Take inventory of all that you are,
that which you care about, and
the ways that you move through the world.
These are parts of who you are,
The way you have been divinely created.
And it is good
And soon, as you labor to bring your baby out into the light
(And as you mother him/her over the coming weeks that turn to months that turn to years)
You are going to meet new parts of yourself
Parts that have not yet been summoned from your depths,
Bits and pieces which haven’t shown up yet because they haven’t been needed.
While other parts which you’ve leaned so heavily on until now
Will be placed on the shelf, dismissed from active duty.
You are about to birth your baby,
But also yourself, anew.
And it will be wonderful and terrible, both.
There will be days when you feel wrecked by it,
Spinning with disorientation over this version of you that you do not know.
(Where did she come from? What is she doing here?)
You’ll have moments of real grief and loss as you notice
Those parts of you which you have loved seeming to fade to oblivion
(Where did she go?! What’s wrong with me?)
Some will tell you to give it time.
You’ll recover and feel like yourself again, eventually, they’ll say.
You’ll bounce back, you’ll be told.
But I will tell you the real truth:
You are not meant to recover from this death and rebirth.
There is no turning back.
Your quest – should you be brave enough to undertake it –
Is to surrender to it, to let it have its way with you,
To be brave enough to let go of who you thought you were and might become
And to instead be and become who you being called to be and become.
Your identity now inexorably entangled with the life of your little one.
Your sense of self now infused with the journey you’ve just traversed.
Your destiny rerouted because you said “yes” to this little one’s life.
Will you feel out of control? Yes, absolutely.
You are in uncharted territory here, internally and circumstantially.
You have never been here before.
You have never been this YOU before.
So there will be a tug sometimes to escape that discomfort,
To cling for dear life to the old you and the old life,
To grasp at control all the little details so that you feel less unmoored.
There’s so much grace for that.
This transition from maiden to mother, it takes a while.
It takes some dying, some crying, some frightening letting go.
You must be patient with yourself when you don’t navigate it as gracefully as you think you should.
And you must also know that this metamorphosis is for you
(Yes! You’ll be more whole and freer by the time the chrysalis begins to crack open, I promise)
But it is also for your child, and your children to come.
It is toward the legacy you will pass on in your family and in the world.
So stay the course.
There will be days when this death and rebirth wreck you with JOY.
The tears will come to your eyes as you feel your soul expand to a size
too large to be held by your finite body.
The love you will feel will unlike any you have ever felt before.
You will think, “i never knew I could feel this way!”
And yet, here you are, feeling it all.
You will be astounded by your mama bear instincts and your heightened intuition.
You will delight in your own ability to be undignified, to play.
This undoing is hard and holy work.
It is an honor and a gift.
It is a joy.
copyright 2023 Brooke Collier
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