The Joshua Tree Chronicles: part 1
A week in the desert, space to reflect on my first year as a mother - a gift to myself.
After almost a year of in-arms and co-sleeping with my boy, I have some space. In this moment, I am sat outside, with the desert sun kissing my skin through the wooden slats of the sheltered outdoor patio area of my rental and I am completely alone.
Matilde, our ‘Mother’s Helper’ is taking Lachlann for a walk in the carrier - he’s ready for his late morning nap. And while it feels good to my spirit to be in a new place, getting new perspective, I’m hyper aware that wherever I go, there I am.
The same, old, heaviness that’s taken up residency in my eyes and in my heart pervades, even here. And without the energies of other people swirling around me, I can begin to realistically take stock of how I’m feeling and where I’m at.
It would seem the initiation into Motherhood was more like trial by fire for - at least that’s how it has felt in my inner world. My commitment to doing everything within my awareness and capacity to support my son in developing a healthy attachment and to blossom into the very unique expression that he is (honoring his Human Design/ being an imperfect conscious parent) has not only been an honor, it’s been spiritually grueling. It’s mean’t I’ve had no choice but to see all the ways I wasn’t met, honored or or even loved (well) back when I was a pure light of a baby. This last year has been a perpetual transition between grief, heartache, forgiveness, acceptance and back again.
A journey back to self-trust.
It’s been pretty ugly, pretty messy, it’s felt as powerful and uncontrollable as a King tide on a super full moon night. When I opened up to some people, willing to share my tenderness, it generally wasn’t met. That hurt. So I closed down and then wonder if it was OK to want validation or reassurance.
I don’t recognize myself right now, here, in Joshua Tree. I’m continuing to meet parts of me that were turned off, long ago in order to survive spiritual assault.
And since I was strong enough to birth my baby unassisted at home and trust the divinity of such a portal - It would seem I’m strong enough now to begin feeling the depth of pain that lives behind some of my oldest wounds. The pure love and light of my baby continues to illuminate all that needs to be loved into integration. And since it isn’t my first rodeo, it sure does feel exhausting (how many times must one die in a single lifetime?) - and, I know I have the strength to persevere.
I do not want anybody’s pity, I write because I DO NOT SEE ANYWHERE mothers admitting to some of the harder, darker parts of motherhood. I do not see many people feeling the depths of the potential motherhood has to completely transform us into the pure light we were born as. I do not see anywhere a perspective of postpartum depression that doesn’t involve statistics and a medical lens.
Ultimately, life is asking me to surrender, to trust that somewhere in the caverns of my ever-opening heart there’s a love for myself that will give me all the faith and reassurance I need.
The trees are not wrong, therefore I am not wrong for donning cinder after bushfires’ blaze.
All of this at the same time as being cracked open to the greatest love I’ve known. All of this at the same time as being in complete awe of the magical child that is Lachlann Bowie-Sage.
What a ride, this human thing.
To listen to more of this including the uphill immigration hill I’m climbing in order for our family to remain together - a journey that will inevitable involve some form of trailblazing because the system is abusive and not conducive to love or honoring mothers - please consider becoming a paid subscriber.
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With love, Nikki x