Lost in the Wilderness

So, this is Matrescence?

In today’s post: the childhood adventures of a Florida girl, plus leaning into matrescence with lessons from my first year of motherhood.

Photo by Amy Humphries on Unsplash

When I was maybe eight years old, our church had a summer picnic at one of the many central Florida state parks nearby. On the grassy banks of crystal-clear springs, families spread out on blankets and chairs. The chargrilled aroma of hotdogs swirled with whiffs of citronella to fill the thick, humid air as we played tag and licked the salt of potato chips off our fingers and shared swigs of cold grape soda from the cooler.

Before long, my best friend, Jennifer, our two younger siblings, and I decided it was time to head off on one of our adventures. Often, we would pretend we were explorers and head off into the lush central Florida nature we were lucky enough to grow up in. With our parents distracted by conversation and especially content for us to play on our own, conditions were perfect.

Jennifer was the oldest (by a few months), so naturally, she was our leader. She stood as tall as she could, puffing her chest out and turning her chin slightly toward the sky, and announced, “This way! Follow me,” and confidently strode toward one of the park’s many nature trails that led away from church picnickers.

All four of us barefoot, we walked and walked, absorbed in our own world of story. We were explorers – conquistadores of vast undiscovered lands. By around the time the younger two of our group started complaining that their feet hurt and their legs were tired, whining that they didn’t want to walk anymore, Jennifer and I decided it was probably best to head back.

At the same time, we looked around to realize that not only were we no longer on a trail or marked path, but must have taken a wrong turn, because we were definitely in the wrong place. A few feet in front of us was the bank of the St. John’s River. And what were studded along its sandy shores, but alligators, of course – extra large ones at that.

Photo by Ela108 Garwacka-Goralik on Unsplash

There were more gators than we could count, and were closer than was safe. Were we even still in the park anymore? Thankfully, it seemed the mass of these ancient dinosaur relic reptiles hadn’t registered our presence by the time we whispered as sternly as we possibly could to the little kids to “HUSH!” and slowly began backing away.

Jennifer picked up my little sister and threw her on her back, and I grabbed the hand of her little brother and as soon as we were what we deemed a safe enough distance out of the alligators’ sight, we sprinted as fast as we could on our little bare feet back in the direction we came.

Panting to catch our breath, we searched for a trail or a path leading back into the park. When we couldn’t find one, Jennifer and I exchanged a glance. We sensed it was getting late, and knew that trouble faced us either way we headed: back in the direction of the gators, or worse, back to our parents who by now would be worrying and looking for us. We knew we had to find our way back – fast – but how?

We started hearing voices not too far away, and intuitively moved toward them. We figured the only other people out here must be on a proper park trail, so we put our explorer caps back on and let the voices of strangers guide us back to civilization.

Our relief at finding the trail again evaporated as we started walking back, now all of us on tired legs and aching feet. We knew we still had quite a trek ahead of us. We were thirsty, hungry, tired, and hot. While the adventure out into the wilderness had been a fun game, we hadn’t been aware of time or how far away the ground we were rapidly covering when we were fueled by grape soda and excitement was taking us.

Eventually, we made it back to the picnic area, surprised by what we found. The atmosphere had changed so drastically that we hardly recognized this place where our adventure had started. Most of the families had packed up and left, the pile of hotdogs we were hungrily anticipating was nowhere to be found, and the carefree spirit of the afternoon was no longer in the air. The tension on the faces of our parents told us everything: we’d scared them, and their panic had risen with each inch the sun lowered in the sky.

They weren’t interested in our story of bravery, how we’d made it all the way to the river and narrowly escaped the alligators, nor how we cleverly followed our ears back to them. The summer picnic was over, and it was time to move on with our lives and go home and back to normal. Jennifer held my gaze as we shared the same thought: we had changed, too.

When my baby was a few weeks old, I shared a post about my experience of motherhood, careful to prove just how normal I still was, how little had really changed. I’m pretty sure in that post I also promised not to become a “mommy-blogger” – and while I do not have plans to focus my work and writing solely on motherhood, I cannot pretend that this aspect of myself just doesn’t exist, either. At first, I felt I should apologize for it, as if each of us are not navigating life’s mysterious turns and their impacts on our identity all along the way.

Someone commented on the post, commending me for not losing myself. If anyone had said to me and Jennifer that summer day of the church picnic a third of the way into our explorer adventure how amazing it was that we hadn’t gotten lost, we would have been confused. Maybe we would have looked around, giggled, and said something like, “Yeah, of course we aren’t lost. The path is right over there.” At that point, we would still have been so close to the path that we wouldn’t have yet realized how far we were from it, that we were just about to dive so deep into the wilderness that we’d have to fight and struggle to find our way back.

Sometimes we don’t know we are lost until we make it back to where we started and see it – and ourselves – with new eyes. At a few weeks postpartum, what did I know about not losing myself in motherhood? Now that my baby toddler has turned one, I have a better idea of it. I also have the sinking feeling that in another year from now, I’ll be looking back and shaking my head and judging the version of me that exists today as pretty naïve.

Even so, I have learned a few things that keep tugging at my heart to share.

12 things from 12 months

(though truly, I could write a book on any one of these!)

1. UNCERTAINTY IS ALLOWED:

   It is okay not to know who you are right now, or who you are growing into. And it’s okay not to know what’s next.

2. I’M A MOM/MAMA/MOMMY:

   The way motherhood changes and shapes women is something to be celebrated, encouraged, and honored. The culture I grew up in created an “ick” within me (and I suspect in many of us) around the notion of being a mom. I now see that aspect of the culture as damaged and disease-like. It goes against nature and humanity, and does not feel to me like it’s of God.

3. FINDING HOLINESS:

   Instead, motherhood is the most sacred thing I have yet to, and will likely ever, experience. It feels entirely and wholly like holy devotion. Motherhood opens women’s hearts in ways the world needs. The love we experience and pour out as mothers is like no other. It is salve on a broken world. Raising children steeped in it is how we are making a difference and creating hope for the future.

4. BEYOND THE SACRED WINDOW:

   I was so focused on the sacred window of the first forty days postpartum, that I neglected to think beyond that. When the postpartum doula visits ended and my freezer stash of easy meals was all gone, I realized I had no idea what to do. I had studied for years and read everything I could find on the Ayurvedic approach to the first forty days after giving birth.

   I’d prepared for my healing to happen neatly within those first six weeks, and when things didn’t happen according to the timeline I’d anticipated, and caring for my infant got harder as the sleep debt accumulated, I realized I had not prepared myself at all for what came next, and that was bewildering and overwhelming. But like every other mother throughout history, I figured it out. Then I began feeling immensely inspired to write the book I wish existed about what comes after that sacred window closes `. Ayurveda teaches that a woman’s brain continues to change significantly in the first seven years after giving birth, that this larger time frame is similar and just as significant as puberty and peri- and post-menopause.

   Women need support (beyond the elusive “village”) in order for these babies to be raised knowing their worth and how to love others and value kindness and protect what is good.

5. DAILY HEART MEDICINE:

   Living in awe, wonder, and gratitude even on the hardest days of new motherhood is medicine I didn’t know my heart needed.

6. BECOMING SUPER-HUMAN:

   Giving birth is a super-human act that expands our capacity and prepares us to be strong for our children in the face of whatever is to come.

7. GO AHEAD AND LOSE YOURSELF:

   Outsiders love telling new moms, “DON’T LOSE YOURSELF!” – as if it is something within our control that is to be avoided or else. Or else, what? We’ll become so unattractive and uninteresting that our barbaric husbands will leave us? That said, I do think discretion is key for who we share our woes of healing, breastfeeding, and diapers with (truly, no one outside of fellow new moms cares). There is beauty in getting lost, even more in shedding versions of ourselves (even if temporarily) that do not serve our current season. Meeting the parts of yourself who motherhood alone brought into existence is an indescribable gift.

8. IT ALL COMES BACK:

   With that in mind, it all comes back. Only possibly even better. I spent an unfortunate amount of my baby’s first year concerned about my body. I exclusively breastfed, and found that the scale hardly budged despite increasing my exercise or changing my diet. Eventually, I learned that over-doing it and restriction kept backfiring – nutritionally supporting a growing baby put a lot of energetic demand on my body, and it wanted to hold onto some reserves. What wisdom our bodies hold!

   When I relaxed and let go of the pressure, and as my baby gradually began eating more solid food, things started slowly shifting in the right direction. By the time my baby was crawling and toddling around, I began to recognize the Divine design of it all: my body had been storing a little extra mass for easy fuel, somehow knowing I’d need it once I was chasing an active little guy all day long, logging over 10k steps even on days I didn’t leave my house for a walk. By the time baby was nearly weaned, I weighed less than my pre-pregnancy weight (but was too busy to notice or really care). Everyone is different, and comparison is the thief of joy. Trust your body.

9. ASK FOR HELP:

   It is not only okay, but necessary. Over the past few months leading up to my baby turning a whole year old, each time I felt my capacity expanding for more (more work, more social engagements, more plans and commitments), something would happen that would show me just how delicate the balance of everything is right now. As soon as I think, “I’m good, I’ve got it!” God laughs at me and hands me a plate of humble pie. Recently, that took the form of my dog getting a minor injury and requiring constant supervision for a couple of weeks while he healed. That seemingly insignificant event turned the routine I hadn’t realized I was leaning on to stay upright on its head, and I found myself dysregulated and gasping for air as I adjusted. Reaching out to my close circle with honesty and delegating what I could went a huge way toward helping me regain my sense of equilibrium.

10. BABY-FREE BREAKS:

    It is so tempting to use any breaks from the baby (like when they are napping in their bassinet), to catchup on housework. Free hands and a few minutes to focus are a luxury – one I realized pretty early on that I do not personally prefer to waste on chores. While I do occasionally engage in stress cleaning, I have never been someone who cleans “for fun.” I can think of about a million and five things I’d rather do than fold and put away laundry, so why would I use the precious and little time I have when my baby is napping to do things I deeply do not enjoy? Instead, I use this time to work, write, journal, do Ayurvedic self-care, sit in the sun and read, go on a stroller-free walk, eat a meal at a pace that allows me to actually taste and chew my food, etc.

    Also – and as a “boy mom” this feels important: I do not wish to raise my child in a home where chores magically get done and things stay clean, but he never sees it happening. He should know what work goes into maintaining our home and getting food on the table, and I plan to get him involved as soon as possible and teach him young.

11. SECRET CLUB ACCESS:

    Walking this path is the only way to truly know what it’s like, and therefore how to be there for other new moms. Before having a baby, I hardly noticed pregnant women, or moms with strollers. It was like I was blinded to them until it was my turn. On a walk a few months ago, I saw a very pregnant woman walking with her husband. A year prior, I was just about that pregnant and taking the same walk. My heart threatened to leap out of my chest with compassion for this woman I didn’t know but would suddenly do anything to help. I stopped her and gave her my information, just in case. In case they might need anything as they welcomed their little one in a city where, like me, they don’t have much family. In case she needed someone to text in the middle of the night, or even just to know that a couple of blocks away there was someone who was ready to help if she felt overwhelmed. This is the kind of support my mom friends generously poured into me, and while I have regretted not knowing how to be there for friends who became moms before I did, I now see that this is a complex network I have become a part of. We recognize each other suddenly, sense when to step in and offer a helping hand or a warm homecooked meal (or heck, a Doordash gift card!). We reach out when someone is on our heart, just to ask how it’s going or to say, “No need to respond, just know I’m thinking of you.” What a gift. What a blessing. What an honor to find oneself in this secret club.

Events + Updates:

Truly Well remains focused on Functional Ayurveda, with a big slant towards women’s health, hormonal balance, and healing with a blend of ancient wisdom and modern science. I am working with a small handful of 1:1 clients this year. If you would like to explore working together, please set up a (free) call with me. I am also teaching some postpartum workshops focusing on matrescence and honoring the postpartum body at Austin Yoga Lounge this Spring. Please join us! If you would like to request a workshop outside of Austin, please reach out to me – I will be doing some travel the first half of this year, and who knows what might work out!

This newsletter (Living Truly Well) will continue to offer reflections from both my clinical work and personal life, with regular posts including a blend of the two, plus anything encouraging and uplifting that my heart nudges me to put into words and send to your inbox. I truly appreciate your readership and support, whether it is a “heart” or comment on a post, pledging financial support, or even sharing this publication with a like-minded friend. I would also love to hear from you about which of the topics I write about interest you most.

Thank you for being here and reading along. I often feel my work is insignificant, that I’m not doing enough, that my reach is not far enough. Then amidst the whirlwind of balancing early motherhood with entrepreneurship and marriage and wellness and and a semblance of a social life, I’ll hear from a reader and be blown away that what I am sharing has made it beyond the void and into someone’s life.

Sending so much love to where you are,

Cristina

my baby is one!!