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There is this little voice inside my head. It doesn’t always speak with words – sometimes with groans and stomachaches and tears. A few months ago, I published a post about why my family stepped out of ministry. And people read it. And I have had been riding a sea of waxing and waning emotion. Pride. Shame. Healing. Hurting. You name it – I’ve probably felt it.

Responses varied. Many friends reached out to offer support and encouragement and words of hope – words that resonate deeply and that I find myself coming back to read from time to time when I am feeling low. I also received message after message from people who had similarly experienced church hurt and felt free to share their stories with me after hearing mine. I felt so supported and heard, and at the same time I was heartbroken at the stories of hurt I was hearing.

And I heard from a couple of people who felt very hurt by me sharing my story – at least in the manner in which I shared.

I don’t know about you, but hearing that someone felt hurt by me is one of the things I dread most in life. There is probably something to be learned here about my enneagram type / psyche / etc…and I am working on that. It’s always been this way. When I was young, I was hardly ever given many tactile consequences because knowing my parents were “disappointed” was typically all it took to send me towards repentance.

In the days following, I typed up no less than seven apologies and / or retractions. I just wanted the pain and tension of it all to go away. I wasn’t trying to cause suffering with that post…I was trying to relieve it. I was trying to relieve the suffering caused by keeping my story locked deep inside for so long. I have learned through this process that I would rather (and often choose to) further my own suffering than risk the possibility of anyone else feeling pain on account of my actions. So, I turn things inward.

This time, I made a different choice. This time I chose to take the next step in my healing because it was the next step in my healing…There was no “who cares who this hurts, I’m doing this attitude.” I wrote and edited and rewrote that post many times, I had it proofread by people I trust, and I posted it. I did my best to tell my own story and not the stories of others. I did my best not to implicate or identify individuals because that is not who I am. I told my truth. I breathed out what had been burning me up from the inside and turning me into a resentful, bitter, cynical person so I could have space to breathe in new life.

It has been hard. There have been many, many tears and second guesses. I have re-read the post about 87 times. I spoke with people I trusted and even reached out to some authors who have shared their own hard church stories…and they all said about the same thing. You shared your story, and you did so graciously. You have nothing to apologize for.

So why am I still thinking about it all the time? Why does this post haunt me with questions about my own integrity? I am still working on this one…but I think some of it because I started to believe that others really do know what I need and what is the right or wrong next step for me than I do – especially others that I have come to respect. I was reaching to all of these outside places for affirmation – but all the while, the only affirmation that really matters is the Divine voice that speaks from within. We all have choices. We have to make our own choices about the next right step. Sometimes they won’t be unilaterally popular or accepted, but that doesn’t mean you chose wrong.

Team Taylor got a little smaller that day, but my voice, sense of empowerment, confidence, and healing started to grow exponentially. Sometimes, despite our best efforts, our actions will cause others pain. You will have to learn to look at yourself the way you look at others – as a person who is just figuring it out…as a person whose decisions are not “all good” and “all bad” – but as a person who is striving towards love, justice, and wholeness.

“Speak truth to bullshit. Be civil” – Brené Brown

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“Be messy and complicated and afraid and show up anyway.” This quote by Glennon Doyle hangs in my cubicle at the hospital, just above my computer screen – so I see it about 80 times a day. I have been trying to embody this message in this new challenge of hospital chaplaincy. I’m focusing on claiming my pastoral authority and identity from the inside out – meaning, I know that I have worth and value and a purpose on the unit even if I get the side-eye from some folks along the way. I can handle the side-eye…I know that now.

Most of the time, when I come across a quote or a concept that sinks in like this it starts outside myself. I start to use the quote in conversation with others…to give encouragement, normalization, peace, and hope. It’s not until after I start to apply it in this space that I begin to internalize it and allow it to become part of my self-talk.

This one was a little different, however. I NEEDED this quote…because I am messy…and things are complicated…and I have chosen to show up. Sure, I have shared it with a few meaningful people because I find it helpful – but I have been really focused on applying it to myself.

Cut to this mornings insight – ugh – if I apply this to myself, if I use this to encourage others…I have to use it to find compassion for others too. If I am going to challenge myself and my loved ones to show up and be present even in the midst of their mess, I have to then be ok dealing with messy, present people in my own life. I need to see and value the showing up – even when my instinct is to see the mess. I need to acknowledge the courage and vulnerability in this act by the people who give me the side-eye, whose actions have hurt me in the past, and who were in positions of leadership or authority over me – even though they hadn’t gotten “perfect” yet.

I wish this wasn’t so, friends – but this is the reality I am sitting in this morning, and I wanted to share. It’s not that we don’t hold others accountable for their actions, or call into view the way in which others movement in the world causes us to feel – but it does mean that we need to dig down deep and find some compassion and grace and – I can’t believe I’m saying this – but move toward understanding rather than judgement. I am SO GUILTY of being the person who preaches “show up anyway” and then judges, side-eyes, and get’s annoyed by people showing up as their messy self when it affects me negatively.

Anyone out there feel me? Doesn’t it suck?

Move towards compassion and understanding, friends. Sometimes it will feel sucky, but I truly think the only way through this season is through it…

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I used to think that the most important thing was to make sure everyone around me felt good. Especially, that is, in regard to my own actions, movement, and existence. For me to cause anyone anything but joy, pride, and approval was absolutely intolerable. I like to make people feel good, and, as an empath, I have an uncanny ability to predict the way my movement in the world might evoke feelings in others. At it’s best, this has helped me to bring love and light to those around me, and at worst, it has been paralyzing and has caused me to develop a false self for the sake of those around me.

And then I learned something. I learned that it is vital for me – for us – as human beings to be seen and heard. It is one of our deepest needs. And dear ones, sometimes the truth of who we are will bring pain or fear to those around us. This why I, and so many others, build up this sense of self around the needs of those we love. But you know what…the world needs US – not the self we have curated to please the world. I believe that God created YOU in the divine image – and it is one of our sacred duties in life to discover who this “you” is.

Because as painful as it is to reconcile that you may be more than an agent of life and love…that sometimes you may be an agent of pain or fear or doubt for someone…it is more important to be seen. It is more important to be whole. It is more important to be the beautifully imperfect being you were created to be. It makes me sad to think that there may be people who spend their whole lives trying to be who they are supposed to be and, in turn, completely miss discovering who they actually are.

And, here is another sacred secret. When you allow space and grace for you to be yourself – whole and integrated – you make space for others to be who they are created be as well. It is much easier to accept others with their imperfections and rough edges when you learn to have grace for your own. If you spend all of your time and energy trying to be perfect…you will come to expect this same striving from everyone around you…and you will be disappointed. It may actually be your imperfections that bring light and healing to the world.

Love and grace to you right where you are today.

“You will be too much for some people. Those aren’t your people.” – Glennon Doyle

 

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I read this blog last night, and it brought up a LOT of feelings for me. At first, there was this inner dialogue of, “yeah, go get ‘em!” There was this rush of righteous indignation…and then I had a realization…of just how dehumanizing this rhetoric was. Do we solve dehumanization by dehumanizing the dehumanizers? (Yes, I recognize that is a terrible sentence). But no…we don’t stop the cycle of dehumanization by playing right into it. My mind started spinning through the rolodex of those who I thought would consider themselves evangelical. I saw the faces of family and friends – of people who really are trying to be loving and kind and decent. They play with my children, they show up for us when we need support…they are, in every way, my village. There are certainly areas in which we disagree, and even may think that the opinion of the other is harmful in some way, but when the rubber meets the road, they are there. We have to start seeing each-other again, and stop only looking through the lenses of political rhetoric and identity politics.

What I am not saying…
I am not saying the church doesn’t have a racism problem. Believe me. I do, however, believe that this extends well beyond the church. I think that white people (including myself) have a racism problem.  It is deeply entrenched, systemic, and oftentimes so unconsciously embedded that we only start to see it slowly and over time – and usually it is through getting to know people of color. Usually it is through personal relationship and personal narratives colliding.

For many of us, it is becoming clear that scapegoating and sweeping generalizations are not working – they may make us feel better temporarily, or at least provide some sense of catharsis – but they don’t lead us towards the kinds of change and progress that ANY of us hope to see. We want to see justice and love – and that involves us linking arms and remembering that none of us are free until all of us are free.

So what do we do? What do we do with all of these strong feelings of injustice? What do we do with this inner need to speak up when we see racism, sexism, and hatred (especially when it is from people who publicly profess love…and who claim to follow Christ).

Instead of scapegoating…and grouping people into these wide, negative, categories…

We can call out our friends…

When our friends and family expose their racism, or other biases in conversation, we can ask them why they feel that way and lean into understanding. We can point out the way those words and ideas make other people feel. We can share our own stories of how our perspectives and understandings have changed. We can, with love and grace, enter into really hard conversations with our friends and family.

We can call out institutions…
Let me say…it is those within those institutions who can be most influential when it comes to calling out leaders. To those of you in “evangelical” churches, but who don’t identify with all of these negative connotations, let’s think about our own church. In what ways could your church do a better job of leaning into difficult conversations around race and privilege? What about immigrants and refugees? Are these very important conversations being had corporately? Are they being had in small groups? Set a meeting with your pastor, and ask these questions. But don’t stop there. As a former pastor myself, I can tell you that you have a lot more ability to influence change if you also come with ideas and solutions. The church, in fact, does not belong to your pastor – but to you. If you want to see change, you may need to do more than just point it out (though that is important) – you may also have to be willing to help in some way with facilitating a solution.

We can call out specific leaders…
We can publicly point to the Franklin Graham’s and Tony Perkins’s of the world and tell them they don’t speak for us. We can call out their hypocrisy. We can stop supporting their companies and organizations with our dollars. We can publicly post our disapproval of them. We can have difficult conversations with our friends who have been deeply hurt by these men (and plenty of others like them) and grow in our understanding. Our silence speaks loudly here…both at a church (institutional) and individual level.

We have to stop cutting people off and cutting people out. We need to keep eating together, working together, worshipping together, and leaning in.

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Looking into his big brown eyes and the sweetest little baby smile I had ever seen, I felt a sting in my heart. I loved this little boy so much, but what would he be like when he grew up – would I be afraid of him? Would I cross to the other side of the street or smile awkwardly so as to hide my fear and discomfort? I rubbed shea butter into his chocolate brown skin and rocked him to sleep, and the thought that every black man I had ever seen had once been a precious baby like this…that thought was unbelievably painful. Because while I never thought of myself as a racist, and certainly didn’t ever go through a period of consciously believing that there was a qualitative difference between people of different races, my bias was still there. It may have been layered under thick blankets of hope and a cognitive belief in equality, but it was there.

As a child, I went through a phase where I only wanted black dolls. They were, in my opinion, typically prettier than the white dolls…and I was bored of having all white dolls. My dolls were a fairly close representation of my town and the public school system in which I grew up – completely whitewashed. I did not think a lot about race because I never really saw people of different races interact in real life. When I did, I put on my colorblind lenses and tried just to see everyone as exactly the same. That is, until this tiny, sweaty little infant stole my heart.

To be fair…as a woman with a lot of anxiety, I would probably cross to the other side of the street if I saw almost any man coming towards me…regardless of what they looked like. But it didn’t change the fact that the sweet black baby in my arms would grow up to be a black man – and I was afraid of my own reaction to that reality. I wanted to push it aside and continue to think of myself as good and right and progressive…I didn’t want to think of myself as tainted by racism.

What I learned is that racism is bigger than any one person’s experience. The fact that you participate in a culture that is set up to value and privilege one race above another does not make  you a bad person – but it is something we need pay attention to and face head on. Most of us (myself, and the white friends I know intimately) would be repulsed if we felt like someone would consider us a racist…so we keep our distance from the meat and inner work of the topic. While we know from studies that we are programmed towards out-group bias before we even learn to speak…we still believe in our heart and mind that we are all equal. We post inspiring quotes about MLK in January and pretend that everything is going just fine. We are kind and compassionate to the people who enter our world regardless of the color of our skin. We strive for colorblindness as the end goal of our journey.

But I have to tell you something, friends. Something I have, embarrassingly enough, really only begun to learn in the past couple of years. Colorblindness is not the goal…and not only that, but placating our inner need to be good and right by striving towards colorblindness can actually keep us from fighting for positive justice…a justice that doesn’t simply strive to avoid conflict, but actually rights wrongs. True justice will cost us something. As a person who has occupied a position of privilege, it will cost a painful examination of the way we have come to view both ourselves and our world. It will cost us the comfort of staying silent when openly racist remarks are made. It will cost us our time and energy and effort. And y’all, it will cost us some of our privilege. That is the hard one, and the one I am still wrestling with and trying to figure out in real life. In what ways can I use my privilege to give advantage and favor to someone else? This is where I am circling, especially as a parent, as we make decisions that will shape the way our children view race, equality, and the humanity of all those around them.

I have had the great honor of attending a fairly racially and ideologically diverse seminary for the past year, and having all of these perspectives in the classroom has broken my heart and also filled it with light. I had no idea what I was missing out on before. I have listened to mothers share how they have to explain nasty looks and comments to their children, to fathers who have to teach their children how to safely navigate a traffic stop, and so much more. I have seen so much pain that is unfamiliar in my world, but I have also seen an unfamiliar resilience…and understanding that there is a strength that comes from within…within an individual, within a family, within a community, that can fill people with meaning, value, and grit in spite of pervasive difficult circumstances coming from all angles on the outside.

I still have a long way to go, both in unpacking my privilege as well as figuring out what on earth to do now. I am still figuring out how to be intentional about justice in the way I live my life – and I still don’t know how I fit into this story.

I do know this. Ignoring my own unconscious racial bias is not helpful. Pretending it’s not there doesn’t make me a better person. What is helping me to become a more whole person and giving me the possibility to become an agent of change is taking a listening and learning posture, becoming humble in the face of that which I don’t understand, and becoming open to costly action that I might undertake for the sake of the men and women of color that I deeply care about and admire.

To my white friends…I would love nothing more than for you to come on this journey with me. Does this post make you angry? Are you experiencing your own forms of systemic oppression that make it challenging for you to differentiate and empathize with people of color? Are you confused about terms that are thrown around in our culture? Do you care about equality and justice but disagree with everything I have just said about colorblindness? Let’s get a cup of coffee. I want to hear you and I want to have a conversation. Maybe part of my piece in this puzzle is to walk this journey with you – not judging you or trying call things out in you…but truly, to walk beside you. It is my experience that many of “us” really do care and long for equality, but we just still have so much to learn and it is HARD. Let’s learn together – you are not alone in this. Let’s pick this burden, that of educating ourselves and understanding the reality of what is still going on today, rather than asking those under the systemic boot to pick it up for us.

Love and peace.

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What if you don’t like me anymore? What if this changes the way you view me? What if you don’t view me the way I view myself? What if you view me in the ways that I am MOST afraid to be viewed? The worry can become paralyzing.

There is so much about being an empath that is beautiful. I remember a moment – I couldn’t have been more than six – where my mom sat me down on the pink tile of the counter in our hall bathroom. Crocodile tears were streaming down my face, and my mom was trying to soothe me…. no, not from some sort of injury or childhood trauma…but because of the scene in White Fang where the guy tries to make the wolf run back into the woods. “You have a soft heart hunny, and that is a good thing,” she said, as she looked me in the eye. (#parentingwin) This ability to feel things from the outside intensely…it is a gift and a curse. As a person who wants to spend her life being present in the midst of people’s pain and vulnerability, this natural level of empathy will be an asset and a necessity, especially now that I have learned how to create some healthy boundaries. In helping situations, I have and am continuing to learn how to remain present with and identifying with the feelings brought up by the pain of others without taking on the pain of others.

That being said, I am learning now just how challenging this “gift” of being an empath can be on my ability to live the life I feel called to as an individual. I can’t think of a time when I made a decision without thinking about the emotional consequences of EVERYONE it touches. I can often imagine and visualize how people might be feeling (empathy) but then I start to take RESPONSIBILITY for how everyone else is feeling. And this isn’t just when people tell me how they feel – it’s mostly just my assumptions of how I’ve made other people feel.

Something people may not know about anxiety is that it is often times not about our own fear of dying. For me, the anxiety wasn’t about the pain that I may experience, it was about the pain that I may cause others. That is what kept me up nights, fretting over whether or not I needed to go to the emergency room for what was, certainly, a heart attack. It wasn’t a fear of losing my life, it was a fear of taking a mother away from my children – of taking a wife away from my husband – of taking a daughter away from my parents. Here is the big flaw in this thought, as I am learning, that is connected still to all of this work for me…I feel deeply responsible for the ways others feel, especially when I feel like I have control or influence over it.

Absolutely, our actions have consequences…but we also aren’t responsible for every little detail of our lives. So many of the painful things that have happened or will happen are so far outside of our control, and it is unfair and unreasonable for us to ask ourselves to predict and prevent every painful thing from befalling those we love. Miscarriages happen. Car accidents happen. Cancer happens. And most of the time, there is nothing we could do to prevent them. Could we have caught the caner earlier…maybe…but what would it have cost? How much would worrying and constant doctors visits and living in fear would  have cost us…and would that have been a life worth living?

Live today, friends. The bad things…the painful things…they will come. You will walk through them. They will change you and shape you and be hard – almost impossible…but they are not ours to control. You will cross those bridges when you come to them, and no amount of planning or fretting will make that journey any easier. We make the road by walking, loves. Keep walking. Keep doing the next right thing. And today, find at least a little glimmer of joy (even if it’s a dark day) somewhere in the breath you take today, and the chance you have to keep showing up.

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There is a mercy that springs from a belief that all is right with the world. It is innocent and beautiful, but also naive and lacking in depth of experience and reality. Then there is another mercy – one that has seen pain, suffering and grief, but that also found the resiliency to live from a place of light right there in the midst. But there is also an in-between place, where the mercy of innocence dissipates. We enter into this space in different ways and times in our development – through a tragic loss, a spiritual wound, abuse, systemic oppression, or other types of suffering. Some of us walk through these waters as children, and others as adults, but the time comes for each of us to realize that it’s not “all good,” that the world is full of suffering and injustice in addition to all of her beauty and life. Those of us lucky enough to enter in as an adult may have an additional learning curve when we realize that not only has our rosy view of the world passed away, but that in an effort to delay our entrance into the suffering of the world, we have unwittingly contributed to it.

This middle space is uncomfortable and off-putting, but it is also a necessary part of the journey. It does, in fact, lead us to a more whole and true understanding of the world we all share, and without it we can’t find true compassion.

Surprisingly, however, it is tempting to set-up camp here (and this is where I start preaching to myself). We are filled with righteous indignation and somehow it feels good…almost addictive. It gives us the alluring impression that we are the “good” ones, the “right” ones, the heroes of the story. But isn’t this just a different flavor of that which we are struggling against? If we do build our nest here, the local materials we find and collect fill our space with thorns and brambles and poison ivy. We become more and more isolated in our anger, and we injure not just ourselves, but all those who dare to come near.

If we want to grow in connection, if we want to remain in a space in which we can engage with and make a difference in the world, we have to keep moving foward. We have to take the compassion we learned in the darkness and bring it into the light. We learn to let go of the indignation as a way of life and cling to mercy. The anger at injustice certainly has its place, and is an important tool to pick up in times where we need it, but it is never a sustainable home. Make your home in mercy and grace. Let it bathe your every action, breath, and gift – all of that which you offer out into the world. Pick up the anger when you need it and make intentional actions towards change and justice, and then lay it down again.

Light. Heavy. Light.

Keep moving, keep showing up, keep growing soft as well as strong.

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Mamas,

I know that sometimes you feel like you could explode with love for your children, and other times (sometimes a mere five minutes later) it seems if you don’t get out for a minute you might, yourself, combust. There is so much to do, so much to keep up with. We protect, we teach, we clean, we nourish, we form – and half the time these values overlap and conflict with each other. We have to make hard choices about discipline and grace, when to follow our kids around cleaning up messes and when to let it accumulate so they learn to clean up after themselves, when to engage and try to comfort and when to let their big emotions be just that – big.

I was a working mom for almost three years and have been a stay-at-home mom for two. Neither is easier – motherhood is hard and nuanced and beautiful no matter how you slice it (and no matter how green that other grass may seem).

There is so much that feels like “our job” with our kids. We want them to take good care of their bodies, their minds, their spirit. We want them to be kind and develop relationships and have the capacity for intimacy. We want them to challenge themselves and dream big – to find and go after their purpose and use their gifts.

Sometimes, though, mamas, we forget that their lives are not our own (or at least I do). There is only so much we can (and should) control. We get to control what kind of love we give. We get to control how they see their momma handle stress and hardship. We get to control how they see their momma overcome and press on in the face of obstacles. We get to control what they see their momma eat, how they see their momma treat her body, how they see their momma pursue her passions and balance her relationships. And most importantly…they get to see how their momma handles her own imperfection. They get to see that their momma doesn’t expect herself to do it all and do it all perfectly – which frees our littles up to believe the same about themselves…that they don’t have to do it all and be it all and get it all perfect.

It’s not our job to pre-smooth all of the bumps in the road so that our children never experience pain. It is not our job to make sure our children never make a mistake or fail. We get to love them and challenge them and give them a safe place to land. We get to give them a person with whom mistakes and failures are an expected and natural part of life – and that our love and regard for them does not waver in those times. And we will teach them this with our presence and with our love. We will teach them this through each of the hard moments we are blessed to have with them.

But mostly, mommas, we will teach them this by modeling…By not expecting ourselves to be perfect or without flaw. By apologizing and making amends when we cause harm. By not letting our fear of getting it wrong paralyze us from moving forward. By showing them the way we take time for self care and allow ourself space for our own big emotions.  By showing them how we lean into our village and allow ourself  to rely on our friends. We will teach them by living our lives well…and not by living their’s for them.

You’ve got this momma. Take care of you.

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I laid crying on the exam table, exhausted in every way from the first night home with my newborn baby, as the doctor peered down at my surgical wound. My emotions were fried, I hadn’t slept a solid hour in days, and I was in pain…and then the doctor poked a giant cotton-tipped swab right into the most painful part of my surgical wound. I winced, and my super-chill OB said, “yikes, don’t look down” and started grabbing gauze pads.

Not twenty-four hours earlier I had come home from the hospital after my second c-section, and right before bedtime, upon looking at my awkward post baby body in the bathroom mirror, I realized that the wound was gaping…GAPING. You do not want to look down and see a gaping abdominal wound, folks. I panicked and spoke with the doctor on-call, who assured me that no, my insides were not going to “all fall out” and I wasn’t going to bleed to death in my sleep, but that I should come first thing in the morning.

So there I was, bright and early, oozing nasty stuff all over the exam table while my momma comforted my newborn in the corner. I learned something really important about wounds. The reason the doctor was so surprised by what happened when she poked (she would probably say she was “assessing the depth” or something like that, but y’all…it was a poke) is because the wound had begun healing from the outside. What happens when your surgical wound heals from the outside in (as opposed to the inside out) is that bacteria and “gross stuff” gets trapped in the wound and festers…and leads to infection. Luckily, my amazing OB took care of me in time. Unfortunately, that meant on top of a crazy two year old, a newborn who wanted to be permanently attached to mommy, a complete and total lack of sleep, a partial facial paralysis, and a brainstem lesion (which would be spotted two days later), I got to go to visit the wound care center multiple times per week for “wound packing.” Essentially, they would continue to poke the wound, and pack it full of medicated “stuff” that kept the wound from healing from the outside again. My momma and my husband (who obviously love me to do something so gross) also got to take turns packing my surgical wound…which was super fun for all of us.

So why am I sharing this nasty story with you? Because this sure feels like where I am today, folks.

When our family decided to step out of ministry and into something different a few years ago, there was a lot of woundedness involved. My instincts were strong…to make sure I healed it up from the outside so that it would appear to everyone that I was “handling things” or “together” or strong. I worked so hard to heal from the outside-in…absorbing all of the negative feelings into myself and not letting them escape – even to people who I know wanted to see me whole. And you know what happens when wounds heal from the outside in… infection, nasty stuff dripping all over the table…and a wound that takes a lot longer to heal.

A few weeks ago, when I shared some of my story about leaving, it felt just as painful as the doctor poking me with the giant q-tip. Nasty stuff dripped out everywhere, it hurt, and while support and encouragement abounded, I was shocked to be re-experiencing so much pain. I didn’t realize that there was still so much festering under the surface, and by sharing and letting some of the air hit the wound, I was re-opening it. Hopefully, this time, to let it heal from the inside.

Here’s the thing, sometimes healing the “right” way, the way that leads to sustainable health and wholeness, is incredibly painful. Sometimes you have to let the nasty stuff drain out and let the air hit the wound again. Sometimes, you have to let the people who are close to you help you tend to your wound, in moments and ways that you are unable.

But I will say one thing. When I look down at my surgical wound, I certainly remember the pain – but I also remember new life. Though the thick scar tissue still pulls and aches from time to time, the joy and love that entered the world through that wound is more precious than anything. My church-wounds are the same…painful and lasting, but also the portal to new life. With each birth there is a new identity – even if you were already a mother, you have never yet been a mother to “this” new child, and you never know how it will shape you. I am learning to be grateful for my wounds and the Life that has come forth from them. I am grateful for every second – both painful and joyful – for bringing me here.

Love and peace.

Photo by Piron Guillaume on Unsplash