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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The Golden Rule of Mothering

As part of my Art of Sacred Post Partum training, I was introduced to the Mother’s Wisdom Deck, a beautiful set of 52 oracle cards that shine light on the work and being of motherhood, across the scope of Natural Mother (eg cave), Animal Mother (eg Dolphin), Ancestral Mother (eg the Pythia) and Divine Mother (eg Haumea, the Hawaiian goddess of nurturing). 

Quan Yin, mother of compassion and mercy

Syncronistically, I was gifted a set of these cards by a dearly sweet postpartum client of mine, and oh! How that gesture touched my heart. The gift filled me up, and I was so excited to have a look I brought them out at my very next session, half an hour later, to keep that sister love flowing. 

When I am not packing the cards into my basket to take them to client sessions, they sit upon my desk, just beside my laptop and above my journal. Often in the morning as I start work I will draw a card to give me (or perhaps, more accurately to enrich my inner, sometimes veiled knowledge) some guidance for both my work and my mothering- and of course my personal journey which is strongly linked but paradoxically independent from work and mothering. 

The card in question

 

Today, as I have on more occasions than any other card, I drew Kuan Yin. She’s been popping up a lot, so it was time to meditate on her and find out what exactly it is which she trying to tell me. 

Kuan Yin is the Chinese Goddess of Mercy, and is intertwined with the concepts and experiences of compassion, motherhood and selflessness. Here’s a little jewel from The Mother’s Wisdom Deck under Kuan Yin’s entry:

“In Hebrew, the word for compassion, rachamim, is the plural of the word for “womb”. Just as a baby expands the womb, children expand our compassion.”

There is a rich beauty in that statement, and whilst that would make a lovely blog post to explore, they were not the words that sung out with a resonant toll of wisdom for me today. Instead it was this:

“This thousand armed goddess, ever ready to offer mercy, prods us to temper our reactions with love. She whispers: mother as you would like to be mothered.”

Whew, those last eight words have opened up a profound shift in me, on this chilly winter afternoon, sitting at my desk. Mother as you would like to be mothered. Of course. 

So many times in my mothering journey, empathy is the answer. Perhaps it is always the answer. I am not sure. I do know, though, when I am feeling out of sorts, disconnected, both from these three precious little beings I mother, or from my  ideals and visions of my own mothering, empathy is the fast track to bring me back to connection and a sense of centredness in my mama-being, which are probably the two most important parts of my mothering ideals. 

The statement, Mother as you would like to be mothered, a shiny “golden rule” indeed- what a great tool and mantra for empathy and compassion! Embodiment of the Kuan Yin way, on so many levels.

So I take this into my mothering, right in this moment. How can this enrich the lives of my children, and of my mama-being?

Connecting to that little girl inside me, the memories of being a wild little girl running around the farm I grew up on, at the bottom of another sacred mountain, climbing fig trees, building cubbies from bark and sticks, watching dragonflies around the dams and being scared witless of the horses and bulls which would occasionally find sport in chasing me. That part of her that still resides in me, what does she yearn for?

the freedom and resources to explore her land and her being to the edges of what it is to BE her…

whilst still being held, in safety and often ignorance…

to be nourished by food not just in a nutritional sense, but by the love and intention behind it…

fun (or the initiation of it at least, and allowing the play to take it’s own path) and the provision of spontanaety, surprise trips to new places and activities that bring newness and joy…

presence and cuddles in the darkness of night when nightmares visit or fears crawl into bed with her, and the assurance that YES morning will come, and that NO things won’t feel this scary forever…

adorable little hand crafted “friends” that appear as a manifestation of mother love (this is a thread that has definitely carried from my mum, who made me so many little toys, to my children- my little girl has a rainbow unicorn, a Waldorf doll and a butterfly fairy sitting in her bed right now, loving stitched by me)…

education about and support within that big wide world around us- nature, but also what it is to be a woman, to live an alternative lifestyle, to be a person living in the bush, to be an aware communicator, an individual that helps the human race evolve to something more loving, connected and conscious…

patience in the face of misbehaviour, knowing that there is a need that has not been met, and a delving into what that need might be, and how to help her meet it (in cases where this is appropriate) or to have it met for her (where this is appropriate) or support in grieving that the need cannot be met (if this is appropriate)…

and in that, connect with her potentiality rather than her ‘wrongness’…

the knowledge that being a mother is a joy for her mother, not a burden…

the most fervent, yummy, wholehearted cuddles when we return to each other after time apart.

A little picture of a time in recent days where I felt I was mothering as I wished to be mothered:

My oldest (six, a boy), who had recently had a tummy bug and came home from a morning’s gallivanting with dad tired and a little unwell again: I took a quilt and a pillow and his favourite blanket set him up a nest on the veranda in that sweet winter sunshine. I sat with him for a while, the babies pottering around us and rubbed his back. I could see and feel him soaking up that simple mama love, it was so nourishing for both of us. 

And as always, when talking of mothering the red thread, the line from us back to our mothers and grandmotherly ancestors, and forward to our children and the generations to come, is the context. 

My realisation at the end of my meditation was this: that the adult me, the mother that is juggling these three beings, and a doula and birth counselling business, and a small publishing job, and a husband, and a gorgeous little bush home and a much neglected but honoured garden…that mother is getting what she needs from her own mother.

My mother comes to visit for a long weekend once a month, and brings with her respite, joy, space and a slowing down. 

My mother is just so adept at mothering me as a mother myself. Despite her years, she had endless energy and presence and play for my three children. She heartily lets me- even tells me, sometimes, to go have a sleep, and doesn’t wake me until I wake up. She gives my husband and I time- the only time we have, in fact, to slip out for a cuppa. And she gets the kids breakfast and takes them for a walk, now, after night weaning my youngest, I can feasibly go out later than 9pm- and need a little sleep in the next morning. 

And it’s not so much the sleep that is the most nourishing, or whatever she is providing for us or facilitating for us. It is the understanding, empathically, of the need below it, and giving her all to fulfill that, non judgmentally, with love and compassion. It all comes down to love. 

In what ways do you "Mother as you wish to be mothered?" Or how could you extend yourself to mother in this way? Or father, of course, if that is your path...

© 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