Today marks the anniversary of one of the most significant challenges I have ever faced. It also marks the anniversary of the series of events, fortunate and otherwise, that built the intensity of what was to come. As I look back on the year, I see the 3rd of March 2017 as the day a new life was conceived. It took nine months for this new life to take shape and as the year draws to an end, a new birth is ready to create an eventful entry.
This journey is mine – my conception to my birth – my rebirth.
It wasn’t an easy year – by any standard it was the toughest. I saw physical injury, mental torment and emotional upheaval. I saw betrayal and relationships withering down to nothingness and human dignity stomped upon in an effort to prove power, control and authority. I saw a man take pride in holding a whiplash and I saw women stand aside allowing for the que sera, sera. I saw my worldview of relationships, social structure and reasoning crumble and witnessed myself questioning the sanctity, the plausibility even, of marriage, and if such an institution justified its existence at all!
This past year tore through my concept and belief in faith and trust and instead, held me in a vice of mistrust. Friendship, love and loyalty were questioned and I realized that to some, blood was thicker than water after all. I saw people I loved struggle with integrity and values – and saw my heart break, little by little in great big chunks, when these people chose safety and loyalty over standing up for someone who needed a hand up.
In this past year, I was abused – categorically, mentally, financially, emotionally, verbally and materially. I was violated of my dignity and shamelessly stripped of my legal entitlements. I was manipulated till I was almost twisted out of life itself – squeezed to see how much more I could take – till those beads of sweat probably oozed a little of blood (not literally) – and yet, I saw bystanders – standing by watching the drama unfold – justifying with a “Sigh! What can we do?“
And that was when life showed me the single blue line.
I was pregnant this past year – passing through every phase of pregnancy while I nurtured and prepared for my own imminent rebirth.
By early April 2017, I was sensitive enough to experience the nausea and discomfort of morning sickness early on – that intuitive sense that something unusual was happening. Those visual and energetic clues of pulsating discomfort when you know something was about to happen, yet you couldn’t put your finger on it. By the end of the month, I was in the throes of emotional morning sickness. Of course, laying in bed nursing a broken leg also immobilizes you to large degree, so along with the pregnancy of myself, I embarked on another exploration and creation – creating works of art and craft – things of color and beauty.
By June, I had no doubts of this pregnancy and with the morning sickness settled down, I was at the prime and glow of helping the new me get stronger with each passing day. The previous three pregnancies didn’t really help – the challenges of birthing yourself were unique – an experience so taxing yet intimately personal, the reward just as special and beyond words. Over the two months, I was filled with the knowing that my pregnancy and birth (or rebirth) was entirely in my hands – how I shaped this new me was going to be my own story – and a path that I was going to tread alone.
I was super sensitive to elements that amplified my growth and systematically detoxified where needed – letting go of people, things and relationships that, although much loved, were just not serving any good. I choose to believe that as they stopped serving my growth, me getting out of their way probably helped them too – win-win!
By the end of this trimester, I was clearly ‘expecting’ myself and the aches and pains of this energetic pregnancy were akin to the backaches, acidity and reflux. Life provided me with ample pain points and triggers to serve the purpose – relationships began to fail miserably, situations cramped up and resources started dwindling – all in the name of power-struggles. I coped, I struggled, I carried on.
By September, I began the last mile of this pregnancy, the outcome palpable. I was excited – but at the same time, the fear of the impending process was dreadfully nauseating. I was tired of carrying myself, my body physically sore from exertion, but I was also aware that I had no choice but to follow through. I found myself being intuitive to future needs – preparing for a time when current resources would be spitefully snatched away. As if acting on a premonition, I found myself planning for otherwise unforeseen eventualities – but instinctively preempting them. I was aware of hostility and knew when the air was getting rarer.
By October, I started ‘nesting’ – that phase when you clear, declutter and prepare the space for the newcomer. I started looking for midwives and doulas and amazed at how and from where these people arrived – these women! My mother, my sister, my friends, dear ones who helped with organizing a baby shower of sorts. My own circle of women.
I started cleaning up – and letting go some more. This new me needed a whole new space – a whole new room – a whole new environment.
November marked the end of 12 weeks of my third trimester – and just like that, I was primed for labour – that last stretch – the home run.
When my oldest was born, I laboured for 71 hours. When my leg broke, I calmly organised everyone around me. When my hip dislocated, I took myself to the doctor and recuperated over the next two weeks. When I was down with dengue, I didn’t wait to see what it was, I just took myself to the ER and demanded blood tests.
An average birth canal is about 3 to 4 inches long and it takes about 20 minutes to an hour for an infant to pass through it unassisted and naturally.
We’re talking about a grown woman who has to pass through the metaphoric birth canal, unassisted, without pain relief and no scope of a C-section! And this birth canal allows for the ebb and flow of the contractions – knowing fully well that birth was inevitable!
So, I knew this labour was going to be one helluva ride – and trust me, it was… it is.
So I keep pushing – because the contractions are getting stronger – unbearably stronger on some days and then some more on others. The breathing space between contractions getting shorter and shorter – the urgency to push and bear down significant in the here and in the now.
A pregnancy technically lasts for 40 weeks – and newer babies of this generation naturally are staying in utero for longer. I’m turning 40 this month. A few more pushes. A few more breaths – panting, holding time, supported by the circle of doulas and midwives who are surrounding me with salves and potions, warm towels, chants, hymns and love….
I am the phoenix – watch me rise!
Luvena's World 