The other story of motherhood

This is not every mother’s story. It is mine.

One of the greatest gifts my son gave me in my birth ( I mean his birth) is showing me how overpowering my existence was no longer what worked. The hustle. The I can. The lemme just squeeze that in …because kids need non-linear space. Space to dawdle and find entertainment. Most of you know this apparently, so if you did, maybe hop over to another article. I didn’t. 

I mean – intellectually I knew that. Duh. But it was not embodied wisdom and it showed.

See I was great with adults, leading them into unforgotten places in their minds and bodies and helping them reclaim wholeness. I was the mystically minded that could extrapolate and understand the cross points in differing cultures and belief structures. I was the high school teacher that could lead teenagers to inquiry and understanding. I could do all of these amazing things, but kids — that was not my realm of understanding let alone expertise.

What you see in this picture is a woman drowning. She booked headshots to launch an executive tour of speaking in a five dollar old Navy shirt because there was no money at home. The night before the shoot there was also no sleep because the baby was teething.  For said woman (yes, me) there was also no styling happening because this picture was taken in the throes of postpartum hair-loss in a race against the clock.

What clock you ask? One that I had imagined.

The reality was that I was not going fully back to work because primarily, I didn’t want to leave my son and secondarily my partner at the the time was not making the money that would make any sense in me going back to work. 

Now, what is glaringly obvious to me now, was illusive then: I had choices. At the time, I couldn’t perceive any. I was exhausted, confused and in love with my child (my partnership was already dissolving even if I did not consciously choose to see it).  In so many of the photos, when I look into the eyes of this new Mom, I see how deeply out of body she was.

The kicker? I am a bodyworker. For the past decade I have worked to help women reengage their strength emotionally, physically and spiritually. I had locked in to a really great life and I loved it.  

Then I became a mother and life lead me back into my learning, into the spaces left unattended and away from the strengths I knew and understood.

It’s a big statement to leave there hanging. The reason it is hanging out there like that – was because that is how I entered motherhood: hanging out on a limb of my own consciousness, and I spent the second year of my son’s life trying to get back to a place that no longer existed. Even though, I knew it and wrote about it here.

Let me jump forward to the punchline for you – even when we are fully onboard to a change in our lives many of us lose a little piece of ourselves along the way, and we may not initially notice because we are so darn busy, or ecstatically grateful that how dare we complain or begrudge; unfortunately, unintegrated, undigested emotions, hang out taking space in our unconscious causing a raucous until we notice. They can wait years. Or longer.

So anyway, there I was in a rushed ensemble (there were shots in professional attire), and the places and lighting were fabulous, but all I could see when the photos came back were the vacancy in my eyes – confusion and a very obvious being stretched too thinnedness. Those pictures were worth their weight in gold because they served to wake me up to myself.  I was in a bit of a vacuum and those pictures said, “Hey life is hard because you aren’t really here. You need help.”

Now, mind you at the same time I was loving my son and snuggling, breastfeeding, and walking in the woods with him, but I didn’t understand how to do life. How was I supposed to leave him and go to work? What were we going to do as a family? What is this dynamic field that is Mother?

So many questions. I also had a 36 hour labor that ended in an emergency C-section so my body was also deeply in recovery. (There is so much more to that, and we can discuss it at another time, or you can listen to a podcast I did with my midwife, called “Peace starts with birth” here).

You know what happened? I did. I happened. I slowed down and started seeking out practitioners that could help me get back into my body more deeply. I started doing the emotional work of integrating my son’s birth, which I think is some of the most powerful, unspoken work, mothers can do – and I began to awaken to the truth that I could not live life the way I previously had.  

Why?

It wasn’t sustainable.

It had run its course.  

I was leaving the early summer of life – where you can run around endlessly expending energy, and was being tugged into my expansion of life, turning from what can I learn to what can I give. I was being slowed down to become more fully myself. 

But all I saw was failing. Not keeping up, and wondering how I had landed in a place that was so foreign to me – a place of frailty and dependency when I was the one that made dreams happen and flitted all over the world to teach and to heal, to learn and to love, now Life had sat me down and filled my arms with a miracle and where I thought I had to give (and you do you have to give a lot) what I really needed to learn was to receive. That I was worthy of this precious one and that he was in good hands – mine.

The funny thing about how the shoot ended – was this photo. The photographer took me to a place in the woods that I loved and walked for decades. When we arrived a man was serendipitously playing a digeridoo to the water. I kicked off my shoes and let my feet sink into the Earth.

“There you are,” the photographer said.

And it was true, for all the confusion and even the rhetoric of this writing, I had never been lost, I had always been here waiting for my own presence to catch up to me.  We can be lost and found at the same time. We can be complete and broken down (or open). We can be masterful and have worlds to learn, thankfully, that option of growth and presence is always with us, underneath our feet, and holy intact in our next breath.

Some mothering stories are easy. Some are not. What I have learned to embrace is that the sacred bond between my son and I is a fluctuating one of student and teacher. Yes, indeed it is the role of parent to hold the space and the responsibility, but the soul growth between a parent and child is a dynamic all on its own, dancing so that the growth is exponential. I recently read Edward Bach speak of parenting:

“Fundamentally, the office of parenthood is to be the privileged means (and indeed it should be considered as divinely privileged) of enabling a soul to contract this world for the sake of evolution. If properly understood, there is probably no greater opportunity offered to mankind than this, to be the agent of the physical birth of a soul and to have the care of the young personality during the first few years of its existence on earth…ever remembering that the wee one is an individual soul come down to gain his own experience and knowledge in his own way according to the dictates of his Higher Self, an every possible freedom should be given for unhampered development.”

Even the unexpected lessons.

This is why to know ourselves, to care for ourselves and to seek out the support so we may rise to the call is a process never-ending. This is why being broken open — or in my case falling deeply into an understanding of a whole new way was necessary for both of us.

If you are gifted with the care of another, by birth or by life, I bow to you. If you are sitting with a mistake you have recently made, may I offer you the permission to apply a lense of learning, a scent of compassion, and large cup of release with a deep cry for grace, so that you may once again feel the presence of you in all of your brilliance.

To you, thanks for being here,

Kate

—

If you were reading and thinking — wait, where do I get this reflection in my own life? Maybe we can help. We have a 6 week intimate program called Root to Rise to clear confusion, define your focus and stabilize your vision for what you want to create in your life — and creating calm or peace counts, feeling strong in your body counts.

Epiphany

Epiphany: clear sight, a-ha moment, manifestation.

The definition of epiphany in the dictionary and as it portrays in the story of Christ is the same to me: a clear-sighted moment, and finding of a star that you have followed, a manifestation of brilliance.

I didn't know that I had put those two pieces in my mind together like that until someone recently asked, and I said: Same same. Because spiritual truths are not separate from our lives, finding where you are going in your car, in your career and in your self all feel like some sort of an arrival.

There is a great confluence in my life in witnessing people's stories. As an English teacher, I first thought I had to teach those kids English, and then I quickly learned I was way more interested in teaching them how to be heard, and wove it into the lessons on prepositions and identifying clauses. When I started working with clients on the table, I thought that meant that I was supposed to fix what was wrong, then I quickly learned to listen to what they were saying so that they could hear themselves and the body could reestablish balance (yes, we are that amazing). When I started the podcast, I thought I was doing a pet project for post-partum me, yet what birthed was story after story of glimmering strength that showed there is a thread running through our lives that is our destined gift and growth. Often times it is something we overlook and dismiss that is holding a holographic key of understanding, and we don't know until the moment that we do, like an epiphany.

It is helpful - it appears - to have space for an epiphany for it to be able to occur. Enough space in your moment to let two truths sidle up next to each other for a new juxtaposition of understanding. Or to let the talent you dropped a decade ago, wink at you while you are bored in its hopes to ascend back into your life; or even as Lenoard Cohen sang to us, the light can stream through the cracks in the dark. I mean think about it -- what has already been whispering to you? What story seems too silly or too small for your busy schedule. How many times have you looked around and said, "I can't because, 2020, I mean 2021; well now ---." Let the thing that is most preposterous take some space in your life and see what it shares; not the Thing that makes you feel less than, the Thing that makes you feel : “This is so crazy!” or “Who am I to do this?“ or (my favorite) “This would be too easy!”

For so many years, I stepped away from my Catholicism for reasons that were grounded and true. In that space, I was able to learn so many other perspectives and expansive ways to see and understand how the pulse of the universe and our precious lives can move and manifest and when I leaned in, I was able to see more clearly the perfection of the roots of Christ Consciousness from which I have grown. I remember being astounded when I heard Neem Karoli Baba tell listeners to meditate life Christ, as Krishna Das retells, "He lost himself in love."

I was shocked that this powerful new dynamic (which is what Ancient Vedic practices were to me at the time) was pointing back to the place that those that loved and reared me were moved from. I find it no coincidence that this piece arises on my grandfather's birthday, today, the Epiphany. A man that truly lost himself in love through action: patient listening, endless game playing, projects with family or church -- a willingness to extend what he had. It was often and still is often that I receive epiphanies from the time I have shared with him and my grandmother, the steadiness of elders, bolstered by the immediacy of the parents who are doing the running raggedness of raising us. I also think of it as the Gift of our being here: the players and the place; the love and the loss; the peaks and the valleys; the things I missed; the things I gained; the things that are still holding out on the sidelines banking on the fact I will get them — eventually.

I think of these truths now, as epiphanies: knowing that it is all inscribed in infinite potential; that we are made to be encircled by love of generations; that as one of my dearest friends told me: “We have everything given to us at the time of our birth;” and that we can use that truth to eradicate our doubt and perception of worthlessness, realizing that in the ever ordered perfection of your arrival there is this little spark that can flicker, yet never fades, and holds the essence of your unfoldment and the journey of your own recognition of how brilliant you are.

And when you are in the places that feel more dark than light - -perhaps leave a little space for an epiphany and trust that the same spark that brought the clarity, brought you and will bring you through.

So Many Gifts — by Hafiz
There are so many gifts
Still unopened from your birthday,
There are so many hand-crafted presents
That have been sent to you by God.

The Beloved does not mind repeating,
“Everything I have is also yours.”

Please forgive Hafiz and the Friend
if we break into sweet laughter
When your heart complains of being thirsty
When ages ago
Every cell in your soul
Capsized forever
Into this infinite golden sea.

Indeed,
a lover’s pain is like holdings one’s breath
Too long
In the middle of a vital performance,

In the middle of one of Creation’s favorites
Songs.

Indeed, a lover’s pain is the sleeping,
This sleeping
When God just rolled over and gave you
Such a big good morning kiss!

There are so many gifts, my dear,
Still unopened from your birthday.
O, there are so many hand-crafted presents
That have been sent to your life
From God.

Let love in

Let’s let ourselves believe again.

In angels. In love. In miracles and coincidence. Let’s let the hands that birthed us, seen and unseen be acknowledged, be real.

When I was younger, my grandmother, Mom-mom, as I call her, as many Philadelphians do, bought me a Christmas tree. It was ceramic and lit up. I was in my twenties.

“There,” she said. “You’ll always have a Christmas tree.”

I loved that tree. The battery went out. It became cumbersome. I wouldn’t throw it out. My Mom-mom gave it to me, and when I looked at it I heard her say: “There, you will always have a Christmas tree.”

This year, I went to pull it out and I had to admit to myself – it was time to let the tree go. I didn’t correlate this until I sat down to write you (as happens when we open ourselves), yet a few weeks later she called and said she had a “pre-Christmas present” for my son, and we had to come pick it up.

As a great mom-mom, lineally and literally she had lined the bag with presents he would enjoy, Snoopy and such, then tucked inside was a beautiful quilt of snowman with chickadees and cardinals.

My grandmother always had the cutest snowman.  “Now, Aaron will always have a snowman,” she said on the phone.

I will hear her say, “There you’ll always have a Christmas tree” every Christmas, in every tree. I don’t have to believe anymore that it is in that one tree, that one form. It is her love of Christmas that helps me see through eyes of faith and love.

So – let the magic find you. The planets are bringing it (happy new moon and may the ever growing light ignite in you for Solstice), the calendar is singing it, and your heart is asking for your permission to let love and magic, faith and joy back in. Let’s not pretend that anything less than love brought us forth  - no matter what our story; and love sustains us - no matter what we see with our physical eyes…for just on the periphery of our perception is Love that holds everything we need, waiting to be let in.

May you let yourself hear the love of your Ancestors,

Kate

Want more like this? Sign up for our newsletter.

How a forgotten mask gave me a smile

I was holding my son’s hand as we both toddled up to Native Cafe in quaint Doylestown, PA before hitting the newly opened playground: treats for us both.

“Ah, I forgot my mask in –“ slipped out of my mouth, mainly to my son, and three heads sitting outside the coffee shop all turned to me in empathy. That is when I realized the depth of our shared experience.

Now let me interject, without a toddler, I would have simply turned around and walked to the car. If you aren’t intimate with toddler rhythm, in short when you disrupt it the turnaround time can be tricky, especially when you are playground bound.

So I was halted in the midst of the sympathy and the silliness of my forgetting, when a masked woman to my left, coffee in hand says to me, “I’m waiting on my food order, I’ll run in and get your coffee for you.” 

And there it was. Our humanity. 

I handed my debit card over. She walked in and ordered, ran my debit card back to me then waited for my coffee, masked.

When she came out with my drink, I looked her in the eye and said: “I won’t forget this latte for a long time.”

We both smiled that coffee lover smile, that mom to mom smile, that woman to woman smile, that person to person smile.

With loved up latte in hand, my son and I continued our walk to the playground where children smiled down slides and laughed running over hills. Not too close. Not too many – but most importantly with the joy and innocence of children.

photo by Kate Brenton, unfiltered

I looked up at this Grandmother tree and thought of all the conversations she has sheltered. All the boo boo’s she has held. All the birthday cupcakes, breakups, and new friendships under her arms have come and gone. When I left, there were parents gathered making paper ships with their sons, to set forth, sea-bearing and assured of new horizons, new sunsets and sunrises.

As we weave our way through uncertainty, let us tend the light of connection and tend to the Eldership in nature all around, teaching us how to remain strong and steady, rhythmic and rooted as we grow through times of great change.

“One touch of nature makes the whole world kin.”  William Shakespeare

Share your stories or hear more of this good stuff by clicking here.