Tired

Too tired to do. Too tired to sleep. 

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My Place

It's when pain comes that writing starts. Or is it when I slow down. When I say I cannot anymore. I listen within. I stop hiding. Stop denying. It's when life is hard that I need this more. More than food, more than sleep, more than friendships and company. It's the place I return to. It's the place I have always returned so. It's the one place that will wait for me. The one place that will understand. My sacred place.  Welcome back. 
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Mothering A Teenager

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Some experiences we go through in life can feel unfair, painful and senseless when we are in the midst of them, but looking back when time has past they usually start making sense in life. My second son’s birth is such a thing. I went through my second pregnancy alone, his father moved to Sweden only three weeks prior to his birth. In my mind I imagined that dream vaginal birth I had seen in too many birthing videos; calm, held and supported by my partner, the baby being placed on my chest right away, etc. But my first son’s birth was nothing like that. My water broke and it was nothing like a Hollywood movie; no contractions, no birth. We waited and waited. Finally I spiked a fever and my doula urged me to go to the hospital. After a few hours in the hospital they decided a c-section was the best option. This was an option I hadn’t even considered. My daughter, my first born, was born vaginally so I assumed my second would too. I was extremely emotional before and during the c-sec...
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