A soul made of earth and fire.
A heart and hips that hug every beat.
And a fight so strong, I couldn’t tame it if I tried.
Protecting your heart, within systems designed to ignore your humanity, is kinda what I’m here for.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve been the one that others feel safe enough with, to go as deep as they needed to go.
I held my father through his divorce at age 10, I’ve helped friends build bridges out of abusive relationships, I’ve held several employers’ hands (and businesses) throughout my career as they finally felt supported enough to completely come undone, and I even made a career as a women’s coach, facilitating one home coming after the next. I have always been the one to proudly hold the container for life’s most life-changing moments.
When it came time to having my son in 2017, I completely underestimated the way birth sets the stage for a woman’s most potent and sometimes paralysing unravelling.
I didn’t know what I didn’t know.
I didn’t realise on a visceral level, how un-held mothers in our society really are.
I didn’t hear any other woman talk openly about how birth can feel like a sudden death.
I didn’t anticipate my inner child and ancestral wounds playing such a significant part in the process as they did.
I didn’t realise my research, self-awareness and strength were going to fall short in the absence of being truly, deeply, intimately held in a birth culture so lucrative and sterile.
I had way too much trust in people, professionals and systems that I didn’t know would abandon me in my vulnerability, until they did.
And so I vowed to make sure that no woman like me would ever be left in the dark like that again.
That women like me would have the opportunity to alchemise this rite of passage into proof of their potential, and not of their pitfalls.
That women like me would learn to receive and feel intimately held, at a time in their life with so much opportunity for healing and transformation.
And so that’s what I do now.