Motherhood and lent in unprecedented times

** TW: infertility, school shooting

If you know anything about the beauty of the female form, you know that this body knows death. Month after month, she melts into a puddle of mush - not unlike a caterpillar in it's cocoon. Her insides are stripped bare from the nourishment needed to produce new life. Countless people who consider themselves to be in their "birthing or motherhood era" are struck by grief when this death (a new menses cycle) creeps up upon them. This time, they were going to have a baby. This time, they said, it would be different.

And yet, more death.

14 years ago, I embarked upon a secondary infertility journey. The body and soul of my first baby was ushered in with such ease, I thought that my second child would come in the same way. But she didn't. Instead, for almost two years, my body led me toward anxiety and then, despair. My first baby came early. He was critically ill in his first year of life. And, as much as I wanted this second baby - I also desired a re-do of sorts. I craved the experience of an uncomplicated pregnancy, birth and postpartum. I needed to know what it was like to have a healthy baby. My very soul clung to this idea.

Eventually, I got pregnant. I had a terrible pregnancy (again), but gave birth to a baby who was awake and alive. She drained my breasts every hour. She rarely slept, but if she did it was on my blessed chest. Her eyes would become like saucers with the slightest sound. And, if it were an option, that baby was going to climb back into my womb.

When I look back now, I can see what happened to create such a vibrant soul. I can also see what created her hypervigilance, as when the devestating violence of Sandy Hook occured I began having contractions around the clock. Every 2-5 minutes from 19 weeks gestation (until 40!) my precious body would do the work of labor. My daughter's home was disrupted, regardless of how often I meditated, practiced yoga or prayed. When I advocate for her today, I often recall this creation story. A story that gave my child not only a wild body, but mind.

Raising this brilliant, beautiful child has been my own sort of death and rebirth cycle. Would I make life easier on her? Absolutely. But never, ever would I take away these lessons that I have been gifted through her. Truly, this experience has been transformational.

Motherhood and lent

In the Catholic Church, there is a holy reverence for Jesus' mother, Mary, that I have longed to see outside of those particular church doors. Mary experienced a pregnancy that she did not choose (and yet, chose) and then raised this baby through toddler shenanigans and teenage choice. She witnessed his rising, his death and rebirth. Raised Catholic, I have always held a particular spot in my own heart for Mary. My awe of her has deepened as I've raised my own children. And, as I've been a part of other people raising theirs.

As a mother and a doula, I know that there are so many stories that have gone untold about Mary's journey. At Lent, I find myself wondering what she thought about the cycle of death and rebirth that she participated in. I find myself pondering on what she felt as her insides were stripped bare not from the nourishment needed to produce new life, but from the grief of losing her son. A son that she may have always known she would lose. What impact did her grief have on her own body, mind and life? How did her community respond? What lessons did she absorb from her own roller coaster ride of parenthood? And, what can we take from time in contemplation with these questions?

I return to it because I believe with every fiber in my being that the untold stories are as important as the spoken ones, when it comes to motherhood,caregiving, death and dying. I return to Mary because she stayed the course through her own child's triumphs and trials. I return to her because I can't think of a better role model of Jesus' wisdom - and I do often wonder how much of what he shared came from her.

At this point in my faith journey, my relationship with Lent looks far different than it did in those early days. On Ash Wednesday, I will visit a local Catholic Church to pay my respects and pray with Mary. I may or may not receive ashes, as time allows with two busy tween/teen kids. I will probably ponder the art and science of spiritual motherhood some more, as this space seems more sacred with each passing year. And, I will most certainly hold in the center of my soul the heart of every mother and every mothering body who is experiencing death and rebirth right now - in the midst of these tumultous times.

An after note: please know that if Lent has shifted in meaning for you, you aren't alone. For some, Lent tugs at the loose fibers of faith. Reels us back in. And for others, it is a reminder of a catastrophic rupture. A now empty space looms large ahead. You can participate in Lent in any way that you so choose, dearest fellow soul tender. You can also choose not to participate in Lent at all.

As always, if you need support with finding your spiritual way right now, I'm here for it.