Years ago, on the eve of my daughter’s scheduled C-section birth, I was far too emotionally charged to sleep. Waves of feeling clashed and roiled within me: exhilaration at the thought of finally meeting this person; terror that my high-risk delivery might go wrong; disbelief. Ironically, the thought occurred that the distraction of labour pains might have alleviated the torture of my churning imagination. No such luck.
On top of it, I found myself grieving the end of my pregnancy. At 24, I had loved every aspect of bearing a new life. Even – at times especially – becoming HUGE. People told me (over plates of double sandwiches and side rolls) I had lots of baby-making years ahead. Yet intuitively I knew I’d never give birth to another soul in this lifetime.
Now I stood in a hospital ward shower, counting the minutes, and feeling sadly, still so… extraordinary. A whole universe nested inside me one last night. And I vowed – not just with my mind, but with my bones and blood and heart and stretch-marked soul – to remember the entirety of this moment. Even if (I added haltingly, and arguably, not completely rationally) it was to be my last.
Alone on the pristine sheets I sobbed, until I feared I’d kill us both with crying. On that note, I wailed some more. Eventually, inevitably, sheer exhaustion quieted me.
That’s when it came: a line from a book I’d read at school.
The words floated suddenly and dreamily through my mind; the words changed everything.
I was quoting Viktor Frankl, breathing a psalm: “I called to the Lord from my narrow prison, and He answered me in the freedom of space.”
Peace.
The next morning I went into the O.R. relieved and eager to experience the fullness of my child’s birth. That bright-eyed girl needed space to grow. And so did I. Both of us were called to the next phase of our own becoming.
How could I not have known how great that next phase would be? Here she was! And still is. Here I was, and still am, ever altered by an experience of allowing such joy into this life.
That morning I knew transformation comes at a price.
At some point, we must love what we’re creating so much that we’re prepared to trade for it. Like an expectant parent, we must truly expect – that is, be willing to do what it takes to receive. One state must be released so the next can come into form.
Regardless of age, gender, stage or state of being, always we have the opportunity to grow – to give life to a new phase or project, and become a greater version. In truth, we are called many times over to “give birth.” It is our nature; and life flows through us best when we heed that sacred call.
And so …
What would you Love?
What gives you Life?
Let go of all that’s not coherent with your answer, and make joy welcome.
To Your Vision!
Thanks for this perfectly paced homily on birth, re-birth and the pursuit of joy. This encourages me to fulfil my news year’s resolution to get rid of the anchors in my life. I will start in my storage room where boxes of the past gather dust, untouched for decades and that once belonged to a different person.
Simon, thank you. I wish you well in releasing those anchors, a.k.a. the dusty boxes. As usual I appreciate your presence here.
Robin, that is a beautiful account of an intenseIy moving experience in your life, and I envy you for being so touch with your own life force, in spite of how difficult the time was for you. I guess that sometimes we know what the best path for us is and we follow it, waiting for that moment when we will experience clarity, when that little voice within will speak to us, guiding us or bestowing us with an epiphany. But sometimes those magical moments simply don’t happen, and we put one foot in front of the other anyway. Somehow there is faith that the heart will follow the body, that the path chosen will make us feel better eventually, even if it doesn’t right now.
Thank you for writing so beautifully and honestly here, Alison, and for acknowledging the times when we listen for the still small voice of inner guidance. I love your expression of faith in your own heart’s wisdom. I sense your gentleness and patience in this phase of your journey. Trust that everything unfolds in the right time.