Erin Strybis

My call story

Recently I was asked to share my call story with some young people in the church. Because in my professional life I usually write stories about others, it was a fun exercise to spend time reflecting on the course of my life, my faith and my sense of vocation.

Oftentimes I choose to blog about my call to mother but I rarely discuss my call to serve the church in my professional career. Here’s a short overview of what brought me to my current call as a content editor with the national office of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.

I grew up in the Lutheran church. My mom is an organist and Lutheran school teacher. Some of my earliest memories of church involve either me sitting nearby the organ bench where my mother was playing or singing my little heart out in the children’s choir.
For me, faith and music are intertwined. Singing in the choir was always a big part of my worship experience. (Being the daughter of the music director–also my mom–I had no choice.) Luckily, I loved it. I adore music and continued singing in church through college at Valparaiso University. I have a special place in my heart for the Holden Evening Prayer liturgy, which I sang as a cantor on occasion at Valpo’s candlelight services.
I’ve been passionate about reading and writing since childhood. At Valpo, I studied English literature, journalism and the humanities. I also worked at the writing center and the school newspaper.
I never thought I’d work for the church. In 2008, when I graduated, paying jobs in journalism were difficult to find. The chair of the English department connected me with a job at Fourth Presbyterian Church, a large, progressive congregation in downtown Chicago. They have about 4,000 members and a full communications department.
But the day I interviewed, I realized God was calling me to serve. I remember sitting in downtown Chicago in the office of the head pastor of the congregation and chatting with one of my future colleagues. I suddenly knew this was where I wanted to be, I wanted to use my gifts in writing and editing to inspire others in their faith. This has been a theme in my career ever since. I spent five years working for this church.
The first few years I lived in the city, my husband and I had trouble finding a Lutheran church. We found my current congregation, Resurrection Lutheran Church, through good friends. Resurrection was a lifeline for me in the city, it’s where I grew in my faith as a young adult and met close friends. I became very involved in our young adult ministry and started a Bible study with my friends. We continue to meet today and that has been such a blessing in my life.
While at a Bible study one evening, I met ELCA Bishop Hanson. When I told him I worked for the Presbyterians, he said, “Why don’t you come work with us?” I laughed him off, but I didn’t realize his voice was the Holy Spirit calling me again.
A few months later I found a job posting to work in communications for the ELCA. I applied, praying they’d consider me for an interview. That was nearly five years ago in March.
Since seventh grade, I’d dreamed of working for a magazine, but one that mattered. I’ve been through two department restructures since starting at the ELCA and I honestly feel like I’ve landed in my dream career.
Faith stories are the best stories. I’ve interviewed a woman who was baptized at 100-years-old, a pastor and roller derby announcer, veterans, liturgical dancers, teens at ELCA Youth Gatherings, 30 millennials on why they’re still attending church and more. It’s a privilege to amplify voices across this church who are living out their faith through service to others. I’m grateful every day that my job allows me to express to others the healing, transformative power of God’s grace.

Fear and great love

“Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid.” ―Frederick Buechner

If we were having coffee right now, I’d tell you the emotion I’ve been battling most lately is fear.

Fear is an uncomfortable emotion to harbor: Fear tells us we are weak and insignificant. Fear makes us believe are powerless. Fear can paralyze us from taking action, the very thing that can save us.

Until I went to therapy a few years ago I wasn’t emotionally aware enough to realize how often I felt scared. I think most of us are more fearful than we let on in our carefully captioned Instagram posts and casual conversations. Everyone’s afraid.

Lately the fear has been acute, like hunger pangs in my stomach I can’t seem to satisfy.

Maybe it was my recent discovery that I’m an enneagram type two, motivated by a deep need to love and be loved by others. (If you have not checked out this personality framework, do it now. It’s my new obsession.) This realization was terrifying and affirming and, like a true two, I immediately wondered what I could start or stop doing so that people would like me more (face palm). I’m afraid I can’t change or work around my weaknesses.

Maybe it’s because I haven’t had many writing “wins” lately and I’m feeling like an imposter. Sure, I’m an editor and I work with words every day. But to claim I’m a writer? Some days I’m not sure I have what it takes. There are so many writers out there who are more talented and have more interesting stories to tell. I’m afraid no one wants to hear what I have to say, that my work won’t be of service to others.

Maybe it’s because my son just turned one and it seems like yesterday we were taking him home from the hospital, nervous and excited. Sometimes I worry I’m missing out on his life, on raising him while I work full-time. I need to work to provide for our family, but I desperately crave more time with my son. What if I regret this choice later? I’m afraid of regret.

I’m afraid. I’m afraid. I’m afraid . . .

Last week on Valentine’s Day I was determined to shake off my anxiety and make this a special day for my family. We had heart-shaped pink pancakes for breakfast. Jack sent his grand and great-grandparents valentines. Jay got me the roses. It was a good day.

It was also Ash Wednesday, so I went to midday chapel. I received my ashes. I prayed.

Then I heard about the Parkland shooting. At first, I felt nothing. I was numb.

As the news rolled in, all I could think about was our son. I imagined him 15 years later, in high school. Jack the teenager cowering under a desk, fearing for his life. The baby I carried in my womb for nine months and nursed for a year shot dead in a hallway, blood splattering the floor. I thought of all the parents who woke up to this nightmare Wednesday afternoon. I thought of my mom an sister-in-law, both teachers. I sobbed and sobbed.

One of the worst parts of being a parent is realizing again and again that no matter how hard you try you cannot protect your child from everything. As any mom or dad will tell you, from the moment your child enters your life you will learn to live with the gut-wrenching fear that your precious son or daughter could die at any moment for any reason. Your child gets older, but it never gets easier. In our current cultural context, I think it’s only getting worse.

Places I have to worry about my son getting shot:

Church
School
Mall
Movie theater
Concert
Sporting event
Airport
Basically anywhere

We shouldn’t have to live with this. We shouldn’t have to die like this. And we definitely shouldn’t throw up our hands and say, “I guess since we all disagree on the root cause of gun violence in America, we should just do nothing. This problem is just too complex for us to solve.”

Fear continues to creep in and cripple us—and the very people we elected to protect us—from taking action to address this issue.

In her recent statement on the Parkland shooting, ELCA Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton said, “We acknowledge our own failings and ask God to guide us in finding new ways to turn the tide together on both the availability of assault weapons and the lack of mental health care.

But we know that those things alone won’t solve this epidemic. All of us, including the church, must take a close look at ourselves. How are we cultivating a culture of violence, hatred, anger and fear, and how can we participate in building a counter-culture where people can experience God’s intended peace and life abundant for all?”

Amen! Yes, in the U.S. we have a serious culture issue at hand that’s playing a big rule in this mess we’re in. We glorify guns and violence in our media. We socialize our boys to suppress their emotions, to objectify women, to value “winning.” We play violent video games and watch violent movies. We stand idly by as others are bullied or isolated, too absorbed in our own lives, too afraid to show them compassion.

We are broken people. But my faith tells me that we can change. That the church—whose membership continues to be in decline, especially among younger generations—is relevant today because it offer tools for change. The church teaches a powerful, countercultural message of hope, healing, forgiveness and love all wrapped up in the story of Jesus.

I’m terrified of what we Americans have become. But I also have hope. God is calling us, as he always has, to love one another. What would it look like for us to let go of fear and live in great love instead?

Great love means seeking to listen and understand our neighbors before choosing sides. Great love means noticing our own complicity in the problem and resolving to change. Great love means honoring our neighbor’s emotions and stories. It means caring for everyone’s children–not just yours and mine. It also means: Reclaiming our schools and public spaces. Prioritizing people over weapons. Seeking common ground. Resolving our conflicts without violence. Prioritizing peace. Cultivating respect. Loving our neighbors as ourselves.

I’m outraged by the Parkland shooting. And I’m especially outraged because we know it won’t be the last. But we must do everything in our power to stop this senseless, savage violence in our schools and other public spaces. And although we aren’t all politicians or activists, we are all citizens and have an influence on our inner circles. Just look at the brave teens from Parkland who are working tirelessly to persuade our lawmakers to take action on gun control. Together we *can* affect change.

So here’s how I’m choosing to act: I’m choosing to raise my voice and shout, “Enough!” especially to our legislators. I’m choosing to get involved. I’m choosing to raise my son in a way that defies toxic masculinity. I’m choosing to keep praying, to vote conscientiously, to act conscientiously, and to look for the people around me who might need a little extra love.

I can choose to live life afraid. Or I can choose to live courageously in love.

I choose great love. What do you choose?

The wonder of one

Jack, today is your first birthday. One year ago your daddy and I were on our way to Lutheran General Hospital so I could give birth to you. (You were in my tummy, but you decided it was time to come out!) At 8:05 p.m., when you finally took your first breath, we cried tears of relief and joy.

I thank God every day I get to be your mama. Watching you grow, learn and explore the world has been awesome. As I reflect on our year together, I think the biggest lesson you’ve taught me is that there is wonder in every moment of this life, great and small.

In this picture, you’re only a few days old. You had just left the hospital’s neonatal intensive care unit and were receiving heat lamp treatment for bilirubin. Your daddy and I were eager to bring you home so we could all be more comfortable. (Although, as brand new parents, we were also a little scared!) We asked God for strength and wisdom to keep you healthy and safe as we learned how to be your parents.

I wonder what you were thinking and feeling this day. There was so much to see and process in your new environment! It was exhausting, and you took a lot of naps. I hope you felt safe, protected and loved when we swaddled you and held you close.

Fast forward a couple months. We’re in your nursery doing tummy time. You don’t like it but Dr. Graham says we have to keep doing it so you can strengthen your neck! I have two weeks left for maternity leave and I’m savoring these slow, sweet days we spend together. After I took this photo, you lifted your head off of the knitted blanket and observed the gray walls of your room. You might have even watched our pug, Gus, playing on the colorful carpet. All the wonderful things around you were coming more into focus. A couple weeks ago you’d learned to smile at me and were trying it out a lot. This made your tired mama so happy and proud.

At six months old, you’re working on pulling yourself up. When you discover daddy at the top of the couch, you burst into a smile. Your one-of-a-kind smile, with its dimples and cleft chin, lights up my heart. (Your unique cry, on the other hand, is terrifying–did you learn that at daycare?!) In this picture, your mama was delighted by your good mood and feeling worn down by the juggling act of working and motherhood. We had just started teaching you to sleep by yourself but it wasn’t going great. You eventually get the hang of it, some months later. I’m sorry that was so hard.

You love your daddy so much, Jack. Many people say that you are a miniature version of him. While I agree, I also think you look a little bit like me. Nearing eight months, you are still especially attached to me but as you grow older, you and daddy deepen your bond. In this picture you are napping on his shoulder after your first visit to Valparaiso University, where mama and daddy met and fell in love. Watching you two spend time together makes my heart sing.

Jack, I love seeing the world through your eyes. On this day, we were celebrating my birthday. We ate brunch at Ann Sather’s in East Lakeview, and you had the best time munching on eggs, fruit and potatoes. You also loved looking out the restaurant window. What did you see? Lots of dogs, I think, and neighbors waking to and fro. Daddy and mama were so excited to show you our old neighborhood that day. We lived there for more than five years before you entered our lives.

Here you are peeking out the mail slot of our home. At 11 months and two weeks old your curiosity is insatiable. You’re getting into everything–the kitchen cabinets, the toilet paper roll in the bathroom, the dog’s crate. You especially love finding small corners and spaces sized just for you and snuggling up against them. Your little world is expanding and it’s such a blessing to watch you explore it.

Now you are one year old and becoming more and more independent. I see how much you’re learning at daycare and feel grateful for the friends you’ve made and the experiences you’ve had there. This makes the time we’re apart feel a little bit easier.

Jack, I admire your adventurous, loving spirit. You’re constantly on the go, climbing, crawling and exploring. You show others how much you care by giving them hugs or pats on the back. I especially like your silly dance moves and your infectious laugh. You wave to friends and strangers, clap your hands to music, and make some funny noises with your mouth. You’re babbling “Ma-ma” and “Da” and “Na-na” (for banana) and you’ve even said “Hi!” and “Uh-oh.”

With you in my life, everything is new again. And so much sweeter. Happy first birthday, Jack buddy! We love you so much.

A note to myself, before I became a mama

Jack’s first birthday falls at end of this month. The thought of this had me sobbing hard in bed last week while he slept peacefully in his room. (This seemed strangely ironic, given our sleep struggles.)

Many of the courageous, creative mamas I follow have written notes to their pre-mom selves that I found touching and inspiring. I offer mine, with the hope that it encourages you in your journey, whatever that may be.

Dear mama-to-be,

I see you obsessing over your baby checklist and your maternity leave to-do list and what to pack in your hospital bag. I see you waking up to pee at 3 a.m., quietly slipping into bed and lying wide awake starting at the ceiling, feeling baby kick in the dark. You are anxious and exhausted.

You are so OVER being pregnant. It’s been 38 weeks, you feel enormous and according to your app, your baby is the size of a watermelon. You are so ready for this little watermelon to get out.

The waiting . . . it’s hard.

For the first time your life, you don’t have a clear action plan for the future. Oh sure, you read some baby books, asked for advice (and heard some advice you didn’t ask for!), but the truth is, you’re terrified of what comes next.

In just a few weeks your world is going to turn upside down when you give birth to your son. This little boy will challenge and surprise you but most of all he will awaken in you a capacity to love you never knew you had.

Your sense of vocation will shift tremendously as you make room for your role as a mother. (It’s hard to imagine this now because I know you love work and find so much fulfillment in it.) There will be times that you will feel motherhood is your only calling, and times you will struggle to rise to the occasion.

There will come a day when your baby won’t stop crying, you won’t stop arguing with your husband, and you’ll wonder why you even signed up for this motherhood thing. You’ll feel like you’re doing a terrible job, making mistakes left and right, and that you’re going to ruin your child’s life forever.

Your body and your spirit might even feel broken, too.

Don’t. Give. Up. You are doing a good job, mama. You will get through this. With a lot of prayer. And coffee. And lactation cookies.

Your hard work will be rewarded when your son gifts you his first real smile, his first-ever belly laugh.

You will encounter bursts of wonder and joy in still, small moments: the intoxicating smell of your baby’s head, the way he notices the world around him, the rise and fall of his little chest as he dreams. These moments will sustain you.

I bet you’re probably wondering about your body. Yes, it will never be quite the same, but you’ll gain a much healthier appreciation for it after giving birth. And you will lose the baby weight, with time.

Unfortunately you will also lose touch with some of your friends–or your relationships will shift because you just can’t relate as much. On the other hand, you’ll gain life experience that connects you more deeply with your own parents, old friends, new friends, coworkers, neighbors, taxi drivers and strangers in the grocery store.

You’ ll still be you–open-hearted, ebullient, anxious, sensitive. Motherhood will stir up a hunger to write and create that’s been hidden away inside of you since childhood. This will feel like coming home.

These things will make life really hard for a season: breastfeeding, Jack’s sleep (or lack thereof), work/motherhood.

The good news: it all gets better.

Being with your son and family will become your most treasured time. Protect it. Savor it. Enjoy it. Take pictures. Remember it. Let it fill you up.

Some days you’ll find yourself longing for a night out (sans baby), but when you finally experience one you’ll enjoy it but your heart will ache for your son. (Get out anyway, and get used to that feeling–it never goes away.)

Exercise was hard for you last year (the morning sickness didn’t help!). After your son is born, you’ll get back on your yoga mat with a renewed sense of vigor. This will become your go-to form of self-care, which you learn is key to mothering well.

I know this is all a bit overwhelming, but I need you to hear this loud and clear: as a new mother, you will doubt yourself more than you ever have. Trust yourself, mama. You love your baby with all of your heart, and at the end of the day, that’s what matters most.

You’re about to start the greatest adventure of your life.

Love,

Your future self (a mama of an almost-one-year-old 😭)

Thanks for walking down memory lane with me! Have you ever written a letter to yourself? Are you on the cusp of a major life change? I’d love to hear from you.

Highs, lows of 2017 + my 2018 intention

Strybis 36 — Credit: Monamie Photography

Happy New Year! As I write this, I’m hiding out in my bedroom while my husband entertains our 11-month-old. I have my laptop, my coffee, a cozy blanket and snuggly dog, and I’m feeling especially grateful to be indoors on this chilly day in the city. It’s heavenly.

It’s been pretty quiet on this blog the past few months. Jay and I are on the other side of a particularly difficult parenting season. To keep things simple and maintain my sanity, I gave myself permission to take a writing break both professionally and personally during that season. In doing this, I was reminded of a valuable lesson: Sometimes, the only way to find inner peace is to let go of the expectations you set for yourself.

I missed writing. I missed this space.

I often found myself composing blog posts during my commute home only to arrive at my doorstep with an overtired baby, overtired mind and daily chores to complete. Once I had a free moment to myself, choosing to consume content versus create it was the easier course of action. After a difficult string of sleepless nights, I was reminded of my therapist’s advice to be gentle with myself. I stopped feeling guilty about getting lost in a good story or scrolling through my phone and just enjoyed it—particularly season two of The Crown, this YA novel, this book, this podcast series and my fair share of Instagram stories.

In 2018, I want things to be different. I don’t want to stop reading and watching and listening and learning, but I do want to start creating and sharing more with all of you, friends. God has put a deep, burning desire to write on my heart–and I’m eager to lean into this passion and see where it leads me.

I won’t call this a resolution. By now, I know myself well enough to know I am not a resolution maker. (Frankly, the barrage of life and health and wellness challenges for the new year on social media this year is a bit overwhelming!) Instead, I’ll borrow from the yoga world, as I have done in the past years, and set an intention, a focus, going forward.

This my intention for 2018: to use this space and all the other channels available to me to tell my story, to create + connect with you. I intend to write and post more regularly, to not let fear, excuses, overwhelm and busy-ness get in the way of carving out a little space to reflect and share. The connect part is important to me too—this is my way to make my small corner of the Internet a more positive space, to find common ground with others, to keep in touch with friends, to inspire and encourage you on your journey. Speaking of which, I’ll start with some thoughts on the past year.

My year in review

For me, 2017 was a year of change marked by the highest highs and lowest lows I’ve ever felt. The biggest change? Becoming a mother, which involved learning to get comfortable with change and challenges as our son moved through various stages of infancy. He’s on his way to becoming a toddler right now and I am amazed by the growth that happened right before our eyes. It seems like just yesterday we were bringing Jack home from the hospital, and now he’s on the verge of taking his very first steps.

As for highs and lows, here’s my list . . .

Highs: Giving birth to my son, breastfeeding and nurturing him, watching him grow and hit major milestones, growing closer with husband and other family members through parenthood, reuniting and connecting with Valpo friends, witnessing our goddaughter grow older, sharing in our godson’s baptism, getting back into yoga, publishing a couple essays, leading Living Lutheran‘s first theme issue, writing about Millennials and the church, sharing stories through this blog.

Lows: Processing postpartum trauma, transitioning back to work after maternity leave riddled with anxiety/heartache/doubt, vacillating from worry to disgust with the current U.S. administration, feeling lonely in our new neighborhood, struggling to keep up with work and home, dealing with my own newfound forgetfulness, receiving rejection emails, sleep-deprivation, illness, grieving the loss of innocents to more mass shootings, grieving the loss of two beloved grandfathers.

Undoubtedly this was the most challenging year of my life and my marriage. And it was also the most rewarding. Becoming a mother opened my eyes to the simple beauty and wonder of childhood and the deep joy and love of parenthood. It also pushed me to build greater resilience and grit.

Although I was at best an intermittent church-goer, I continued to pursue my faith in other ways, through reading and listening to podcasts and praying. I’ve prayed a lot more since becoming parent, and I’ve found the simple word, “help,” (of Ann Lamott’s “Help. Thanks. Wow.“) to be my particular Hail Mary in times of stress.

Our family lost two incredible men of faith this year–my Grandpa Joe and Grandpa Richard. Grandpa Joe was the strong silent type, but he loved baseball, square dancing with grandma, tending to his garden and going to church. Grandpa Rich, too, was an avid church-goer and he sung in the choir. He was incredibly outgoing, a good listener and a diehard St. Louis Cardinals fan. Both were dedicated husbands, fathers and, first and foremost, Lutherans. I really miss them both, but know they’re smiling down on us from heaven.

All in all I’m deeply grateful for the rich blessings God has bestowed on our family this past year, especially the gift of our son. That God entrusted this little wonder to our care never ceases to amaze me. Just today I found myself changing the diaper of my wild baby who would prefer to be naked wistfully wondering when the “real” adult/parent would step in and rescue me. While washing my hands, I looked at myself in the mirror and remembered, “Oh yeah, that’s… me. I’m the parent. I get to deal with this poop on my son’s leg. On my own. (Also, when did I start looking so tired? Have I looked like this all year?)”

This may sound trite, but the poop, the tears, the sleepless nights, the dogged tiredness, the doubt, the forgetfulness, the frustration, the annoying pump sessions… they’re all worth it. All it takes is a giggle, a smile, a snuggle, a hug from my son and my heart just melts. This joy, this love, this wonder–I never knew life could feel so full of brightness until I became a mother.

And that is what I’ll take with me from 2017. I’m leaving behind all the other icky stuff (I know, there was a lot of it) and remembering this: 2017 was the year I became a mother. It was the year Jay and I received the greatest gift of all, our son.

Help. Thanks. WOW.

Blessings to you in 2018.

Making peace with my post-baby body

It happened on a Tuesday morning. I stepped on the scale and it there it was, the number I’d been longing for—my pre-baby weight. Seven months had passed and finally all 50 (yes, 50…) pounds I’d gained via pregnancy were gone.

This moment I’d built up in my head, this goal achieved felt strangely anticlimactic.

Despite all my work to “bounce back,” deep down I knew the truth, and the truth is this: my body will never be the same again. Since giving birth the skin on my stomach is a little stretchier, my butt’s a little saggier, my laugh lines are a little deeper. My hair is perpetually shedding. My hands are starting to look like the way I remember my mother’s hands looked when I was a child, etched with extra lines and wrinkles.

My body will never be the same again.

As a new mama I’ve made peace with this fact, though it’s taken me some time. When I first got pregnant, I didn’t fully comprehend the physical and mental transformation I was about to undergo. There’s a lot that has been said about how becoming a mother changes your sense of identity, but I think that the natural, slow progression of women’s bodies postpartum is not talked about enough.

What the media tells us about mothers’ bodies

In the U.S., the media and our culture celebrate the beauty of the glowing, expectant mother. There is nothing inherently wrong about this.

Here’s the rub: The messages a mother hears change quickly after she has given birth. She is exhausted, hormonal and experiencing a seismic life transition and what does the media say a new mother should focus on?

Well, for starters, her baby, but also her “post-baby body.”

Really?

Yes, really. Women—especially celebrities—are expected to drop all the healthy weight they gained as part of pregnancy ever-so-quickly, practically the moment their baby’s out of the womb.

Almost as soon as Beyoncé had her twins, entertainment sites were covering her weight and shape. (See: this, this and this.)

All women face this obstacle

We ordinary women feel the pressure, too. After I had my son, I felt unnecessarily anxious about dropping the extra padding I still carried, even though I knew holding onto this weight was completely natural. This certainly wasn’t in the forefront of my mind what with so much else to worry about, namely, figuring out how to care for my infant son, but it was still there, lurking in the background. As I recovered from my C-section and struggled to make sense of the trauma of Jack’s birth, I was troubled by the worry that my body would stay “big.”

I know I’m not alone in this.

Mamas, I wish we could give ourselves some grace about our postpartum bodies, but popular culture is working against us. Whether we believe them or not, we internalize messages we receive from the media we consume that promote the archaic lie that a woman’s worth is measured by how small she is. (Being pregnant is the one time this “rule” is suspended but even pregnant women have body image issues and wish their pregnant bodies looked a certain way. I’m working on a future post on this too–stay tuned.)

As media companies embrace more body-positive messaging, I see the tide turning, but overall we in the U.S. continue to be obsessed with judging women for their bodies. The thinner, the smaller, the better.

Health and fitness companies prey on postpartum women’s insecurities, encouraging new moms to buy their [protein shake/workout program/coaching service] NOW to get their pre-baby body back.

What the media and health/fitness industry fail to mention is that this set of expectations is not healthy or normal. This pressure to get back to normal (whatever that is) is harmful and quite frankly, offensive.

The early days and weeks post-birth are an incredibly tender and trying time physically and emotionally. Your body is healing and yet it’s also being tested with the demands of caring for an infant. That’s enough in and of itself. If you haven’t lived it, it might be hard to understand but trust me: that’s enough. Just live and let your body heal.

Yes, I know this is easier said than done. A wise friend once told me that it takes a woman’s body 40 weeks (give or take a few) to transform and bring life into the world, so she should allow herself that time or more to recover. This advice was a great comfort to me as I struggled with my postpartum body.

My journey

I titled this article “Making peace with my post-baby body” — how did I do that?

First, I managed my expectations from the start of my pregnancy. I knew from the mamas in my tribe and from books and articles that pregnancy and birth would change my body–for good. I also knew that breastfeeding would help me lose some weight naturally, over time.

It’s one thing to know this, but it’s another to live it.

Early on after I gave birth to my son I hit a weight loss plateau for a few weeks. The number on the scale wasn’t dropping the way I thought it should. During this time I worried I had some sort of thyroid issue, that my body would stay this way forever. I realized in my worrying I was being ridiculous and I had other, more important things to worry about (i.e., taking care of our son), but I still worried.

I kept breastfeeding, drinking water and eating healthy meals when I could.

At six weeks postpartum, I was cleared by my doctor to start working out again. I joined my local yoga studio and started going to classes here and there while my son was napping.

I remember the first time I got on my mat after having Jack. I barely recognized my body in the mirror. My body was lumpy and weak. I felt a bit like I didn’t belong.

But by the end of class, I felt transformed.

I felt calm, powerful and refreshed. My body remembered yoga and it craved more of it.

Going forward, whenever I could find a free hour away from baby, usually 2 to 3 times a week, I’d go to my studio. Practicing yoga made me feel more confident and grounded.

Early on one of my instructors began class by talking about intention on and off the mat. “What is your intention for this class, this season of life?” she asked.

In that moment I realized that my intention would need to be patience. I would need to trust that my body would heal the way it was meant to, slowly and over time. I needed to stop stressing that my body even defined me–what defined me was my character, my roles as a mother, wife, daughter, sister and child of God.

Buoyed by my intention of patience and the truth that our bodies do not determine our self-worth, I began my journey toward body peace and acceptance.

And wouldn’t you know, slowly the weight began to come off. However there are ways my body has changed that are permanent, and I know once I stop breastfeeding I’ll go through another whole set of changes. I have simply acknowledged these changes, then acknowledged that they have nothing to do with WHO I am as a person.

Maybe that’s why the number I recently reached on the scale isn’t so important anymore.

I’m making healthy choices, but I also have a healthier mindset towards my body. It was my journey over the last 6-7 months toward self-acceptance during which I cultivated a deep peace and comfort with change.

Now that’s something worth celebrating.

—

Have you ever felt insecure in your own skin? What helped you cope?

Six months and counting

One of my favorite authors, Gretchen Rubin, has this expression she often uses: “The days are long, but the years are short.” This idea has always resonated with me, but after six months as a new parent, it holds new meaning.

Just a month ago my days began at 2 a.m. for a feeding and diaper change, followed by a 4:30 a.m. feeding and a 6:30 a.m. wake-up call. (These were preceded by an 8 p.m. bedtime for my little one, followed by an 11 p.m. feeding.) All in all, that’s a lot of time spent nursing and not much sleeping.

Days spent caring for baby are indeed long–longer, certainly, than life before baby and pregnancy, which I sometimes miss (I’m looking at you, eight hours of unbroken sleep). Yet when I look back on these past six months with our son Jack, I still find myself in awe of how fast they flew by and how much I wish time would slow down.

When I meet other mothers and we get to talking about how fast children grow, they look at Jack and say to me, “Enjoy!” And I’ll tell you what I tell them: I am. I am enjoying every moment. Jack’s presence in our lives is an incredible gift.

Each month has had its ups and downs but I think this new stage–six months and counting, I’ll call it–is my favorite thus far. Now Jack is entering the sweet spot between baby and boy. He’s sitting up with ease, eager to interact and noticing so much more of the world around him. He’s trying out solids, on the verge of crawling (but thankfully not there yet) and still loves to cuddle. Every time I hold him close I count it as a blessing from God. This feeling of being loved and needed, of loving deeply and holding my son close while knowing I need to be held just as much–it’s life-giving. I’ve never felt more content than when I’m holding this little boy in my arms.

Of course there have also been tears. More tears than I’d like to admit, or that I ever expected–tears of sadness after dropping Jack off at daycare for the first time, tears of worry after we started sleep training, tears of utter exhaustion in my office cubicle … The truth is, nothing can properly prepare you for the way becoming a parent will test you, stretch you and shine light on all the flaws and insecurities you harbor. As a mother, I’ve surprised myself in the ways I’ve become more flexible and easygoing or stepped up to the plate when the occasion called for it. (And I’ve also crashed and burned and needed to call for backup. See this post.)

So after six months, what have I learned?

In the face of conflict, seek connection.

Unfortunately, going back to work and Jack starting daycare was a trigger for me for postpartum anxiety. Up until that point, I had experienced ups and downs on maternity leave, but it paled in comparison to the heartache I felt leaving my son for the day those first few days (actually, that first month) of daycare. I wasn’t terribly confident in my decision to go back to work full-time–and if I’m really honest, I still struggle with it on occasion–but I need to work to provide for our family’s wellbeing, so it’s not really up for debate. I was lucky to come back to a job I love and an incredibly supportive supervisor. Even so, I had a hard time adjusting to my new normal.

So did my son. In his first few weeks, Jack struggled to take bottles at daycare and started waking up regularly at night to nurse after months of sleeping well. Because of this I worried about him often, and the frequent night-waking started taking a toll on my body. I constantly felt run down and on the verge of tears. If weren’t for my fellow working mamas who listened to me vent or helped me troubleshoot problems and assured me I wasn’t crazy via text, I’m not sure I would have made it through. They are goddesses who have done it all before and are eager to offer support whenever I’m facing a conflict–and let’s face it, there’s a lot of conflict in parenting–so we’re pretty well connected these days. They are a true Godsend, a lifesaver that lifts up my heart whenever I feel it sinking.

New and veteran mamas out there, remember this: you are not alone. Your village of fellow mamas is here for you.

Give yourself permission to slow down, simplify and shift some responsibilities.

Earlier this year we had a series of trips and family obligations that filled up our weekends so much that we weren’t even having fun anymore. As a result of these busy-bee weekends, my husband and I would enter the work week unprepared and unhinged … and without groceries or clean clothes.

After three weeks of last-minute takeout and laundry fiascos, we came up with a solution–we instituted a family travel ban. This meant no more back to back outings without downtime. We needed rest, we needed Sabbath, we needed time to get organized and importantly, catch up on chores.

When you’re juggling work and caring for a little one, keeping up with regular housework is ~~hard~~ nearly impossible. Life gets so harried. But you’ve gotta eat, and wear clothes, and be able to find your keys so you’ve gotta make room for cleaning.

So, we gave ourselves permission to slow down, and we simplified our weekends. Gone were the days of trying to cram workouts and church and brunch plans and errands into one day. Instead, I focus in on one or two things that really matter to us–like visiting my folks in the suburbs–and stay close to home the rest of the weekend so we can tackle the backlog of household chores.

My mom, who worked full-time since I was in first grade, did the same thing. She used to joke about the maid not having made an appearance at our house in a while (meaning herself), when things got really busy during the week. She’d catch up on the weekends, and I’ve followed in her footsteps, well, with one tiny exception:

I. Don’t. Do. It. All.

That’s right, I don’t do ALL the cleaning, nor does my husband. We hired housecleaner to help us twice a month and I can’t tell you how much that helps.

Friends! (Especially parents!) If you haven’t experienced the life-changing magic of hiring a housecleaner, please give it a try. Life is too short to spend all your precious free time cleaning. Note: I absolutely recognize it is a privilege to be able to hire help, and we do budget for it over other things–such as eating out–because it makes a big difference in our sanity.

Ever since we did these three things, it’s helped us to enjoy the weekends again while feeling less overwhelmed during the workweek. It’s easier for me to revel in small moments with Jack, whether it’s a long walk in our neighborhood with Gus or just playing together in our living room floor on a lazy Saturday morning.

Above all, treat yourself with grace and loving-kindness.

Recently one of the writers I work with published a blog that really spoke to me. It’s as if she had written it for me, a tired new parent, and I was so grateful to have that message that week. Pastor Janelle Hooper says,

We often think we need to be experts in it from our newborn’s first cry. Don’t get me wrong—do all you can to be ready for parenting with prenatal classes, books and babysitting. … No matter how much or little you prepare, there will always be ways in which your children and God surprise you.

If we can give ourselves a measure of grace knowing that we want what is best for our kids, and we promise to provide the basics of food, shelter and love—beyond that, is there room enough to say we are practicing all the other aspects of parenthood?

What would it look like if I approached parenting with the same mindset as I do yoga? Yoga, for me, is play. It’s something I look forward to every day. Importantly, it’s a form of exercise and self-expression I am continually working on. There is no end goal, but each time I step onto the four corners of my mat I strive to be a little better than before.

There are so many “shoulds” floating around parenting blogs and articles–you should breastfeed your baby, you should only use organic products, you should never let your baby cry it out, you should do sleep-training--many of which are contradictory. What these differing opinions indicate to me is that there is no one right way to parent. So why do we keep pretending that there is? What if becoming comfortable with parenthood is as simple as recognizing at the end of the day we’re all just doing our best and we may feel like we’ve messed something up but at least we tried?

As of late I’ve been working on a personal paradigm shift to replace the negative thoughts I’ve been having about parenting (I’m petrified of messing something up and ruining my son’s life) and instead giving myself the same grace I would extend to a friend (Just keep going. You’re doing great, mama!).

There are no perfect people and no perfect parents. If I can enter my role as mother each morning with the same mindset I have when I step on my yoga mat–the idea that I am always practicing, never perfect–I can begin to let go of the insecurities and doubts that cause me stress and just enjoy the fun of parenting. Because for all I’ve said about how hard it is, being Jack’s mama sure is FUN! Some of my best memories have come from these six months in life, whether it’s the Christmas-morning anticipation I get every day driving to pick up Jack from daycare or the way his smiles and laughter make my heart melt.

I’m still struggling with sleep.

Sleep loss is incredibly debilitating to your spirit (not to mention your mind and body) and this has been our family’s Achilles heel/biggest parenting challenge since I went back to work. Jack’s lack of sleep (and our own) has been a major source of anxiety and we can’t seem to figure it out. I have wanted to write about this so many times but it’s hard to put it into words.

I will say this: We have been trying to get Jack to sleep better. Key word here is trying. And lately it seems like it *might* be getting better. I’m praying hard for that. 🙂

In closing

Phew! Thanks for sticking with me through this long-winded post. It’s been a while since I wrote and I hope you enjoyed this family update!

Tell me: What are you celebrating today? What are your current struggles? I’d love to hear from you.

From boyfriend to husband to father

The fathers we know and love have back stories, lives that were once free of the weight of parenthood. Before bedtime routines and bottles of milk and early morning wake ups, there were probably more late nights out with friends, bottles of beer and lazy Saturday mornings spent sleeping in (the same could be said of most mothers, too!). I talk a lot about motherhood on this blog, how it’s shifted my perspective and priorities and given life new meaning, but I haven’t said much about fatherhood. And although I can’t and won’t speak for all the dads out there, I can say this–one of the great joys of this year has been watching my husband Jay become a father. Here are a few things I’ve observed…

Fathers are feeling burdened, too

When I first met Jay, we were carefree college students: He was a fraternity guy and ultimate frisbee player studying to be an engineer. I was an English major and a sorority girl who worked at the school newspaper. Between the two of us, I was often the one who was anxious or worried, constantly chasing a deadline for feature stories for the paper or essays for class. Jay, on the other hand, was the laid back one, perhaps the least stressed person I knew in college. No paper or test or deadline could rattle him (it helps that he is one of the smartest people I know). He always knew how to help me relax when I was feeling overwhelmed.

Fast forward 11 years: Now we have a mortgage, a dog and a new baby, and we’re both grappling with the pressures that come with balancing the roles of provider and parent. I’ve watched how fatherhood, and the great responsibility it entails, weighs on my husband. For the first time the guy who never used to worry has … worries. And with good reason: there is a lot to worry about when you step into this role, to start, just making sure you keep your baby alive.

Then there is the inevitable, “Am I doing this right?” worry that accompanies parenting. There are a million and one ways to sleep train, and not enough evidence-based research to point to one right way, Jay pointed out the other day. The amount of resources and books and blogs is daunting.

Let’s not forget the challenging and confusing societal expectations around fatherhood in America. When I talked with Jay about the way women take on mental load of parenthood, he agreed and added that he thinks there are other mental burdens dads traditionally take on as well, especially when it comes to plans for household finances and yard work. While we’re committed to forging a more egalitarian marriage than prior generations, we inevitably fall into some gendered divisions of labor (mental and physical), but we’re aware of it and trying to do what works best for our family.

Regardless of how you split it up, parenting is a lot of work, and it’s emotionally and physically taxing. He probably wouldn’t say it but I’m so proud of how my husband has handled the new heft of fatherhood with so much grace. And even though there are more pressures and more worries, Jay’s still the one that helps me relax at the end of the day.

Parenthood has brought us closer together than ever before

After our son’s dramatic entry into the world, I was emotionally traumatized and physically drained. I needed more support than ever from Jay and at the same time we both had a new focus–a little one that needed all our support. Even though we were separated from Jack on those early days–he was floors away in the NICU–nothing would stop me from my quest to breastfeed our son. And Jay joined me in that quest.

At all hours of the day, Jay would help me into my wheelchair and we’d make the 15-minute multi-elevator trip to see Jack. When we got there, my husband would help lift Jack into my arms because I was still too weak to do so and encourage me when I got discouraged if Jack didn’t latch. Those trips back and forth to see Jack were full of laughter and tears and heartfelt conversation about our new son. We were both in awe of Jack and frustrated by how hard breastfeeding was (it hurts, it’s awkward and you have to do it all the time when babies are very little). It is thanks to Jay that I was able to persevere and pull off breastfeeding Jack after my C-section and Jack’s stint in the NICU.

What I didn’t know until later that week was that the whole time I was suffering, Jay was too–he had been nursing a cold and foot pain–but he never once complained. Instead he accompanied me through my pain and held me when I needed it, because that’s what fatherhood required of him in the moment. When he’d admitted this to me later that week, after Jack was out of the NICU, I asked him to go home and take care of himself, to shower, take a nap and get the medicine he needed.

This dance of caring for each other and Jack and caring for ourselves has continued since we took Jack home. We are more open and honest with our aches and pains (emotional and physical) than ever before–and we each take turns being one another’s caretaker.

There’s no shortage of articles online about the ways becoming parents can put stress on a marriage. And there’s no question that it does. But I count myself as lucky because parenting has only brought us closer together. Our secret? It’s a willingness to be vulnerable with each other and accept help when it is offered. He lifts me up when I am weak, and I do the same for him.

Fatherhood is feeling left out, and more whole

When we first got our puppy Gus, my husband took a short puppy paternity leave to feed, nurture and potty-train him. As such, the two have built up this incredible bond and are often inseparable at home. This sometimes made me feel left out but I realized that this doesn’t make my dog love me any less, Jay is simply his primary parent. We found other ways to bond and build up our relationship, and I just love how Gus brings so much joy to our lives.

Now that Jack’s in the picture the tables have turned and I am his primary parent. I know that this sometimes means my husband can feel left out and I see the pain this causes him. I think it’s especially hard because our son is so little and can’t do a lot so it’s harder for Jay to bond with him. On the other hand, the bond I share with my son from carrying him in the womb and breastfeeding him is very strong. A father can’t compete and shouldn’t–and I know Jay is building a different sort of bond with Jack just as I have with our dog.

Speaking of being left out: Dads don’t always get included in the baby showers or celebrations when new babies come in. I actually think that’s kind of a shame. I think we should change that. Babies are a life-altering, joyous gift and although fathers don’t carry babies in their bodies, they certainly carry them in their hearts. Why can’t we start including dads more in these celebrations?

We should include them because creating a family is a very special gift. I also know from Jay that our little family has brought new meaning to his life, a wholeness, a completeness that comes from being a family of four (yes, we include our dog, we firmly believe dogs are part of the family too!). I’ve seen how fatherhood has given Jay a new sense of purpose and delight. The love he has for Jack shines so bright, it is stunning.

A few final thoughts

Whenever our friends ask us about parenthood, these three words come up: hard, rewarding and fun! Having a little one is an incredible, life-altering adventure and there’s no one I’d rather do it with than Jay.

Here’s the best part: Each year as we age and grow, I love Jay even more deeply than before, from boyfriend to husband to father. Jay, even though we keep saying this has been the hardest year yet, I’ll take all the hard moments for the small, sweet bursts of joy we’ve shared together as parents. I love you, babe.

Motherhood is messy

It is 11 a.m. and I am laying on the floor of my newborn’s room, covered in a cold sweat. My teeth chatter as I wrap my oversized bathrobe tight around my body and watch my baby play. He is well but I am not. I am overtired and running a fever and the only thing keeping me awake in this particular moment is adrenaline. My lips move but my voice fails me as I let out a silent one-word prayer: “Help.”

That morning, on the floor of my son’s room, I experience my first panic attack. I am so sick I can barely care for myself and I am scared sick that I don’t have the stamina to continue caring for my three-month-old son. To top it off my husband is out of town for a week-long work trip and it is only Wednesday.

Sick. Scared. Alone.

This is not how I pictured my first week of solo-parenting to go.

I am in the middle of my maternity leave but my husband is back at work and on the road. He is a consultant, so travel is a regular part of the gig. After Jack was born we’d spent six stressful/blissful weeks together learning how to care for an infant. Now I’m on my own and feeling terrible and I am terrified. I fight back tears as I call my husband and he immediately insists I call my mother and ask for help.

“Mom,” I croak when she answers the phone, “I need you right now. I’m sick and can’t take care of Jack. Can you come help me?”

“Of course,” she says, “I’ll come as soon as I can tonight.”

A fresh crop of tears spill from my eyes as I hang up the phone. My mom is coming to help. I am relieved. I just have to hang on until she can finish up at work and make the drive from Chicago suburbs to the city proper where we live.

Jack’s starting to get hungry so I pick him up and take him to the rocking chair. My head pounds as I hold him in my arms and feed him. His 11-pound body feels surprisingly heavy in my arms but I will myself to stay awake. In my head, I count the hours until my mother will arrive. Then I try to channel positive thoughts: I am strong. I can do hard things. I can do this.

There is something about motherhood that is incredibly physical, but we often fail to acknowledge it after our babies are born. Labor is taxing, yes, but long after children leave the safety of the womb, we continue to mother them with our bodies: our breasts a source of nourishment, arms a sanctuary place, sheer physical presence a comfort.

So what happens when mom gets sick? On this day when I feel like the walking dead, I draw a deep strength from within me and become a warrior. I get up, and I keep moving. I have to do this for my son.

Every day we sleep-deprived, exhausted mothers summon the power inside to persist, to endure hard things we’d never faced before we had children. We do it for them. We become stronger for our children.

Hours pass. When the doorbell finally rings, I rush to let my mom inside, holding Jack in my arms. When I open it I see my mom, arms full of a handful of bags and smiling at us and immediately I feel self conscious. My hair is dirty, my bathrobe sticky with sweat and I can’t remember if I’ve brushed my teeth. I am a mess, the house is a mess.

“Mom, you’re here!” I almost shout as I hand her the baby and take the bags she’s set gingerly on the ground. She’s brought Lipton soup and throat lozenges and ginger ale–all the things that she used to give me when I was sick as a child–and my heart just melts.

“I am so sorry but I just need to lie down right now…” I say, trailing off. “Are you OK watching Jack for a bit?”

“Of course.”

I retreat back to my room and flop down on the bed. My mom is here and I am safe and loved and so is Jack.

She rocks the baby, cleans the dishes and folds the laundry–she helps clean up my mess. She mothers me and my infant child.

I now understand what people meant when they told me becoming a parent is a lifetime commitment, because now that I’m a mom, I need my mom more than ever before and I’m so grateful to her for the ways she’s kept showing up in my life and mothering me, long after I left the nest.

Before becoming a mother, I had this idealized version of motherhood stuck in my head. I loved following The Bump’s instagram account and looking at perfectly stylized family portraits paired with witty captions. Motherhood seemed so fun and easy! And, certainly it is fun, especially seeing baby develop over time. Easy? Not so much.

What I’ve come to realize is that most days motherhood doesn’t look anything like the photos The Bump highlights.

Most days, motherhood is MESSY. And motherhood is about showing up amid the mess.

Motherhood on the internet is so often a performance, it’s putting our best foot forward for our friends and family and other strangers online. The images we love to share so often capture our parenting highs but don’t show the lows, the sick days, tears, tantrums or tremendous mounds of laundry and dishes waiting to be cleaned in the background.

Let me repeat: Motherhood is messy. In fact, as a default it’s messy and hard and infuriating at times, so why is everyone on the Internet so hellbent on making it seem otherwise?

Yes, motherhood is fun and rewarding and joyful, but it’s also: milk-stained shirts and dirty diapers and dishes piled up in the sink and three-day-old-hair and dark circles under your eyes and sometimes getting bailed out by your mom when you’re sick so you can just get some rest.

I have a request for all the mothers out there: Can we start talking more about this? About the messy stuff that happens in between our pretty family portraits? Can we honor mothers with more than words of gratitude in a card or Facebook post but with a heartfelt word of thanks for your incredible service, too?

Let’s stop pretending! Let’s embrace the joy and the beauty and the mess that comes with motherhood.

Maybe if we start talking more about how hard women work in the home, maybe our politicians will start working for women instead of against us (see: the war on women’s bodies, on women in the workplace, etc.).

Better yet, let’s just start electing more moms into office. Why? Because they understand what it takes to raise good citizens, they are experts at dealing with messes and also–they’re strong as hell.

Back on my mat

The studio is quiet, hot and dimly lit. Walking on tiptoes, I locate what seems to be one of the last open plots of space and unfurl my teal-colored mat to claim it. The flip of the mat hitting the ground feels weighty, and loud. I look around but no one else has noticed. I take a seat.

This my first *hot* yoga class since I became pregnant. I am six-weeks postpartum and my body still aches from labor and lack of sleep.

At home, my husband is watching our newborn son. I am here, at this class, for some much-needed me-time.

At least my body is here. My mind seems to be elsewhere.

A thousand different thoughts crowd my mind: I worry I will not make it through the heated class. I worry about how my postpartum body looks in the studio mirror, new curves and extra padding. I worry about what my son is doing right now. Is he sleeping? Is he eating? Is he OK?

I am anxious and impatient for class to begin, and, just when I feel I can’t wait any longer, the teacher comes in and instructs us to begin to “settle into your space.”

Settling in is the last thing I want to do right now. I want to shut off my mind and move. I am in the middle of a major life upheaval and I’m still figuring out how to cope.

Looking back, my life before baby seemed so calm, so simple. Weeks were punctuated by work, workouts, nights out with friends.

Now life’s a whirlwind of feedings, playtime, napping, diaper changes; it’s enduring sleepless nights and thankless chores; it’s . . . complicated.

And it’s also incredible. As a new parent, every moment of the day is amplified by my little one’s existence. The pure joy and love I have for my son is bigger than anything I’ve ever felt before.

Class is starting now and I try to focus in on my breath, on the gentle instructions our teacher provides. We begin to flow from tadasana (mountain pose) to uttanasana (forward fold) to ardha uttanasana (halfway lift), and I feel a sense of release as I move through these familiar motions.

My heartbeat pounds, my limbs lengthen, the chatter in my mind goes mute. I’m keyed into the sequence now, and my muscle memory takes over as I swoop from urdhva mukha svanasana (upward facing dog) to adho mukha svanasana (downward facing dog).

As we progress, poses that once felt easy are hard. I push through, acutely aware of each sweaty minute.

I struggle as I strive to maintain composure during a particularly difficult sequence. My teacher offers modifications and I take them all with confidence. There was a time when this sequence would have been easy for me, but now it is not. I surrender to what my body needs today, resisting the urge to work too hard too soon.

When the instructor finally invites us to enter savasana (corpse pose) I collapse on my mat with a smile, knowing at least I’ve nailed this last pose of renewal and relaxation.

My body feels heavy, glued to the ground. I am tired AND energized AND already ready to come back again.

In the six weeks that I was recovering from giving birth, I missed the simplicity of my mat and the comfort of this routine. At a time when it seems as if everything has changed—my strength (or lack thereof), my family, my body, my mind—yoga is one constant.

As I relax in the darkness, I think about why yoga is called a “practice,” an act you master with time. It is not a performance, but a sharpening of the mind and body, a discipline that requires mental resilience and acute body awareness.

After years of practicing yoga I’d forgotten what it felt like to be a novice. Having a baby, taking a break from my mat, reminded me.

Life—like yoga—has a way of ebbing and flowing. In this season of life, I am novice parent, trying to make sense of the new complexity raising a child brings, I’m again a novice yogi, rediscovering my strength on my mat.

Coping with a BIG life transition—whether it’s a breakup, parenthood, a new job or moving—is never easy. When we make time to embrace old routines, however, they lift the burden of foreign and for a moment, ground us in the familiar.

Just sixty minutes ago, my life felt so off balance. Now I felt grounded.

We sit up and begin to seal our practice with a community breathing exercise. “Inhale to the count of three . . . now exhale deeply,” the instructor says.

I breathe in deep, I breathe out a sigh of relief.

Author Archives: Erin Strybis