’m trying to write it was hard but it seems that anchor point of light won’t let me give over to the darkness. I’m continually drawn to the light within it all. Just like the yin yang symbol. There is not complete dark or light there is always a seed of each other within. And so we dance, and you can dance with me as I share with you the mix of them both.

The day we found out about the tennis ball sized tumor growing inside Hampus’ head wasn’t a day where there had only been stardust and rainbows so this had the capacity to shatter my core.

No I had been in the eye of the storm for a few weeks.

Where to begin? Here I guess.

Life had been simple yet unamused, we were cantering down the path we’d paved but we had committed to changing course. We were ready to adjust and I had sensed it would happen in January. However, at this point in time, Mid-November, we had no real idea how or where we were going to go. At this point things had felt eery for me. A sense that something was happening behind closed doors I just wasn’t sure what that was yet (in the physical and ethereal realms).

It had been a peculiar spring with coughs lingering longer than ever before, treatments weren’t working that I’d used 100’s of times, and a felt sense of imminent separation was in the air. I was tired but trusted, my babies were strong and capable of healing.

But when it hit “I have chosen to step away from our friendship” I was numb and began to unravel. Every conversation. Every wrong action I’d taken. Every abstract iteration of the worst of me and I wallowed in heart break and deeply saw the weakness of my deepest self in this despair.

I was in conflict, my body was numb and cold, my mind was weak but running overtime, my milk dried and baby Aqua suckled like a ravaged puppy to keep whatever she could flowing. I didn’t sleep much, if at all some nights, but somehow I continued finding simple joy in little moments.

The very next week a positive case of whooping cough was identified in the community of bush school and so the witch hunt began. For context my child had been coughing for 6 weeks at this point, a ghastly cough, with phlegm and vomiting at times. I was aware of the possibility that she may have had whooping cough by now but I had believed she wasn’t contagious as she was otherwise well. I felt sick thinking I’d shared this illness. Only keeping her home when she was feeling unwell.

The pressure mounted and fingers were steadfastly pointed. In order to “clear our” names off the burn list, I took my 3 kids to the doctor for the first time in their lives and we tested to see if it were in fact whooping cough. I was overcome with guilt along with my despair. It seemed everyone now all of a sudden had “her cough” and was being tested. The energy was angry tending rageful and I had taken full ownership and responsibility for all of these children’s illnesses.

As it turns out my child was negative and so too was every other child my daughter had mildly been in contact with. To my confusion the doctor shared for me the risk of contagion if she had of been positive would have meant my child would have had to spit into someone else’s mouth directly. Little did I know my own ideas of health and individual treatment would soon be affirmed in a very unexpected way.

I found myself sitting somewhere between heart break, sadness, guilt, disappointment, hurt and deep gratitude for my little family. Especially Hampus, my rock and confidant through it all. The next week I felt empty. It had been such a rollercoaster, so many tears, so many gut dropping punches. I felt weak and tired but was focused on treading lightly forwards as the show must go on.

But that very Thursday I received a call from Hampus -
“They’ve found something on my scan about my eye, they’ve told me to go straight to emergency.”

“Oh ok, what do you want to do? Did you see what they found? Was it big?” I responded.

“Yeh pretty big” stated Hamp nonchalant.

“Ok, but you feel ok?” I enquired.

“Yeh” he responded easefuly.

“Ok, I’ll call the Wizard and see if he can see you” I intuitively replied, I knew this would be a good idea.

Science is NEVER settled.

My musings after starting a course in Germanische heilkunde.

You know what I’ve always had an issue with. When we pump up “the science” in any way shape or form as the pillar of knowledge. Instead of the stepping stone that it is.

For the idea that there is certainty in science is unscientific.

Because we can never have all the facts and frictions that created this exact experience. We can’t blanket a whole population, medication, modality and accept that our work here is done. As, if we shift our perspective or the looking glass with which we are using everything adjusts.

Everything changes and the data is seemingly disputable in every way. Coffee is good, coffee is bad, coffee is good if XYZ coffee is bad, coffee is a deeply transformational ritual that if used correctly has a powerful biofeedback that can catalyze your life. Coffee is a drug.

I don’t know, personally coffee makes me feel so high and so twisted and then it comes crashing down, no plummeting down within half an hour.

So for me I believe it could be all of the above.

I’ve always taken issue with using the science as fact especially in the realms and modalities I’ve practiced. It’s always felt so dumbing, dulling and reducing something that is of absolute infinite magic proportion.

Squeezing it into a little box just like my broken nervous system liked to do. Make it make simple sense. Make it affirm my current experience and life situation. Make it be more me then them. Make it bend in the direction I’d like it too. (I promise you I can make anything statistically what I want it to mean just like industry does).

When in actual fact it is in its purest most expansive form that will change and adjust day to day, person to person, perception to perception. We can of course use the science to sway our arguments. To affirm our beliefs and to box ourselves in with vindication, clarity and purpose.

Nothing is random.

Everything is working towards harmony.

Biology is functional.

Bliss is right there. The tools aren’t definitive but this life form, this current body suit and reality is absolutely transformative and for that I am certain.

Find your joy and peace. Extrapolate your meaning. And enjoy!

You’ve only got today so make sense of the moment and prepare to adjust and swing with the wind as it propels you. I know I’m finding the sway of the trees deeply harmonious and with that I trust.

The tides turn.

The cycles will continue long after you’re gone.

The ripples. The seeds. The gifts you imparted will continue to grow and flourish and decay.

I have created different networks of ripples and movements along this path, and all of them exist and even flourish long after I’ve departed. My ego has grappled with the need to be seen to be anchored by the energy I put in to create that sort of output.

I’ve held grief and anger that there wasn’t the glory of the feat of that tireless pouring. But as time moves on and real joy fills me. I understand it more clearly. More graciously. More abundantly.

Every breath or cun of energy that was poured into the labyrinth via my essence, has unlocked the necessary embrace for the next cyclist. Opened and closed doors. Birthed and layed to rest potentials upon potentials.

And now as I sit in my flower garden of little babes to big blooms I am honoured by the breath once more within this cycle of the cycles. And I watch the tables turn like the magic of the first spring flower and the dance of the butterfly as they awaken once more. Moving with more knowledge, more ancient wisdom, yet the simple pleasure of just existing here, right now. With just enough.

Because we all are enough.

Just.

And that’s all we’ve ever needed to be.

Unqualified worth.

I realise when I hung up the pins. Got off the table. Handed over the tools. Turned in my badge. I could continue but I won’t. Ha

This day was recent, and in the moment that I had a full body decision to just be mum I felt so many identities disintegrate and my life shuffled. Quantum leap type stuff.

I felt naked in a way I hadn’t felt, probably ever. As a nudist at the best of times it was a strange vulnerable nakedness I hadn’t really known.

As anyone reading this may know or have felt, it is natural for me to become a master knower of intricate details. I enjoy going deep on all topics I find. Exploring them, teasing them out, categorizing and logging them into my memory ready for that moment you ask a simple mundane question expecting a simple yes/no answer. “but had you considered the ethics of that choice?”. Puzzling and peculiar, odd even (I know) but it seems to be the way I like to do things. To squeeze every last drop of juice from it, so it’s all received and internally perceived, and ready for use. (In the end I am a zero wastage kinda gal.)

The learning I do seems to just pack on in, like a donkey climbing Everest, nothing is lost and nothing is missing. So at just the right moment I can whip it all out and dance around all the different tabs in my mind that may be just fluffy enough to create a bit of a red thread and I can hold it all together like the conductor of some wild mystical orchestra of information. And maybe for you, you weren’t too perplexed and you found the joy and felt the resonance I felt in sharing.

But this sole mothering gig had me naked and nervous.

Don’t get me wrong I’ve read a good amount of content on instagram university and I’ve absolutely mummed for 6 solid years. But I hadn’t fulled immersed in the practice of mumming. I didn’t listen when Christa mum shared her secret stain removing recipe, or the best way to make mum toast (for her not for the littles). Or the home made baby wipes that Sarah mum tells me are just so simple to make as she easily gives me two before I’ve even open my own broken reusable container of pre bought wipes. Or the mum hack for keeping clothes clean. (Note: keen for tips on that because once a garment is soiled in my home it probably should be binned, don’t worry it’s not, it’s just a little loved). Or the crafts and sewing and sensory play space bonanzas.

But most of all, my most naked self absolutely felt like a fish out of water in the kitchen. A place most 6year deep mothers have made their domain. They are well and truly into their domination era.

I have admired these mothers over the years.

The way their hands just slip and slide around their kitchens. Dancing and prancing in their element. Making tasty magic. Snacks galore. Space for hunger in these homes can’t exist. Because there is a potential 3 month old dump bag ready and rearing to jump into a slow cooker at any given moment. The ease with which they flow is equal parts freedom and equal parts weakening for me at this point.

As here I am now laying down the vulnerability and fear and walking away from the highly qualified comfort of my healing woman identity and committing to the unqualified waters of the fully embodied mother. Facing the depths of this unknown woman and learning that it’s totally ok to be unversed in this. To not know what I’m doing. To wing it from a place of fake it till you make it and deeply trust the innate wisdom that’s in those DNA codes somewhere.
But please don’t misinterpret me as feeling low or needing to be reminded you are doing great. I’m confident enough to know that 2 apples for 3 kids as a snack and one shared drink bottle will suffice the truly hungry and thirsty.

There is a cracked open feeling that whilst scary has provided a new freedom and I’m trying not to fill it with too much learning/ mastery. Rather I’m trying to remember what is innately inside of me and bring that to the surface of my knowing.

So cheers to that and cheers to all the embodied mothers candidly giving this thing a red hot crack and hoping they figure it the f#%^ out before their kids are too big to notice. (I’m guessing the seasoned mothers will be here to remind me, you never do, figure it out).

Writing notes.

I lay in my bed squished between love and more love. Little limbs, soft breaths,

I’ve read all the things. The dos and don’ts of a life lived well with a romantic partner. Julia says NO to making a habit of sleeping in different rooms when babies are young. Heather says make sure you create the routine of early bedtimes so as you get your couple time. Mike says make sure you commit to your relationship more than ever now, love on each other like you’ve never loved before. This demonstrates to the kids they’re worthy of the best love. Show them commitment to each other above all else, it will shape them. It will be what they seek.
Kim says you better “f#!3” daily, the more and the longer, the better, and Sasha says you best not criticise because you’ll make a woman out of him and kill all intimacy.

I love it, all of it and I agree.

But, we made it a habit. The past 6 years have been a dance of beds. Mostly with us dancing in other rooms. Bed sharing with little people and late nights with 1 or 2 but mostly 3 babes in toe. Minimal alone time let alone couple time.

Perspective is everything. And I don’t know. I feel pretty grateful for the flow and ease we’ve found. It’s absolutely not ideal but there has been more good than bad and as of last week there is ease. Over the last 6 years we have had a lot of flow, but not always or often was there ease. I am hopeful though now the ease is here to stay.

Because the thing is nothing sends you into a spiritual, self help spin, with a deep need to peel the onion layer, after painstaking layer, over and over and over again like having a child does.

But here’s the thing Julia, Heather and Mike haven’t noted. You won’t know who you are anymore once you’ve had the baby. I mean you might, and you might try hard to keep going on like they will just slot into your lives. But I think deep down you’ll feel the shift. It’s chemical for both partners, so just because you’re pretending you’re not a piece of magical star dust morphed into human form floating around on the rock you formed from, you likely won’t know who the man or lady next to you is either. And if they’re anything like me (unlikely, but do continue) they’re diving into a kettle of fish trying to dissect it all too.

Coming back… the ease.. the ease and the peace that I’ve found recently, it comes from a softening. I told my friend the other week after she asked “why do you think you’re so much softer?” And before I could even think I blurted out “I give less fucks”. In other words I found the clarity that everything is just as it is because, well, it is. Peter Crone articulates this seamlessly, and is worth spending countless hours watching in awe.

To me it’s realising that we may not have as much control over our lives as we’d like and maybe the soul contract is really the thing. Tiziano Sgeurso shared on a podcast I listened to recently. That (poor paraphrasing coming right up) the more we do what feels good the more we feel good and more life experience comes in to our lives.
But what is that nudge? Where does that urge come from? Is it free will? or is it the all encompassing power of the next phase, cycle on the contract?

I don’t know for sure but it feels pretty contract followy to me. For a deeper dive listen to this episode of my pod.

So, on the winter solstice in reflection of the past 6 months. I recognized the clarity I have had during this disillusionment phase. Where the facades broke inside and out. And the soft and easeful flow began again.

And I realise that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

Somewhere in the middle of something. Exploring a new patch. Trusting this process and for the first time really truly believing that everything up until this point has been exactly as it was meant to be.

As for Hampus and I, sleeping in different rooms may or may not have tainted the relationship we formed in. What I do believe though is not prioritizing each other has absolutely been our down fall. And I mean we’re doing ok over here (for the most part) I mean we’re doing incredibly ok considering the darkening half of the year we’ve had.
For now I focus on attuning more to my feminine. Allowing its pivotal adjustments to nourish the inside of me and the cosmic womb within our relationship.

For now, I will stay wedged in between little feet and little bodies until such time as that needs to shift.

I’m sure I’ll get the nudge!

Greener Pastures.

Who knows if the grass is greener? Where does this come from? Are we meant to concern ourselves there? But really is it greener or is it not? I mean I’m watching the grass turn brown for many and watching them transform in order to build what they’d innately hoped and dreamed of. And yes, it looks slightly greener, but it doesn’t come without an almighty slap of hardship, but at least one aspect is greener. Right?

Could they have dug deeper? Fertilized the soil at the beginning, middle or end more? Ensured at least a few of the kinks and mounds had been tended to, removed the hard stones and softened some of the edges? Instead of layering Astro turf over the top of a tip, pretending that the bump from the rusty old bike wasn’t going to be uncomfortable to lay on, I think not.

But is it to be greener on the other patch of grass? or could you continue to use round up when a weed springs up from seemingly no where? Will it eventually overcome the blight and lay down to the king of all poison. For a person who watched my brother and mother try the whole astroturf around a pool thing. Throwing every possible tool at it, petrol, plastic, cement, blue metal, sweat, tears. It is affirmatively true that Mother Earth always wins and of course she doesn’t need us, she can literally sprout through seemingly sealed concrete with ease. She just does. 

Right now the rich green grass that I sit upon is lush and beautiful. It’s much greener, softer and lighter. It makes me wonder why I held on for so long to the city life with its AstroTurf and concrete loving inhabitants. Gosh guys. You’ve forgotten the essence of you (if I do say so myself). This me, as I sip tea overlooking a neighbor’s sheep eat the rest of the spriggly orange tree. Sigh. 

I aspire to be like my new/old friend Esther* (Esther* - may not be her real name) who tends to her grass with a sharp focus. Attuned to pick out the Bindi eyes as they pop up. Quick. Swift. And in good time to bake treats, create games, bathe the vermin in buckets and flirt with “hubby”. A lusher grass patch I have not known.

So yes, the grass is greener and right now I think it always will be. But you’d best think about whose grass it is you’re stepping on?  Oh there’s more grass idioms than I thought. For another time. For now enjoying said lushness.

Bye for now.