A Bear’s Winter

 

I have retreated within, but

I am not asleep.

I am here, in the dark cave of winter.

Quiet, hidden and unheard.

The cold has chased me inward, to intimidating depths.

The cave, the habitat of my winter spirit, giving me it’s solemn, introspective gift.

Darkness carving away the rough edges of my fear.

The winter hush tugging on thoughts & feelings the sun often burned away.

Solitude singing forth a wiser woman.

In my cave, I let winter’s work unfold.

I know that when the bird’s return and the warmth gathers,

I must have prepared myself for seeds of the next season.

So in my cave, I remain.

Despite it’s intimidating depths and darkness.

This is my bear’s winter.

For those looking for practical rituals to do seasonal soul work:

• 20 sun salutations as many mornings as you can with the sunrise.
• Candles in the dark evenings, turn off the lights.
• Bundle up, go out in the cold night and glance to the sky and observe.
• Find a chant/meditation to repeat daily (mine is: I am a magnet for joy, love and abundance).
• Take more winter walks.
• Cook more hearty soup.
• Read a novel about someone else’s journey through life’s hardships.
• Paint/color a photo using only various shades of blue.
• Begin composting for your spring garden.

 

Phenomenal Woman

My breasts rise as I breathe in life.

And I feel it.

The power of the feminine.

Do not be mistaken.

I am not suppressing the masculine.

But you see, I am a woman.

And I want to be a woman.

So I feel it and I let it sink deeper into my bones.

The sensuality, the strength, the joy of womanhood.

I am not the first woman to recognize this feminine greatness.

And I am not the first woman that those threatened have attempted to quiet down.

I am not the first woman to be stripped of her strength and given a title of God given subordinate.

I am not the first woman to be shushed of her intuition and given a title of the emotional one.

I am not the first woman whose lush sensuality has been covered and given a title of virtuous modesty.

And I won’t be the last.

So today I let Maya Angelou’s voice guide me through this poem that reminds me that my whole womanhood is powerful and life giving and tender and strong and changing.

My body, my mind and my spirit are inseparable from the divine feminine.

I breathe in and I feel it. I breathe out and the world will feel it.

Winter Soul

Bleakness, coldness, darkness.

This is winter.

Winter Solstice is upon us and traveling with it is frigid and bleak days and nights.

So often many of us ignore the darkness of this season for what we call hope, light and goodness.

But rather, what if we allowed ourselves to dwell in the darkness.

Rather than hushing away the bleak of winter, let the cold air seep into your soul.

Allow the darkness to cover your eyes so that you can only be still.

Let Winter in.

Quite knowingly to many, I am not one to turn away from the wintering of other souls.

But this year my own wintering has been overwhelming and I have not let it seep in.

I’ve been distracted by so much.

I wanted to continue those distractions. To keep “going”.

But the seasons have a way of dipping their toes into your soul when you are not looking.

As Winter Solstice approaches I feel the deep need to sit in the bleak, cold and dark places of myself. To feel and know them wholly.

I knew that in order to experience this wintering, I needed to unbusy my life.

It was not an easy decision in the least, but I have decided to take winter, spring and summer off from my work as a birth and bereavement doula.

I knew this was the right decision when I observed my emotions around each birth that I attended.

I was not fully present with my families, I do not leave each birth with the same joy as I previously had and I was not giving my birthing families all the energy I could.

I need time to let this past year of my life teach and guide me.

The wildly unpredictable birth of my baby boy and the death of my mom only 9 weeks later have some serious inner work to do in my life.

I want to give them space to do so.

It is during this Winter season that I know the bulk of that work is beginning.

And with this time I hope to practice presence to my grief and my joy. To think endlessly about my mother, her life and her death. To enjoy the days and nights with my children. To continue a life rhythm with my husband. To sit with myself and know her.

So I will let winter in.

But I will also put on a pair of wool socks, wrap my frigid fingers around a hot cup of tea and snuggle close to those dear to me. Because this is winter.

Allowing the darkness, bleakness and coldness of this season to do it’s work and clenching onto warmth that is offered to see you through the winter.

Nothing is ordinary.

The wind is finally calm.

And I am inside my nest, my home.

I watch the smoke from my burning mountain sage twirl in the space before me. Dancing and moving in ways that seem intentional.

I sip my nourishing mothers tea, noticing each sip in detail.

I could so quickly leave these moments, regarding them as ordinary and unremarkable.

But I hear from my depths “Look, my love…nothing is ordinary.” 

I notice again the sage smoke filling the room. It’s movements seem to carry a message.

And with each sip of my tea I hear the sound of my body swallowing. Inviting in nourishment.

I notice the quiet stance of the trees outside my window. Recovering from the push and pull of the wind.

I hear the breath of my baby sleeping sweetly on the perch of his mothers back.

Nothing is ordinary. 

Every moment is full of sacred. Holy. Life. Love. God(dess).

It’s not that each moment has potential to be extraordinary.

Each moment IS extraordinary.

Each breath is holy.

Each sip and swallow is life.

Each moment, each micro moment, is filled with the goodness of our Creator.

And I breathe.

There it is.

Goodness.

I’ve been searching for it. These extraordinary moments of goodness that would bring me new life.

I was unaware that I’ve been breathing it…in and out…this entire time.

Each breath brings me new life.

Each moment offers me goodness.

But each day I must make the choice to accept it.

Because it’s there.

This is no ordinary day.

A Death Story

This is the story of the death of my beloved mother, Diana, who passed away on June 12, 2015 at the age of 47. I’m still fresh in the grasp of grief, but I want to share these details before they slip my memory.  

In early May 2015, my mother was diagnosed with stage 4 adenocarcinoma, a type of lung cancer. As quickly as I could I packed up my 3 year old and 5 week old and went to Kansas. I had no idea those short 4 days I spent there with my mom would be some of the last. She seemed fairly well with the exception of some weight loss and pain. She was laughing, reminiscing and playing with her grandchildren. We sorted old family pictures together and laughed and cried to some of our favorite old songs. My mom and I talked extensively about her death plans. I made sure she knew that is was important to me that I was there to usher her on to the next phase of her life because she was the one who ushered me into this one. When the day for me to return to Denver came, my mother hugged me in a way unlike before. Her embrace felt permanent. It was bittersweet to leave Kansas, as it always is, but I went back to Denver, expecting the make more trips throughout the summer to help care for her. On June 1oth, I  returned to Kansas with my 10 week old son. My mom was feeling worse and spent the previous week at the hospital due to dehydration. On the morning of June 11th, we brought mom home from the hospital and had the house prepared for hospice care. It was important to all of us that she pass at home. As my sisters walked her into the house she was making statements about returning to the hospital because something didn’t feel right. She said to me that she knew coming home meant she would die. That morning we got her comfortable and prepared for what we all thought would be a couple more weeks of caring for her.

By early afternoon, hospice left and my sisters returned to their daily rhythm. My grandmother and I cared for mom, which was simply helping her stay hydrated and helping her take her medication. Mom was alert, laughing and seemingly ok. She was awake the whole day, which had been uncommon for her in recent weeks. She seemed restless. She was up often and requested my grandma make dumplings — one of our family traditions.

That evening my mom had a large helping of my grandma’s dumplings. The past weeks she didn’t eat much, so this came as a surprise to my grandma and I. This should have been one of the clues for us that she was close to death. After she ate, my mom tried to sleep but was complaining about muscles spasms. I figured the spasms were from her morphine being so high. It was at this point that I felt a shift. Something felt different with my mom. I helped her use the restroom and walking her back to her bed she was more uncoordinated than usual. As I tucked her back into bed she kept telling me she didn’t like this. She said she was referring to the spasms, but I think the whole process made her weary. I asked her if it would help if I stayed by her side, she said yes. For the next hour she was restlessly trying to sleep — pulling on her oxygen and the blankets next to her. She would wake up from her restless sleep and say something that wasn’t quite clear and in a slurred voice. She asked me for pen and paper to write down dates but once I gave her the pen and paper she said she would do it later. She mentioned something about grandma’s Christmas and complained that hospice nurses were not coming to help stop her spasms. She also told me she was dying. The last thing she said to me was “But we need to take care of that stuff.” I told her it was all taken care of and helped her lay back down. I told her to melt into her bed and sleep. She was then able to fall asleep, although she still seemed restless from  spasms and  snoring. I held her hand and prayed that she would not suffer. I was hopeful her soul could hear mine telling her that she was safe. She could go whenever she needed. From that time,which was about 10 pm, I stayed by her side with my 10 week old sleeping on me until 2 am.

At 2 am I went to the next room to lay down with my son for a bit. As I drifted off to sleep however I thought I heard my mom crying. I got up and went over and she was sleeping and snoring as before. I checked on my grandma, checked outside, but could not find the source of the crying. I laid back down and this time I thought I heard my mom say “this is happening.” I got up and went to her again but nothing had changed from before. I decided I was delusional and fell asleep on the couch for a couple hours. At 4:00 am I woke up and checked on my mom, who was still sleeping and snoring. I decided to go upstairs to the bed since sleeping on the couch was quite uncomfortable for me and my 10 week old. I came back down at 5:15 am to use the restroom and check on my mom. Nothing had changed, so I decided to go back upstairs and get another hour or two of sleep. At 6:45 am my 10 week old awoke. I changed his diaper and quickly headed downstairs.

At first, I thought my mom was finally getting some restful sleep but I quickly began to suspect that the room was silent because she had passed. I checked her pulse but did not find one. I turned off her oxygen and checked to see if she was breathing, but I did not feel breath. I put my hand on her chest, but it did not rise or fall. At this point, my grandma awoke and came from her room and I told her I suspected mom had passed early this morning. I remembered at this time telling my husband just a week or two before that I had a dream that my mom passed away during the dawn. I never suspected it would actually happen.  My grandma then tried to wake my mom up and kept asking me if there could be something else wrong. We were both shocked that she passed so quickly. I was furious that my mom’s final breath happened while I was sleeping. Of course, it occurred to me that death is like birth. Giving birth becomes more difficult when you are being watched, so I concluded my mom needed me to stop watching her so she could die.  I spent a few minutes by my mom before calling hospice and my sisters. We spent some time by mom’s side before her body was taken away, but it never felt like enough time.

It’s peculiar how death can make so many things clear.

I see my mom like I never have before.

I see her in myself, in my sisters and in my children.

And I am so glad to have the life I’ve had with her and to see her all around me and to feel her within.

My mom always called me her wild fire. She said I had passion that lights fires and burns the night.

She was the one that encouraged me to be unguarded. To be myself, fully.

She was the one that encouraged me to uncover my emotions and to not be ashamed of my feelings.

She was the one that encouraged my wild spirit. She never tried to tame me. She intimately knew the freedom of a barefoot soul.

She was the one who walked me into the wilderness of womanhood.

She is the one who whispers into my spirit, “Run my wild fire…burn the night.”

I hear you mama.

Space

The smell of dirt & cedar fill this room, slightly burning my throat as I breathe it in.

I sit here gazing out my half-open window with the broken blinds.

Actually, I’m bouncing on an exercise ball with my 8 week old snug against my sweaty skin in his rainbow sling, because this is the only guarantee I’ll have of a sleeping baby.

It is as I sit (bounce) here that I feel it.

Restlessness.

So much chaos in the world and in my community makes me feel this way.

Perhaps mercury and the approaching full moon contributes.

I feel restless.

Wild.

I yearn for space.

Expansive, arms spread, hair in my face, swirling in silky fabrics, dancing, endless space.

But out my window I see the fence that contains my lush green yard and the city buildings that blind me to the majestic mountains beyond them.

And within.

Within my spirit, deep within my bones is an ache.

An ache for that same space.

All my soul can muster is hoarse whispers of someday.

But no.

Not someday.

Now.

The work is worth it, now.

I am untangling myself from the undergrowth of impossible expectations, meaningless demands and unreal desires.

I want space.

To surround myself with the real. With life. With mercy.

Womanhood, motherhood, family, jobs, relationships can become crowded with the thorns of perfection.

The expectations are immense.

But these are not someone else’s expectations.

They are my own.

And from these I will run.

My restless spirit and body will be freed from the limiting mess I have been creating.

And I will dance.

Arms spread.

Hair in my face.

Flowing fabric.

Barefoot.

Surrounded by space.

Will You Travel The Road With Me?

There is a myth,

That life has many paths.

That we can each choose our own path.

But the truth is there are not many paths.

One.

There is but one road.

We all begin our journey on this road the same way. Birth.

And we all have the same destination. Death. And whatever follows.

But we are all on this one road.

Despite the crowd of this road, we feel at times that we are the only ones walking.

We believe the lie that this road is lonely, desolate even.

Yet, we are all on this road along with other living things who enter and exit the journey the same as we do.

So here is all of creation on the one road we have been given.

And the illusion that we are alone.

But what if we stop and notice the magnificence of this road.

What if we let go of the excess of things that crowd our hands.

And with our free, open hands we join together — with each other and with creation, to intentionally travel together.

We are all on this road.

We all enter and leave this road the same way.

How much more peace, joy, hope, love, friendship would this road bring us all if we walked it together, side by side, hand in hand?

Will you travel the road with me?

Birth Story

Through my own experiences with pregnancy, birth and motherhood and through my experiences as a birth doula I have come to see the sacredness of each and every detail of pregnancy, birth and the transition into motherhood.

We spend our entire pregnancies opening up. Our bodies open to make space to nurture a new life. We prepare our homes by opening space for a new inhabitant. We prepare our families. And as we await childbirth, we prepare our bodies to open and release what it has held so closely.

It is my experience that the journey through childbirth is the most vulnerable, raw and open a woman can ever be. She is thrust into a place of physical and spiritual vulnerability. This is not a weak vulnerability, but uniquely powerful.

I have come to recognize that after months of becoming open and after the hours spent in the struggle of birth that women then enter a time of much needed sealing. Our bodies begin to seal up again. Our spirits begin to draw closure from the transformation of birth. Women experience a giant shift in self during this time of complete openness to a time of regathering ourselves to become mothers to our children.

There is so much more on the process of birth that I plan to dig into, but I say all of these words to explain one reason I feel the great need to share my birth story. It is part of this sealing ceremony. To gather the story, reflect and share. So, it is with great vulnerability and pride that I share the story of my second child, Kilian Rhein.

It all began on March 31st when I was 40 weeks 4 days pregnant. That whole day I had felt the need to let myself release tension and to reconnect with my daughter. So I spent the day doing whatever I could to intentionally focus deeply on her and to enjoy the spring blossoms around us. My daughter often asks me to bathe with her during her bath times. As my pregnancy progressed it became increasingly uncomfortable to bathe in our little bath with her. That evening, however, I decided to spend a good amount of time bathing with her. After she was tucked into bed I had a small glass of wine and felt the same draw to  intentionally spend time reconnecting with my husband. I had been having consistent braxton hicks contractions for a few days, but I woke up at 2:00 am that morning feeling more sensation. I also experienced a good two hours of unusual insomnia. Eventually all the sensation I was feeling went away and I was able to get some sleep.

That next morning, April 1st, I suggested we take a family walk around the wildlife refuge close to us. We did that at about 9:30 am. A few times on our walk I began to feel those same sensations I had the night before. Once we were home around lunch time I was having those mild sensations, which I was unsure were contractions, consistently 5-8 minutes apart. My husband called into work and we spent a few hours seeing if it would progress. I updated my midwife at 1:30 pm that afternoon. She confirmed what I had suspected, it seemed like I was in early labor. Throughout the afternoon the pattern remained the same. I was starting to doubt that this was going to lead to anything active, so after a delicious lamb dinner and another glass of red wine we all decided to settle down and watch a movie. My daughter chose The Lion King, her favorite movie of all-time. So I snuggled with her and watched the movie. During this time my contractions seem to fade away more and were less consistent. While my husband and my daughter finished the movie, I decided to take a warm bath.

I got out of the bath at about 7:30 pm as the movie was finishing. Fifteen minutes later I began having stronger sensations that were coming on much quicker. Suddenly my contractions were 2-3 minutes apart lasting only around 30 seconds and while still mild in intensity, they were noticeably stronger than before.

We put our daughter to bed at 8:00 pm and I then called my midwife. She instructed us to begin filling the birthing tub. Because my contractions were still only 30-45 seconds apart, I was doubtful that I was going to be giving birth soon. While my husband was filling the tub, I recall spending time on my hands and knees surprised at how quickly the contractions were coming. I sent my midwife a text message updating her that they were now all about 2 minutes apart. We also updated our family, including my stepmom who came to care for Emery during the birth.

Our midwife arrived at 9:20 pm and although I was still doubtful that this was the real thing, she made it quite obvious by setting up all of her gear. I was incredibly joyful and excited that our baby was to come. At around 10:00 pm my midwife checked my cervix. I was 4 cm dilated. I labored walking around often, trying to remain standing upright as much as possible. I felt things begin to shift where I could not at all focus on anything around me. This was around 11:15 pm and at that point I asked to get in the birthing pool. It was at this point that I felt the need to vocalize through each contraction. It felt unbelievably relieving to sing and chant through each contraction.

It was then 12:00 am, April 2nd, I asked my midwife to check me again. Hopeful that I would be having one of those quick second births. I was 6 cm dilated. It wasn’t the number I wanted to hear, but it also was not discouraging. I continued to say out loud that I can do this and spent almost every contraction relying on my husband for physical support.

It was during this time that I recall drawing inward a great deal. I imagined my body opening and I imagined holding my child. I reminded myself often that these sensations are to be welcomed. And honestly, I did welcome them. They were never too much for me to handle. I was eager to be finished because birth is an intense struggle, but I would welcome each contraction knowing that it was one step closer to that finish line. And I would soak in the space in between, resting between each contraction. It wasn’t long before I began to feel pushy during the peak of each contraction. When my midwife heard this, she came into the room my husband and I were laboring in and checked me. This as at 1:00 am.  I was 9 1/2 cm dilated. I just had a small anterior lip. We decided to try to have her guide me through pushing past that lip. That did not work, so at that point she suggested I take a shower and that my husband will lift up my abdomen during contractions to encourage baby to engage deeper into the pelvis. I did NOT want to do this, but I knew I needed to do something to encourage my body to fully open up so I could hold my baby. So I spent a few contractions in the shower. I spent even more standing in the birthing pool swaying through each contraction with my husband to hold onto.

At 2:30 am, my midwife suggested we check my cervix again since I was still not overwhelmingly pushy but still experiencing great pressure. On the trek from the birthing pool to the bedroom, my water broke. My midwife checked my cervix again and it was about the same so she had me do some pushes on the bed. It was during this time that she noticed babies heart rate was alarmingly low during and after each push. If babies heart rate would have gone back up quickly after each push, it would not have been as concerning. She also noticed that although my pushing was accurate, baby was not descending as a second baby should. Baby was seemingly in a more challenging position. Because of the concerns with babies heart rate and not knowing how much longer it would be until I gave birth, my midwife suggested it is best we get to a hospital to ensure that baby is born is healthy. Making the transfer was not easy. Although I wanted to push, it was best for me not to push based on babies heart rate after each push. So instead I had to do quick breaths during each contraction, holding back the urge to push. The car ride to the hospital was not comfortable. We arrived at the hospital at 3:40 am and I began to panic. I immediately was overwhelmed with fear that I was going to be rolled in the OR and that my baby was not healthy.

When we arrived at the hospital I was overwhelmed with questions and needles and doctors and nurses yelling at me. I called them all evil and demanded pain medication. I wanted to ensure that if I had to have a C-Section that I would be awake during the process. An epidural would ensure that for me, but luckily my baby was born before an epidural or C-Section would become the best option. This entire time babies heart rate was concerning so they had to roll me from side to side and finally onto my hands and knees. While in this position I felt my baby move in a very intense way and suddenly my body began to push uncontrollably. In just a few pushes I felt the burning sensation that told me I was so close to holding my child. A couple more pushes and I felt the incredibly sensation of my babies body leaving mine. It was 4:10 am. Instant relief and no more contractions. My husband burst into tears and said to me “It’s Kilian Rhein, Nicole. It’s Kilian. We have a boy!”

Looking back on this beautiful, intense experience I feel incredibly empowered. I feel so in tune with my body, my spirit, my Creator, my husband and my children. While our plans did not unfold in the exact manner we had anticipated, I still am incredibly happy with the birth of my son. I am incredibly thankful for the compassion and vigilance of my midwife. I am so thankful for the unwavering love and support of my husband throughout the entire process. I am thankful for my family who supported me. I am thankful for my Creator who gifted me with the abilities to nourish and nurture life. And I am so thankful that I listened to the beckoning to experience this birth fully.

And so thus begins my sealing process. While Kilian’s birth was not entirely what we planned, I have absolutely no regrets. My soul already aches to return to that sacred space where my husband and I intimately journeyed together in the depths of birth to welcome our son. If I was given the chance to relive a small number of days in my life — the top two would absolutely be the birth of my daughter and the birth of my son. What holy, magnificent transformation took place on those days.

The Nurturing Warmth of the Dark Night

I am a forest and a night of dark trees;

but she who is not afraid of my darkness

will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.

-Friedrich Nietzsche

All life begins in the dark.

My currently round belly is a constant reminder of this.

Our most accelerated and essential growth took place in the warm, dark wombs of our mothers.

Seeds are planted into dark, moist soil before they emerge into the sun’s rays.

Tree’s roots run deep into dark places of the Earth.

Without darkness we would not exist.

Without darkness we would have no food for nourishment.

And even the water that quenches our thirst is often drawn from a dark well.

So why are so many fearful of the dark?

Why are we often told that the dark and the light are ancient rivals?

Our Earth through the handiwork of it’s divine Creator shows us a true comradery– a partnership.

In some mystical, wonderful way light and dark rely on each other. And each offer it’s own warmth and nurture in which life is created and cultivated.

As I approach the birth of my child, I am exploring this darkness. Seeking out the comfort it brings.

As I participate in the work of bringing forth new life into this world, what realm of darkness will I enter? What point of fear or uncertainty will I reach? How will I find peace and comfort during such a time of hard work?

And when I emerge from that dark place that will undoubtedly stretch my strength, what growth will I have undertaken? As I hold such precious newness against my skin, will I feel the rays of light reminding me that the darkness will not overcome me?

Yes, I will. And my time spent in the dark will provide me a place to be rooted as a woman and a mother.

Of course, birth is not the only time we re-engage with the dark.

Isn’t life a constant day or night?

Are we not often weary of what night brings?

Do we know that entering the darkness within will change us and it is not likely to be pain free?

Are we even more unaware of the nurturing warmth that darkness can offer?

What dwells with the dark of your soul?

What happens if you explore it?

What happens if you don’t?

Embrace

It’s not the mirror’s fault,

What you see is true and real.

It’s not the lighting’s fault,

What you see is real luminosity. 

It’s not your fault,

You are blooming the way your body is designed. 

The fault is, there is no fault.

There is no unnecessary scar, crack, mark or wrinkle.

No unnecessary skin or hair.

There is just you — luminous you.

Bloom, my love.

Nourish your body and nourish the spirit it entangles and then it is as it should be.

There is no fault in you.

Why are women’s bodies the center of so much debate and attention?

I suggest it’s because our bodies are uniquely divine and fiercely powerful.

Why do women feel so much shame in their bodies?

I suggest it’s because a woman’s spirit is inseparably linked to her sacred physical form.

Beauty is not just skin deep. Beauty encompasses our whole being. The challenge has become our ability to actually recognize and affirm beauty that naturally exists and is not created by us.

Speak to the woman who struggled with infertility. She was given instructions on how to eat and exercise to help her experience a healthy pregnancy. And when she tried all she could and still could not convince her body to do what it is meant to do, she felt deep, deep shame. She feels as if she is not as capable, strong or even as “woman” as the others she knows. And when, after the humbling experience of fertility treatments, she becomes pregnant she continues to experience shame. Do I look like a normal pregnant woman? Am I too big, too small? Is my body really capable of this? After her body does indeed grow and nourish a child in her womb, she gives birth. And shame joins this mother in the room where her baby will take his/her first breath. The way a woman looks, talks, moves and decisions made during her birth carry great influence and if she is not fiercely supported, great shame. Even after the trials of infertility, pregnancy and birth — shame looms. It is now suggested that somehow, this woman’s body is deformed from that great journey. Bikini’s should not be worn by women with stretch marks or other evidence of her experience. She is told that breastfeeding in public makes others uncomfortable. Others wait and watch to see if she returns to her pre-pregnancy physical form. This all casts a deep shadow of shame into a woman’s spirit. And this entire experience is so physical. It’s about her body. But, it’s not just about her body. Her body is inseparable from her spirit.

All human creation is born of woman.

We all enter this Earth through the most sensual parts of a woman.

And before the use of baby formula, we all were sustained by the most sensual parts of a woman.

These parts of a woman stretch beyond sensuality into grand power. Life-giving,  divine power.

Still, women carry shame about these aspects of their bodies.

There are many sources for this shame. So many we can blame.

Rather, I say “woman, embrace yourself.”

It begins with you recognizing the divine beauty and power that is yours.

Look deep into that mirror.

Notice all the details that create you.

Get to see you as you really are, not as others have tried to mold you.

Let the freckles shine. Let the hair grow. Let your skin dance. Let your smile bless.

Begin with knowing what you really look like.

And then embrace yourself.

Embrace your physical form so tightly that your spirit can feel that love and freedom.

This is where you can really begin to enter the wilderness.

Within every woman there is a wild and natural creature, a powerful force, filled with good instincts, passionate creativity, and ageless knowing. Her name is Wild Woman, but she is an endangered species                                                       -Women Who Run with the Wolves