Womb Words: My Matrix

To this day I have a complicated relationship with my lady bits.

In this life, they have taught me many lessons about love, care, surrender, safety, health, and discernment.

I’ve come to know and love their cycles and functions, admiring the beauty of my own and those of other feminines.


My vulva and pubic mound are squishy from weight loss. I wish they were a bit tighter so my slit wasnt so hidden. I’m a tease like that.

I happen to like that I’m cleft high and tight, no ribbons. Though puffy. 

My upper and lower mouths match.

I do wish my clit was bigger. Think it’s on holiday with the progesterone from breastfeeding.

I still energetically feel the stitched scar in my perineum from tearing birthing my daughter.

Also the impersonal detachment I still feel for my genitals as a whole from that experience.

I still have excellent bladder control, though.

I’ve been soooo close to finding my g-spot, but at the same time it doesn’t interest me much.

See, after a certain Buzzfeed review I talked to the hubbs about wanting a Womanizer. He is passionately in favor of my pleasure, so I got it.

MY GOD. 

O.O

I almost didnt leave the house for 3 days. Slight exaggeration, but not much. Ever had a vibe NOT overstimulate you?!

I’m fairly certain my vaginal canal is naturally a bit wide. My husband isn’t that small, but I still preferred the shampoo bottles of my teens and that “stuffed” feeling.
Then, oh joy, we get to my cervix, uterus, and ovaries.

These guys have made my life pretty interesting. They need a lot of love, healing, and affirmation.

I was told at 17 that I had some sexual and reproductive health issues that would need addressing. My mom, who probably didnt want to hear those words connected with me until I was 25, said it could wait. Upon moving out at 18 I couldn’t afford to go to the naturopath on my own or for years. And those issues caught up with me.

A period so severe I fainted, blacked out, and almost bled out when I was 19.

A miscarriage our first year married.

False pregnancy symptoms a year later, which turned out to be Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS).

Constant irregular periods, heavy cramping and bleeding, and thanks to PCOS, popping cysts. (A sharp cramp in your ovaries, so either side of your uterus, which is where they usually are.)

Another episode of mistaken pregnancy…

And, close to giving up and going to a doctor for IVF, pregnancy.

Snakebit to the toe at 8 months, two days after a move, my adrenals finished gasping out that they were done, thanks for nothing, so I was in bed with that and the foot until she was born.

Our homebirth ended up in the hospital, and because my daughter was in distress and so were we, I ended up on my back pushing her over the hill inside and tore from tail almost to teakettle.

With anovulation history and breastfeeding as my birth control, I ignored my spirit guides attempts to warn me that my body was healed and functional and to get a diaphragm.

That was the beginning of the end for me ignoring my body and my guides.
I knew I was ovulating that night we got frisky. I felt to put it off one night.

But parents of a toddler seldom listen to reason about sex, when they can get it at all.

For a month I was moody, increasingly tired, ill, no sex drive.

I had just ordered my diaphragm finally when I took a test on a whim.

My heart fell into my boots and beyond.

My intuition, body, and Spirit had all tried to spare me.

I had made a terrible mistake, and left my temple gates unguarded.

And the dear person who was answering Spirit’s call to finally incarnate had taken up my body’s invitation to begin weaving a home for itself.

I was going to have to disappoint that person.

Or was I?

All I knew for a long time inside my head was chaos.
You see, I was raised anti abortion. So was my husband.
Several months previous to this, I had run across an increasing number of blessed tumblr arguments and points that I had never been allowed to consider.

It took me from anti-abortion to pro-choice with reservations in about 3 days. I’m increasingly feeling that the right wing church as we know it has only survived because they terrified their followers into questioning and forbade them from using and understanding science.

One day, I brought it up to my husband.

First in the context of “in general”. As we talked that through and ultimately became pro-choice together, something moved me to ask about his feelings if it ever was our choice to make.

That was hard, at first.

But you know what was cool? That

his heart was already in line with the science and choice aspects, and the resistance was a house of cards he had grown up believing was necessary. 

That conversation and agreement was a month before.
I’ll be honest, I had a weeks’ worth of thoughts in the space of 5 minutes after I saw those two lines.

I’ll try to recount them.
I knew it.

How did I know? 

Wow I’m in tune.

But I ignored it.

My body is fixed! Yay!

My body betrayed me. AGAIN. Never the right fucking time, huh?

And we are about to move.

July 2017? Nova wouldn’t even be 2! I can’t do that to her.

Her? I can’t do that to MYSELF!

Oh my god. I would be on bedrest, I already almost am because of my adrenals! My body is not ready for birth again. I think it might actually kill me. 

Spirit told me to get a diaphragm. I didnt, am I being punished?

This is going to kill me.

Or at least my heart.

I’m going to become my mom.

I can’t do this!!!

Or could I? Two under two, get it all over with?

No, I had that dream. Nova was at least four years older than him, just like Tavin showed up as the 6 years older he would have been. And he will be an Otter. This is the wrong season to be pregnant.

This isn’t the child I still hold a picture of in my heart.

Ok, so who is it?

I feel no connection.

I don’t even feel pregnant beyond the symptoms.

I FELT, heard, knew, had dreams about Nova for years. I had time to get to know her before she even came, and I know I was meant to enjoy her and only her for several years.

So what does this mean? What do I do?
And, like a blanket being pulled up over me shivering in my sleep, my heart knew.

I was going to get to walk through something I had once judged.

I was being given the opportunity to see the positive side of abortion.

That was what I needed to do.
I won’t take you through the rest of my whirling mind, even I get lost in there sometimes.

There were doubts, mostly of the “Spirit, do you KNOW what I was taught all my life?! Do you know how hard this is for me?! Do you know what my church would do to me if they found out?!”

And part of me really wanted to chicken out.

To say, “Ignore those sinful and desperate parts, repent for your selfishness and do god’s will for women! This is your bed, lie in it and pay the price of your foolishness. You will be a mother, tied down and exhausted. That’s all there is, and you brought this on yourself. Look at the bright side! All your church will bless you and be excited, your mom too even though you’re moving. Maybe this will finally break that stubborn and highminded view of yourself. You know what to do. This clump of tissues has more rights than you do. Why? Becaus it is INNOCENT. It came when it was supposed to, and just wants to be loved. You dont let God love you. You dont let God guide you. You dont do what youre told when you’re told, and you have wasted so many opportunities and fucked up so much already! You ignored God’s advice to get birth control! Now, you pay. Forget your dreams, you are going to have this child and raise it, even if you die in the attempt or a little bit each day!”
Now… I know what you’re thinking. If this was a bar, my husband would have popped that summbitch in the nose about a quarter way through.

But we talk to ourselves like that, dont we?

And I realized… that wasn’t God talking. That wasn’t my beloved Spirit talking. 

That was my jailer. The Headmistress, I call her. In my TalkSpace therapy I finally met her in a writing exercise, and met her antidote- my inner goddess.
So I calmed down and took a deep breath or two, and asked God to tell me what to do.

What came was peace. Sober, sweet, convincing. 

I needed to have an abortion. I would be guided and blessed in everything, because while Spirit had tried to spare me there was also MUCH good to be added unto me by this experience.

And later, my husband did sock that summbitch in the mouth. He was at unexplainable peace as well about the abortion, and he silenced Headmistress with me.

I was bewildered, but thankful.

I dove into research. These studies covered so many topics and connected me to so many resources.

Woman Heal Thyself

Taking Charge of Your Fertility

Sister Zeus

naturalmiscarriage.org is still my favorite, I think.

Their global service of information for women in unsafe countries is a thing of great beauty.
I have to say, I tried everything I could.

The vitamin C emenagouge. The forbidden points of accupuncture. Massage of the womb, sex, spicy food, orgasm, heavy exercise.

Not a twinge.

My body was definately healthy.

And I prayed, a lot.

I had already been communicating with the spirit trying to incarnate before I even read on Natural Miscarriage that that was recommended.

I greeted it with Love, felt its hovering presence. I explained our family dynamics, our move, my daughter needing me, and my mistake to not guard my womb. 

I told it, gently but firmly, that while my body seemed available I was not yet available to be a mother again, and it needed to go. I told it I was going to have medical help to reset my period cycle, and its work to incarnate would cease. AND. I celebrated it’s attempt to join this crazy world. I thanked it for all the joy and Love it wanted to bring. And I told it about at least two women I knew who were desperate for babies would leap at the chance to bear it into existance. And released it to all women at this moment who would welcome a miracle child. 

I also made it clear that if it was a person I was destined to bear or know, I would happily welcome it back into my life at the proper time!!

I apologized to my own guides for not listening to them about the diaphragm, and thanked Spirit for the peace and comfort to walk where I must.

I genuinely felt the spirit understood me completely.

It neither blamed nor judged me, and even apologized a bit for its eagerness without checking that I was fully ready. Shyly, I was left with the impression it just thought I’d make a good mom.
This, to me, is honestly the most important step. It made the biggest difference in the process all the way through, for both me and my husband who did a modified version of the above. I cannot recommend this enough.

It is tragic that my mistake cost someone their chance of incarnating and the pain of abandoning their body. I never want to repeat that and hope there comes a day when safe birth control and family planning is so well taught and available that abortions stop alltogether. 

But I am grateful it was there, uncriminalized and safe, by a doctor with pain meds, rather bringing a child into the world that I was not ready to provide for, nurture, and love completely.
There’s more to the in-between, and maybe I’ll tell it one day.

But let’s return to Now.
My husband finally asked me the other day what it felt like. He had been curious this whole time, not in a sad or morbid way, but because he cares about everything I experience and is also wildly curious about the world. And he waited because he knew we would talk about it some day. We had a bit too much going on last month.
I had already told him about the beautiul people in the clinic who faced unimaginable energetic backlash from anti-abortion protestors to come to work each day yet be so sweet and kind.

I’d told him about the lady doctor who flew in from Portland each week to our southern town. 

I’d gone over the ultrasound and decison to have a printout, not running from the life there but honoring it and its part in mine.

So I told him about the pill that made me cramp, no harder than labor but a bit harder than the usual period.

I told him about the valium taking effect, and my first experience with a speculum (COLD). I told him about the serene feeling I was wrapped in that had nothing whatever to do with the drug, but rather the amazing deja vu I experienced the entire time. I had dreamed the whole operation long ago, without knowing what it was. All I knew from the dream was the light sparkled. I was laughing. I was ok and going to be even better.

And I told him about the curette, like a doctor scraping the top layer off a fresh scar. 

In short, I told him everything. Because that’s what we do.
And then he asked the most amazing question, the kind of question that makes me fired up to talk and explain. It reminds me why he is special, what I’m grateful for in him.

He asked what it felt like energetically and emotionally.

As previously mentioned, I felt that the Spirit and consciousness hovering for that being had departed in peace already. But there was a sensation of an energetic mass slipping away as the tissue was removed.

Much the same situation as when a highly intune person with female parts has a period. That energy draining.

I had already experienced the feeling of the cord cutting with that person long before the proceedure.
And, though I didn’t tell him then because I already have, I’ll tell you.

I felt LOVE. Unconditional, deep, wide, Divine, masculine and feminine balanced LOVE. That was the most connected to God-Consciousness I had been in a very long time. I learned some things, journaling as the pill dilated my cervix.

I am still learning them.

But I know because of it that Everything wants me to love myself.

I have a purpose, I deserve to heal and enjoy life, I am important and I am safe.

The Headmistress is weakening and The Goddess is rising.
Even now I’m not sure of the sum totality of my experience.

Was it right, was it wrong?

And I realize these are pointless questions.

It simply WAS.

Did I grow? Did I learn? Will I help another grow?

Those are all yeses.

So what I can say is this was a Yes experience.
I pray with all my heart, to Everything, that this blessed you to know.
Xo,

Sarah

Advertisements

Self Love

I just saw something browsing Instagram.”Here’s to all the girls out there trying to love themselves in a world that’s constantly telling them not to.”

I thought I knew what all parts of the world did that to women, to anyone really, but suddenly I realized there was an element I was ignoring.


Years ago, I ran across Gala Darling and her passion for “Radical Self Love”.

A small, shy, starved part of me wistfully wished I could join. The larger arrogant part skimmed right over it as “all you could expect from someone who had no God to follow”.

Because that part, so bloated with self importance, was terrified. Terrified to love myself.
I have a theory. Please pay close attention, because by saying this I’m not saying it’s the ultimate truth or that it’s even necessarily true for everyone.

But because it is true for me, and because each person has at least 7 physical lookalikes in the world, I think it may be true for seven other women.

And if I can only reach those seven others, I will have done my part in this life.
Most modern Christianity has its roots in Catholicism, or was created by a person familiar with those teachings.

As much as denominations vary greatly, I believe there to be a zietgiest that permeates all of the modern organized church. The idolization of martyrdom and the hatred of Self as a path to holiness.

Like any cultural spirit, it does not affect everyone. And among those affected, not everyone takes it the same way.

I speak just now of the most extreme cases, more particularly of my own case. If you are not one of my seven, please don’t find it your burden to comment and sally forth to right my misconceptions. Ive tried, you see.

And I believe Ive finally found a path that opened me up to the Love and Happiness God and the Universe offer us with each breath. I’m so grateful.

This path is one difficult to define or describe.

The blanket sentiment of “spiritual but not religious” is being adopted by my generation of late.

I have no problem calling myself a witch. I’m flirting with the idea of calling myself Pagan. Though it’s hard, because of what this often means to the world and because through a divorce of culture I find it difficult to keep my “maiden name”, I can call myself a progressive Christian. I believe the shamanic worldview, the wisdoms of Buddha, the virtues of Native American spirituality. Most of all, I believe in science.

And the beauty is that none of these things are mutually exclusive, if you dont want them to be.

But the one thing I have not believed in is myself.
For the longest time I believed I didnt need to love myself. How could I? I knew what I was like.

I thought I had to find people who would love me.

In a way I knew God did, but I needed to see and feel it desperately.

Because I wasnt loving myself. And, I’m sure, ignoring the Divine invitation to do so.

I had somehow concocted the belief, “You don’t need to love yourself. That’s vain, selfish, self centered, and a wrongful use of your time. Let God love you, and Jesus, that’s his job.”

And oh my, didnt I have my work cut out to try and follow this sage advice… Which of course only led to more grief, since by starving my

capacity to recieve love from myself I shrank the whole works. There’s not two seperate tubes. Your love receptors work the same no matter who’s doing the loving.
There’s a memory I have, of playing on a red swing set we had growing up. It’s late afternoon, I think. I and some friends or possibly my brother are talking about our bodies being a temple of the Holy Spirit. I remember seeing in my mind’s eye sandstone walls, open sky, a river, a light, and a white dove with a purple gem flashing on its breast.

Perhaps that was a vision of the temple that I am for Spirit.

A temple is a fitting house, a dwelling.

Young me knew I was worthy.

Something changed.
It’s not just the ads saying to shrink this or cover that.

It’s not just movie star waists and tumblr fashion dreams that hold us back and make our hearts sick.

It’s in our churches, our homes, our hearts.

It’s a culture of not loving yourself.

A man called Yeshua said the entire second point of the Torah and prophets was to love our neighbor. In the same way that we love ourselves.

I had entirely skipped the first part to attend to the second.

What makes me think the second has any gas without the first?

Somehow, I can only guess through religious misinterpretation, parts of our culture have been so viciously twisted that we truly do not love ourselves anymore.

And this Self-Love Generation? They are working on reclaiming that for us.

If the official canon of scripture were not closed, I would be interested to see the progression and commentary on the words of Yeshua to the words of Abraham Hicks, Edgar Cayce, Hildebrand von Bingen, Jung, and others.

Whimsically, I say they came to tell the world what he meant just as he came to explain the meaning behind the Torah.

I feel I am ready to fling open the doors of my heart and say to the Universe, “I am ready.”

This full moon I KNOW.

I know what my purpose is. There may be many ways I go about it in the future but I’m ready to begin trying.

I have been a healer and shaman in past lives. I have those gifts again.

But in this life, I know I am meant for bigger fish. Many need healing, and I want to help. But I cannot heal the world one person at a time.

What I can do is teach many, to heal more.

And right now, an army of healers is being held captive under churches and Bibles throughout the world. I was one of them.

It may be as simple as believing with all your heart the antiquated Mr. Carson-of-Downton-Abbey opinion of a man named Paul whose foolish words in a personal letter have not permitted any woman to teach or ask questions. Or someone believing it for you.

Either way, that’s powerful.
Have you been afraid of Sanscrit? My mother was.

Ashamed that you liked dreamcatchers or fairies?

Kept silent when asking about all the murder, incest, and slavery in the Bible?
Have you felt all your life that being a daughter of Eve meant you were cursed and inheirantly wicked? I did.
I’m not a self-love teacher, not yet. I am a journeyer. And I can only share where I have so far been.

 

To the pure all things are pure.

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God [in everything].

Come join me in the light. Come see Everything.
Xo,

Sarah