The Art of Spew- Memoirs of a Vomit Bug

I have this knack for manifesting exactly what I need right now. Sitting on the verandah floor, (and a too much information warning coming up!) throwing up into an old red  bucket which I grasp with one arm, and holding my other hand out to catch the vomit spewing out of my littlest one's mouth, a bewildered and shocked look on his face... I am okay with this, I thought. Just please, let it be quick. Intense, and quick.

And quick- and intense- was what I got. By the time my partner came home on the mercy dash, having got the dreaded text message an hour earlier, I was just about purged. He found me slumped on the front step, where I had landed a while before, and I was unable to move. So exhausted from the full body engagement of letting go, from helping the baby through his ordeal, cleaning him up, me up, the space up... He smiled sympathically and went to find our little one, who was by now happily playing with his brother and sister.

 Three hours, fourteen vomits, and I was done. I finally managed to crawl into the shower, and allowed myself to crouch under those precious drops for a long time, threw up once more, and fell naked and cold into bed. My biggest little one came in a few minutes later, and pulled a blanket over me, and took the message to his dad that I wanted ginger tea. In his own beautiful caring way, he brought me some slivers of ginger he had cut to chew on, and my daughter (who had been in the throes of the bug two days prior) came and lay with me, whispering "I know, I know."

Whenever I have a vomit bug, I can feel the parallels between giving birth and throwing up. Both are all consuming, when they get to that point of full bodily engagement. In both, our verbosity rendered less of a tool- but our voices can be amazingly healing (I am a noisy birther, and noisy moaner when sick). Both show us the power and totality of our bodies ability to do whatever it needs to do to get the process done, no matter how we feel about the process.

Knowing this ( a lesson from previous bugs) I wanted to go deeper. Can I touch some of that special place we go to inside of ourselves, that trancy, magic space of birth, amidst all this bodily discomfort and yuckiness? The big words inside my head was : GO WITH YOUR INSTINCT.

And for me, that was the point of letting go. Even when I am sick, I think I try to hold onto things- ensure my children are okay, and reassuring them I am okay (they have a fascination with watching me spew, as I am sure many people do). Washing out and then rinsing the bucket after every spew. Taking small sips of water after every spew.

This time, I didn't. Short of making sure Koa was laying down next to me on a towel wherever I ended up (in his less chirpy moments) and doing what I needed to do to support him, I let all of this go. I went to the spots of the house I needed to. The front steps and the breeze and openness there was right for me- even though my vomity aria was probably an unwelcome soundscape to the neighbours across the gully. I didn't get up to clean up, and totally surrendered to that feeling of being wiped out. I adamantly felt not to put anything in my stomach, not even a sip of water. This process needed to be a complete and pure purge- something needed to come out, beyond the physical, and I needed to allow the space for that.

I found myself staring at trees, (as I often do in labour), feeling their strength and their eternity. I breathed into this amazing feeling of transcendance. Yes, the awful nausea and dizziness and pain was there- but so too was acceptance, gratitude and beauty.

And when I finally collapsed into bed, still sick but knowing the vomiting was done, it was blissful and pure and transcedent too. Even though two days later I still feel a little sick, and incredibly tired and run down, there is thankfulness.

Yesterday, my husband returned to work, but two hours later than usual on a Sunday morning, and that was so recuperative for me. The children and I spent a day snuggled up on the bed in the spare room (where I had slept the night before, my little retreat nest), reading, or cuddling. I was still feeling so weak. I dipped into a book that was visually and mentally soothing and inspiring for me, and felt that this is where the real gold is.

In my family, we have a rhythm: for every sick day, we take a recovery day. A day off too nourish, nurture, come back to ourselves. Now this doesn't often happen easily for me, being a mama as I am, with a house to clean, children to feed, sibling fights (oh, the endless sibling fights!) to mediate...But I was able to get a sense of it, the gold that the recovery time holds. It's not the purging itself, or the illness that holds the healing (or not primarily, perhaps), but the space afterwards. If I am still, and sit with it, I can feel the light entering each cell. I notice the way I relate to the children is gentler, and more conscious. I find myself visioning what I want to bring more of into my life, how that would look and feel. Gladly letting go of that which does not serve.

If I could truly hold and honour that healing time for myself, how would I grow and evolve? And if I could facilitate that quiet, magic time for my children, how beautifully would they blossom?

That is my intention I hold up today: that I may truly honour the recovery time.

I have a clear sense of what that means to me in this moment: a little writing (done!) some rest in a cool, tidy room (I will gift myself that five minutes of tidying) and a nourishing juice or smoothie to build me up nutritionally. So a morning off work to dive into healing space- awaits!

Gluten and Dairy Free Pancakes

Sunday is pancake day in our house. Sitting around the big table for a lazy breakfast (or lunch sometimes, if we get especially lazy!), the children in their seats waiting with eager anticipation as each pancake is lifted from the frypan...the flour that inevitably gets spilt on the floor, the diplomacy required to negotiate whose turn it is to crack the egg...it is all a beloved tradition.

When our family transitioned to a gluten free diet recently, I found a perfectly adequate, yummy gluten free pancake mix- out of a box. But you know what? The enjoyment of pancake mornings was a little stale. I wanted the spilt flour, the sneaky toddler fingers in the batter, the challenge (and frustration) of trying to move around three chairs pushed up against the bench...half the fun of pancake morning is in the communal cooking experience!

Luckily, I experimented with making up a recipe for gluten free pancakes and they tasted awesome (may have a little something to do with the lemon juice and sprinkling of brown sugar on the top- but hey, a pancake is only as good as it's toppings!)

Here's the recipe:

1 cup buckwheat flour
1 cup brown rice flour
A quarter teaspoon or so of baking powder
2 eggs
1 cup of coconut cream
Half a cup of dessicatted coconut
Enough water to get the batter to a happy consistency

Method:

Mix all the dry ingrediants well. Add eggs and coconut cream and mix. Play around with adding some water until you feel the consistency is right (you can always add a little more flour, or water).

Fry in a saucepan using coconut oil or ghee (if you do dairy).

What's your great gluten free pancake recipe? What toppings do you lavish on your pancakes?

Manifesting A New Nest

For the past two and a half years, my family and I have been incredibly blessed to live in a rambling bush house at the base of Nungali, the sacred Gumbaingirr mountain. The house was, a couple of decades ago, part of Satyananda Yoga ashram, and is part of a group of earthy times homes sprinkled up the lower reaches of the mountain. My children and I played in the bamboo forest, by the creeks edge, ate fruit straight from the trees...it has been magic.

Pictures of our current nest

But now it is time to move on. The landlord is ready to move back into the bosom of this beautiful house, and it's time for my nomadic family to pack up and find somewhere new. It's sad to go, but it's also exciting, to see where that deep, resonant and unmistakable call of the land takes us to. The land drawing us in- that is something I really believe in.

On the new moon just past (it was also our oldest son's birthday, for a little extra magical potency), we gathered our children, some paper, pens, dreams and hopes and visioned what we wanted this time around. With consciousness and clarity, we spoke it out into this sacred land we live on. What manifests will be a perfect reflection of this, as filtered by what we all need now on our Earth Walk.

Here's a little of what we called upon:

on healing land/high vibrations
cheap rent
bedroom/s that connect us
on a well functioning, beautiful and joyful MO or community
a healthy house- no mould etc
sanctuary space
a bath
tipi/yurt/belle tent
stairs that go down into a room of my own (that was our oldest son)
stairs that go down into a room of my own, with a high butterfly bed, and fairies (that was our daughter)
oven and stove
space for an outside/verandah bed
outside bathroom and kitchen
close to Chrysalis Steiner School
close to a daycare or preschool option
cool architecture
easy maintenance
cosy and efficient fireplace
tin roof (for the rain sounds!)
beautiful, heart expanding views
space for my heart work (me)
fireflies
in the rainforest
fig tree
beautiful waterhole nearby
as much off the grid as possible
specifically, places- Martells Road, Freida Hicks Drive/Nungali, on the Never Never, Darkwood Road, Kalang Road, Roses Road or in town

Dropping deeper, I visioned what makes a home space a heart space
love
emotional transparency
deep listening
the holding of space
gentle, conscious and creative parenting
connection to the earth
belonging
holistic
sustainable

I look forward to writing about what manifests for us!

Today's Beauty Way Invitation: One Small Piece of Gorgeousness

In the Sacred Living Movement, we talk often of the Beauty Way of living. Simply put, it's a way of being present to our lives, and how we can deeply nourish ourselves and those around us by consciously bringing beauty to our internal and external spaces.

The Beauty Way is one of the greatest lessons, both for birth work, and for motherhood- and yes, for ALL of my crazy, full, gorgeous, blessed life- from working and learning through Sacred Pregnancy. It's something I come back to again and again.

Today, it's time to offer a little challenge- no, an invitation. This is for you, if you already walk in the Beauty Way. It's also for you if you've never thought or heard of the Beauty Way before. It's especially for you if you consciously or unconsciously are repelled to the concept of beauty, because hell, it is a concept that has been so twisted by our mainstream culture (if this is you, try this: what is one item I could place in my space, or on my body, that would open my heart a little more? That's all. Be gentle. This is your work alone).

So here is my invitation:

What is ONE SMALL THING you can do, right now, in the busiest spot of your home, to bring in walking in the Beauty Way?

Some ideas:

*Lighting your favourite incense in the entry way\
*Making your bed neatly and lovingly
*Placing flowers in the kitchen

Then, what is ONE SMALL THING you can do, right now, to nurture your own body in beauty?

Some ideas:

*Make a simple body scrub from raw sugar and coconut oil, and exfoliate your skin
*Pick a flower and put it in your hair (a great activity to share with little ones!)
*Stop and STREEETCH and find your favourite yoga position.

Here's my little beauty way moment, inspired by a line in this awesome India.Arie song...

"Sometimes I shave my legs, and sometimes I don't. Sometimes I comb my hair, and sometimes I won't. Depending on the way the wind blows, I might even paint my toes..."

Painting my toenails...and my, didn't they look sweet with my favourite shoes and my new wrap skirt...

Okay...now go and do it! Get your Beauty Way on, and post a pic in the comments! Enjoy!

An Invitation to Love

This post is dedicated to my partner Zai, and the love that endures between the two of us. May it deepen and expand through the years. 

Photo found on Pinterest

Last month, my partner went travelling. He attended a wedding in England and then spent some lazy weeks pottering around Europe. He explored neolithic villages, saw the full moon rise at Stone Henge, and cycled through the back streets of Barcelona. 

And children and I- we stayed at home.

It was an epic challenge for me, at least in my mind. It was up there with labour, which for me is one of the  ultimate challenges and rites of passage a woman can go through.

And I admit, it was the unravelling of me. Not when he was gone, but in the months leading up to the trip, knowing he was going, knowing he had made the choice to go, knowing that I would have to delve into new parts of myself to shift from the way we have mostly equally coparenting, at least from when our second child came into the world, to being absolutely, radically, self reliant, and accountable to these three precious beings. I cried, I screamed, I channeled my hurting bleeding heart.  I doubted our relationship. Mostly I doubted myself.

What did I need to do? Trust, surrender, love. That old mantra, gifted to me by my third son and his blazing arrival into our lives, the mantra that seems to apply to anything and everything in my life. It would be okay. There would be gifts.

The greatest gift, it was revealed, was the stripping away. My partner and I rescinded our roles to each other as co-parents and as housemates. Wow, how encompassing those roles had become, without us seeing it! How much of our interactions- and, to be truthful, our frustrations and dynamics with each other- were wrapped up in parenting our children together, and sharing domesticity.

Within hours of watching his plane fly off into the ether, I was struck down by two things: firstly, a deep sense of missing him, of his presence travelling further and further away, faster than the speed of sound. And secondly, from that great heart-spaced emptiness, what flowed in: the realisation that I LOVED him, so deeply, so strongly, so purely. When all else was taken away, what was left was love, and for some reason, I hadn't expected that.

Photo found on Pinterest

So the lesson, for me, in this experience that I fought against for so long:

Open up to the raw places, the places that make you feel abandoned, empty and alone: what do you find there?

Photo found on Pinterest

(It's a great lesson for love relationships, but I am thinking right now, it would be great for relationship with the self too).

And I invite you, dear reader, to this: How can you open up to the raw places today? How can you create a place where you let go of expectations, of relationship dynamics, of feelings of security? What happens when you do?

I actually want you to go and do this. What are you holding onto so tight, and what happens when you let go, for just a little while? What sparkling little lessons rush into that empty space? Share your story in the comments, if you feel to.

© Sammi Cambray/Sacred Whisper Bellingen 2014

Sammi is a holistic doula and birth counsellor, and the publisher of Sacred Whisper Bellingen

Ph: 0418 950 793

The Evolution Of Food...on a family level

Yes, things have been very quiet here at Sacred Whisper Bellingen for a few weeks.

My partner, Zai, was given the opportunity to travel around Europe for a month (and had some amazing experiences). My life during this time became very focused: the wellbeing of myself and my children, our sweet little rhythm, and very little else.

This simple and unhindered presence to my family and it's intimate inner workings shone a light on a few areas that just clearly weren't working as well as they could. Little lost opportunities for meeting people's needs better, more sustainably, and the wise little life lessons that are inherently part of living a conscious lifestyle.

The biggest evolution for us here- the natural process of something clearly being unworkable, experimenting with solutions, and integrating a new way of being into our lives together- was the way we do food. 

Photo sourced from Pinterest

Food is big in our family. Zai's passion is food and cooking and the divine alchemy he undertakes from raw ingrediants, coming up with something far greater than the sum of the parts (psst...the secret ingrediant is love. And probably cumin seeds). And having three growing children...yes, food is a big part of our day.

In our family we had been following a standard traditional food rhythm for a long time. Breakfast, morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea, and a focal point of dinner at the end of the day. Some of us are vegetarian, and some of us eat meat.

But some problems were definately showing up. The kids would be requesting their next meal (read: I'm huuuuungry, in that voice only children can use). I would prepare the next meal and one of two things would happen:

1. Two bites would be taken, and they would be full.

2. "I DON'T LIKE THIS!!" (Also in that voice- and pitch- only children can create. Optional: a thrown fork/spoon/tantrum)

Occasionally, there was also 3. They ate it happily (mostly if involves rice, tamari and sunflower seeds, every child's favourite meal in my house.)

So, I was finding I was dealing with a lot of wasted food. One benefit: our chooks were extremely well fed and happy. But I wasn't happy. On a deep level, it doesn't feel right to be wasting food. And it's not just the food, it's the time and effort that goes into preparing it- and I'm sure you can relate to those days that I felt I was simply preparing food, serving it, and cleaning up after it all day.

Photo sourced from Pinterest

There was another dynamic going on here. My children, bless them, are beautifully independant creatures. Even the youngest of them knows how to push the chair up against the bench to climb up and get a piece of fruit from the fruit bowl. I would often find them making honey sandwiches or preparing themselves some snack I probably wouldn't condone.

I love their independance. I do. But the same thing was happening with snacking- they would eat half or a third of the apple, and be done. Or they would make themselves enough sandwiches, that their appetite for the next meal (which would be more nutritionally sound, mind you!) would be broken.

So I had to tighten things up. I had to create an environment where we were all more conscious of the blessings that we have in having abundant food, and be responsible with that abundance.

Firstly, we put an end to snacking. This was especially difficult for my middle child, for whom food and independance and choices and all that has such great ramifications for her little being. But we did it, explaining clearly that we weren't snacking, and after a while, she was a lot less anxious. She wasn't constantly asking for food, because she had the security of knowing a meal would be coming up sometime in the near future. She was releived of the need to ask and ask and ask. It would be provided anyway- when it was time.

The second thing, was making our "big meal" of the day at lunchtime, rather than dinner time. We all had more energy then- me, for preparing a meal, and the kids, to either help, or to play whilst I made it. I found myself appreciating the flavours, textures and nutrition of the good food I offered, simply because I had time-- I still had so much of the day ahead of me, instead of thinking of housework and bedtime routines and getting everyone through the meal so we could get on with all the jobs. It also gave us precious time to sit and connect and slow our rhythm down- being at home at lunchtime meant we couldn't spend all day out of the house, just morning, afternoon or neither.

Photo sourced from Pinterest

The third thing we did- which I did, and which really shifted things for us- was to collect up all of the leftover food from the day, put it in the fridge, and serve it up, buffet style for dinner at the end of the day. It sounds odd, but it was so easy, the kids didn't complain (after the first day or two), meant dinner time was simple and the food wastage problem was solved.

We kept our little meal time rituals, for continuity. We light a little candle at each meal, and someone gets to blow it out and make a wish. Sometimes we sing a blessing over the food, and sometimes we share the best parts of our day. It's a special time.

We are embarking on a new food adventure with our family now- gluten free. That's a whole other post...

So how do you do food in your family? How do you deal with food wastage, snacking, what are your little rituals? Please share in the comments below.

© Sammi Cambray/Sacred Whisper Bellingen 2014

Sammi is a holistic doula and birth counsellor, and the publisher of Sacred Whisper Bellingen

Ph: 0418 950 793

Silence and the Art of Holding Space

Silence is profound, and paradoxically, one of the most fundamental and effective components of listening.

When I speak of listening, I do not mean the unconcious listening that pervades much of the day- simply tuning in (or tuning out) to auditory stimulation. Instead, I mean the deep stepping in and heart opening that occurs when one sits as witness and container for another's expression.

Listening, in the true meaning of the word, is

Respectful
Without judgement
Compassionate
Facilitates the speaker to move onto the next stage of the process
An encounter with both self, and other; as well as that beyond the individual

To be silent, however, is such a key component. Not just silent of word, but silent of the mental chatter that clogs up our communication channels and seperates us right at the moment we intend to connect. Silence shifts us from mind space to heart space, and to body space, and the profound knowledge that lies there.

SIlence allows the speaker to follow their thread of consciousness where it is longing to go, and then gently, or abruptly, falls into an abyss.

That abyss is interesting. Apparently, it takes eighteen seconds from the start of silence, to come to a deeper awareness of what is going on underneath what has already been spoken. Eighteen seconds to gain an insight, eighteen seconds to become aware of a new facet of the issue, eighteen seconds to drop down.

How often do we give ourselves, or others, eighteen seconds?

This eighteen seconds has implications in so many areas. The lovers that find space to truly hear each other and break down the build up of patterning and habit; the parent that holds space for the child to voice some deep fears or let go of some cathartic tears. I can see immense implications for my work in counselling, and in birth work, especially in the very special time I spend with clients pre and post natally. It's such a charged, frenetic and emotional time; that conscious silence, well, it makes all the difference.

Let silence do the heavy lifting in your life, today. What does it manifest?




These reflections were inspired by the first day of Robyn Sheldon's doula workshop here in Bellingen. To know more about Robyn's work, have a look here. 

Sweet Dreams, My Children

There's a point in my day that always brings me to my heart: peace, softness and an expansive love that rejuvenates and replenishes, no matter how the family dynamics may have scuttled me earlier. It's the time, when I am sitting with my children as they fall sleep, a baby on each side, and my big boy up in his bunk bed beside us. I might hear a gentle snoring, or a child chatting softly to herself, I might see the dreamy gaze of those tired eyes, or feel the snuggliness of a little one finding just that right position under the covers.

Rhythm is a vibrant thread in our family tapestry, and given the above, one of the parts of family rhythm I find most nourishing is the bedtime rhythm. I'll share our bedtime here with you.

We start with a verse for moving to the bedroom together. There is a little candle glowing, and the lights are dimmed. The pyjamas are in the bedtime bags hung from the end of the bed and promptly put on, the beds are made, and hot water bottles await little bodies to warm. Who does all this, without the children realising it? Little fairies of course (or, perhaps Mama does it whilst the children were playing!).

Good Fairy, take me by the hand

And guide me to the Promised Land

Stars sing to me, while I'm asleep

Your gentle watch, forever keep,

So I may wake through all my days, 

I will follow Spirit's ways. 

After the children and I are in our pyjamas, there is some turn taking: a breastfeed for each of the babies, and a nice long cuddle with my big boy. We do this one at a time, so I can get some precious one on one time in. Whilst this is happening, the child who was 'Special Helper' that day chooses our bedtime story, and there is also usually some running and falling onto beds- until Mama reminds those cheeky little children that it is quiet time now!

We all snuggle up in one bed and read the chosen story, and at the moment, a page from a longer book. Then I sing: 

Who is ready for their rainbow?

Each of my children have a rainbow bunny rug from when they were little babies. I tuck them into bed, and lay the rainbow over the top of them one by one, singing:

Go to sleep now, precious (child's name)

Night is falling blue and deep

Stars are bright, and angels carry

Down from heaven, holy sleep

Slumber sweetly, dearest (child's name)

Night has come so blue and deep

Weaving dreams of silver starlight

Angels guide thy holy sleep

(Both these songs came from a little book of bedtime verses from my local Steiner playgroup, although I altered the first one a little to suit our spiritual needs. )

Some nights, but not often, my middle child will stay in her bed (and also giggling, ask for me to sing the lullaby to whatever toy she has chosen the special honour of sleeping with her that night!) Mostly, though, she will sneak into my bed whilst I sing to my littlest, so I have those two precious little ones on either side of me, or on my lap, or snuggled in my arms. 

Once they are all settled, I sing the Gayatri Mantra three times, their signal and invitation to deep, sweet slumbers. And then I sit there, in my mama bliss, soaking up the energy and presence of my children, without the demands, the dynamics and the "doing" that can distract us all from who they really are.

 

Dear Solitude- Hernani Wilderness Hut

Dear Solitude, 

About seven years ago, I broke up with you. It wasn't a clean break, and I admit that the little stolen rendezvous we have from time to time fill me with both bliss, and a yearning to have more of you. Yesterday we had an affair to remember, thirty one hours with you and only you. Breaking up was the wrong idea, and though I know our relationship can never be the same, I want you in my life- somehow- again.

 Love, Sammi.

The Hernani Wilderness Hut in twilight majesty

It's been a very long time since I have been able to indulge my need for solitude. The emptiness of being, I encounter myself there, and I find I like the person I meet. Solitude- and nature time- is how I rejuvenate, it's how I give the power back to the wiser self within me. And it's been too long since I gifted myself this, in my mothering.

I have been yelling, screaming, impatient, intolerant, unsettled, run down. Not mothering from the space I yearn to. I had to get out, refresh and rest.

I booked a night at the Hernani Wilderness hut, about an hour from Bellingen. It's located right on the Bicentennial Trail, near Guy Fawkes National Park and New England National Park. It is off the grid, a rustic, homely little nest that suited my purposes perfectly. 

 

The hut sleeps nine, but I was alone, and oh! That was bliss. I went with self-given permission to sleep for the entire time if I needed to. 

But when I arrived, when I took the time to walk the space, create my little nest for the night, and imbue it with a little of my own energy, it was clear to me that sleeping wasn't the biggest priority. 

Instead, I collected firewood, I did jigsaw puzzles (another thing I haven't done since having children, for fairly obvious reasons), I read (and read and read, with no interruptions), and I explored. 

As afternoon passed into night I went for a long walk along the bicentennial trail, and felt myself dropping into not the acute recuperation state that I had expected, but a deep, soulful healing place. As the almost-full moon rose, I walked that trail, followed by two young cows, my familiars for the journey.  At one point I looked up, and saw three statuesque red kangaroos standing at the top of the hill, watching me. They were ancient sentinels. 

I made an earth mandala, I sat inside a burnt out tree, I sang down the sun.

I returned, as the sun sank deep into the earth, to the hut. I lit the fire and sat for hours by it, eating simple food and reading. And then, has the most amazing, blissful, regenerative sleep! Oh, how I long for this solitude again.

Birth Doula Training Workshop- Mama Bamba

 

The flyer says it all really!

I have felt very called to be a part of this workshop, and things have fallen into place for me to attend. The women who have already committed to attend are an amazing bunch of women, and this will be a very special circle. 

 If you do attend, can you please let Robyn now I sent you!

With My Body I Speak the Truth of Birth: Jaiya's Birth Story

My little girl- my middle child, recently turned three. To honour that, here is her birth story, the first of many to come on Sacred Whisper Bellingen. 

On Jaiya's birthday, we took her to feed and connect with a friend's horse, at her request. She also went canoeing, ate cake, and discovered the fine art of using a walkie talkie.

 

Was it all for this? To travel through four years of healing from Bodhi’s birth, delving into my soul to nurture those broken parts of me; ten months of wonderfully delicious pregnancy, setting intentions, connecting with my baby and nourishing both of us on; and many blissful hours of early labour - just to come back to this dark place? Surely it cannot be.

It is late in the afternoon, and I am labouring hard. My pulse beats robustly with the strength and intensity of this pain, this task. I find myself no longer saying I can, embracing and being present with each expansion, using my voice to ride with the sensations of birthing. I lose myself. 

I am pleading now, please take me to hospital, please give me pain relief. I cannot bear the physicality of this experience anymore, and this is now reflected in my mental and emotional being. I feel desperate, empty. I feel like no one in the room is truly hearing how bad this is for me. I believe deeply that I cannot do this, and that no one else shares this belief is the ultimate loneliness for me. That aloneness, these travails, brings me straight back to Bodhi’s birth. Transcendent trauma. History repeating. 

Most of all, I feel a sense of betraying myself for harbouring these feelings within me.

Before this, in the deepest hours of night’s darkness. Two nights ago, I labour overnight, after many days of surrendering to the ebb and flow of a body and heart approaching labour. I realise the truth that this ebb and flow- the contractions that would come and go, the mental readiness I felt, or not- was a mechanism that would ensure that once I truly did enter labour, I would be undoubtedly ready and would embrace it with all of my being. 

That first night of labour is bliss. On a physical level, I could actually feel the opening of my womb with each expansion. It was not a painful feeling at all, but a pleasurable one, and even in those early hours, as it became clear that yes, this was labour, I felt the peak and rhythm of each one, like a wave. A few seconds before each one, I would feel a tingling, like excitement, and energy spiralling into me. I felt alive in every cell and totally inward. 

The sacred life within. Pregnant with Jaiya, body painting whilst flooded in a couple of weeks before she was born.

With each expansion, my mantra was this:

I am opening in sweet surrender

To the beautiful baby inside my womb

I am opening in sweet surrender

To the beautiful baby inside my womb

I am opening

I am opening

I am opening

I am opening

Bodhi wakes and lies with me, I hold him as I labour. Zai lights the fire, it feels to me like he is standing guard. Then we all sleep again. 

The contractions stop at dawn and return two nights later. Again, bliss. I do reiki on baby and me, speak softly to reassure her in the midst of the fear I sense she holds. I see her clearly in these dark hours, a vital and lovely newborn girl, red and healthy. 

Feeling completely whole in my energy system, and that of my little baby, we journey on. With every expansion I felt the energy of the universe spiralling into me, and then dispersing back out. It was ecstatic, expansive, open. Incredible. 

I have created the perfect birthing nest- dark, private, warm and quiet. By candle and firelight, in my bed bedecked in muslin curtains, as my family sleeps and the wind howls outside, I labour. 

This birthing continuum- the sacred cycle from calling this baby into my womb, through conscious conception, a pregnancy filled with yoga and art and stillness and love, and into the bliss and tribulation of labour and further through into the baby’s emergence into the world- has brought me into alignment with the pure woman who lies inside. The archetypal woman in all of us, Great Mother, Ever-loving partner, Creative consciousness and being. 

Part of this initiation lies within Bodhi’s birth, and perhaps more importantly, choosing to do everything to heal those wounds rather than allowing them to remain stagnant and hurt me more. Part of the initiation comes from moving to Bellingen, and the energies of transformation and growth that both this land, and the community I find myself within, moves within me. Some of it comes from my work with women, and the psyche. But all of this is just the path- the initiation truly springs from the seed inside all of us, the feminine energies who yearn to grow.

As the sun rises, again my contractions leave. We journey down to the farmer’s markets. I feel Birth still dwelling beside me, and before long I am rolling with the waves of blissful expansions again. This is transcendent. 

I start to feel an altered sense of reality. Like I am much, much taller, and feeling dizzy. I see people in the crowd. All these people from the community that I am so connected to, this beautiful community, this sacred land, the band playing a song about the pureness of a beautiful day. For a little while I dance. I am at the centre of it all. And at the centre of me, my baby. 

The expansions are coming swiftly now, so we retreat.

Later, the sensations now painful. I sit in our hammock, rocking gently with each expansion. I chant a few long oms with each surge and stare out over the valley and the ridge; the beautiful verdant green landscape that grounds me and reminds me of the web of life I am part of. At the end of each expansion, I whisper Om Jaiya. In between, I listen to the sound of Zai chopping wood such an earthy, homey sound that reassures me of the natural process I am in, and fills me with love and gratitude for my ever-loving man.

Later again, retreating from the expansiveness of the veranda to the shower. 

In my dozy, trance state, I notice two daddy long legs spiders climbing up the shower wall, trying to avoid the stream of water. I feel a connection to these spiders, and an incredible compassion for them. 

I also remember a conversation that I had with my doula some weeks ago- that birth is a verb- the “giving” part of giving birth is the most important way to help birth flow easily. If we as women can be focused on what we are giving to our baby- the immense act of love, and allowing ourselves to go through such a challenging, painful event- as well as keeping the love flowing from us to our partners, children and others in the birth space- we will be less engaged with the physical pain, and come from a frame of mind more apt to deal with it well. 

So those spiders mean a lot. At this moment, that’s where my love flows. One by one, I let them crawl onto my hand, and place them safely on the window sill, where they can continue their creation of intricate webs and whatever else it is that spiders spend their time on in peace. 

Later again, surrendering to the intensity and immersing myself in the relief of the warm birth pool. As the intensity begins to bear down on me again, I look up at the ceiling of the yurt. On one panel, in the knots and natural patterning in the timber, I see a goddess in woman form, with two circles of light at each hand- her children. I am that goddess woman, mama of two children, one being born as I watched. That goddess looks over me all afternoon- it was now well past midday- and I fix my gaze on her many times as the afternoon ages. 

I am aware of Zai, Bodhi, my doula and midwife moving around me, but I begin to feel further and further away from them. And I feel myself begin to disintegrate, an urge to scream and complain about the pain, a rebelling against the process.

Was it all to come to this? All my preparation, my healing, my intentions are lead to this, and still this outcome, this trauma. 

I cannot accept this. 

Is this the surrender and letting go I never truly could conceptualise before this moment? The course is set now, there is nothing I can do but endure.

But there is something. I can bring myself back into strength, mentally. I know when I look back on this birth, this is the moment I will most regret or celebrate- that point in time where I could lose myself forever in the trauma, or whilst acknowledging it’s message about the strength of my labour- the very strength that comes from me- is equalled and countered by the strength of who I am at my deepest core. 

So I start in a small way. On finding myself shaking my head with the onset of the pain, I instead nod. 

I say yes. 

I smile. 

I stop myself from complaining verbally, and instead harness that energy back into my toning.

I connect with my baby, rub my belly.

And things begin to shift. The greater part of me, the wise woman, the ancient, rises above the part of me that is already done in and cannot go further. 

And in the stage of bringing my baby down, I witness an amazing transformation in my body. The urge- the full engagement of my body into pushing moves so powerfully through me that I have no fear when it takes a little longer than expected for her to crown. Still great pain, and tiredness, and a rushing pulse, and perhaps most acutely discomfort from kneeling on the soft bottom of the birth pool for so long.

I can feel my baby now, when I reach a finger up, she is right there. Right there, just an inch or two from my vulva. My baby, so close. 

And then, the feeling of the stretch of the vulva and perineum. Not as intense as I would have thought. I can feel the expansion, but the pain is lost in feelings of love and anticipation. 

The head emerges halfway but retreats back in again. Zai holds my hands. The head emerges again and remains out. My midwife says the baby will now turn and the shoulders will come out one at a time. I feel the surge approaching. 

This was it- the moment of truth. Shoulder dystocia, all my fears around having a big baby- all of this was about to either happen or not. The moment of truth, in experiencing and exploring this fear and the meanings of it, the most significant moment of my pregnancy and perhaps my life. 

I summon all my strength and open to birth’s path. This was it- the moment I was pure woman, pure mama. 

The expansion begins to fade. I reassure myself, the shoulders sometimes take a contraction or two to come out. It is not an emergency yet. I am totally in the moment, not fear. 

“Keep going!” The midwife exclaims from the mists of the fading expansion. “It’s just the body to go!”

The moment of truth- the shoulders were born with such ease I didn’t even realise it! 

A second of deep surprise and back into my womanly giving. I push, so hard but at the same time so effortlessly, and feel the most amazing, vivid, shifting feeling ever- my baby emerges completely, slides out of my body, and into a world surrounded in light. 

The sun has set.

A most amazingly perfect moment in both our lives, and the photo that captures me better than any other. Birthing Jaiya at the yurt in Kalang, 2011

And then, I take her through the water and into my arms. Oh my God. My little one, my little baby, here, alive, with me. She looks straight into my eyes with a look of awe and surprise.

 She is here. She is here. All there is, is her. The weight of her, the slippery feel of vernix. Her presence. 

“You’re here,” I whisper. “Welcome, little one, your birth journey is over.”

It is Bodhi’s presence I am first aware of outside of the sacred cocoon of baby and me. He comes to my side, amazed, looking at the baby. A minute or less has passed since the birth, and baby has not yet cried or taken breath. 

“The baby needs you to call him in, Bodhi” I say. “You stroke his head; tell him how much you love him.”

Bodhi reaches out and strokes the wet hair of the baby, whispers, “I love you.” The baby squirms, and then starts to cry. Loud, lusty cries, which I speak to soothingly. “It’s okay, you’ve had such a big journey. You are here now, you are safe in mama’s arms, I am your mama.”

The baby cries on until I offer a breast, and she latches on easily. I invite Bodhi into the pool, and swiftly he takes off his clothes and jumps in. I am holding my two little one, mama in bliss. Baby suckles easily and lovingly.

Little Jaiya and her milky friends, an ongoing relationship!

We soon discover, to my delight, she is a girl. A moment of surprise for the others, because despite my visions and intuition, I had expressed that I thought she was a boy after birth.

In a quiet, private moment by the fire, Zai and I name our little girl Jaiya Indali Samara Cambray. 

In the hours and days that follow, the birth settles into me. At first I feel battered, drained emotionally and physically, raw. But at the same time, euphoria as I spend hours gazing into Jaiya’s eyes. This love and bond that is blossoming opens the path for euphoria of birth- that I come to experience the full and complete satisfaction of birthing my baby lovingly at home, birthing after a caesarean, at forty two weeks to a ‘large’ baby. I had conquered so many demons and listened to that inner voice that told me to simply trust, love, and birth.

The story weaves itself into my psyche. 

In the weeks that follow, I have reframed the disappointment I held in myself for the way I experienced transition as gratefulness for the complete disintegration and reprogramming of myself that happened therein, and deciding not to choose the path of trauma as in Bodhi’s birth, but to uncover untold wellsprings of womanly strength.

This birth is the ultimate resetting. I completely countered and brought to an end the belief and pattern that I do not bring my intentions to fruition in my life. I birthed with the deepest authenticity to my beliefs about birth as initiation, as an act of love, as natural and sacred. I see in myself a greater sense of self confidence, as a greater presence as a mama. 

My little girl has gifted me all this. And I love her, so deeply, and so completely. Om Jaiya!

Do you have a birth story you would like to share on Sacred Whisper Bellingen? I intend to make this website a repository for the honouring, celebrating and exploring of birth stories, both the positive and the negative, in the context of all that birth can be for us, as mothers, babies and humanity. Email me at sacredwhisperbellingen at gmail.com to share! 

© Sammi Cambray/Sacred Whisper Bellingen 2014

Sammi is a holistic doula and birth counsellor, and the publisher of Sacred Whisper Bellingen

Ph: 0418 950 793

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