birth, Healing, Honesty, Intention, Miscellaneous
Photography by Kayla Gonzales of @austinbirthphotos Recently, a petition that gained momentum through the hashtag #IGallowuncensoredbirth on Instagram won, causing Facebook and Instagram to change their policies surrounding images of birth posted on social media. (Read more about this change by clicking here).  While I believe it is vital that we are exposed to many different images of birth in order to breakdown taboos, expose ourselves to the many normal variations in childbirth, and begin to reprogram the way we think about birth… the visibility of childbirth should be approached in a mindful way in order to keep birth sacred. I chose the following five Instagram accounts because they photograph/post/share with the permission of those pictured, and because they include a variety of different experiences. This is a great place to start for any one who wants to integrate images of birth into their everyday experience on social media. Happy scrolling! @empoweredbirthproject @indiebirth @the_angela_gallo @blackwomenbirthing @austinbirthphotos
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Fiery Love…   Love is like fire not because it is volatile, but because it is hypnotizing — because it demands your presence. In some loves — you get a flicker of that presence — like the tongues of a flame and some loves — you are consumed by it — like the blue heart of a blaze.   …meditative love.  
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As the the child of an academic, and a student of the liberal arts, I hold in high esteem the ability to think critically… And, (as a Being doing my very best to appreciate this life incarnate) I also desperately try to avoid harsh, unjust, unnecessary, pessimistic criticism of the world of around me. Where is the line between critical thinking and plain old criticism, and how do we toe it gracefully? At the very core of critical thought, there is a need to find fault, and a need to tap into negativity. If we are to analyze a work of art, a scientific study, or a political policy, we need to be able to see both the good and the bad. In my childhood home, and in the classrooms I have been privileged to study in, I was praised for criticism. I was praised for looking at the world presented before me and finding its faults. I was praised for being able to see these faults, mull them over, explain them in depth, focus on them, and (only sometimes) offer a solution to them. All the while, I was also being conditioned to see the world through a particular lens, with a particular set of biases. This complex relationship to critical thought made me believe that there was always a right and wrong answer; that critical thinking is objective. Wrong (ha! there I go again). We criticize based on what we perceive. Perception is subjective. I don’t know about others, but I am not convinced that this very important point was made clear to me during my days as a university student: critical thinking is founded on subjectivity. The practice of critical thinking, of criticism, once came with rewards; now, it comes with struggle. Perhaps others can relate to this experience. I look back, and think about where this landed me. On one hand, I am well educated, employed, able, and articulate. On the other hand, I feel stuck in a rushing flood of negativity, against which I am tirelessly swimming upstream. How do I hold true to my identity on both sides? How do I continue to challenge my environment, to be an agent of change – for certainly we have to think critically in order to have the necessary direction to enact change – and yet, still remain optimistic, positive, and Light?  How to survive? I need my critical thinking skills to avoid falling victim to the fear and dis-ease of the modern world. I also need an optimistic spirit, an ability to see the best, not the worst, in order to remain sane… even happy. Criticism, like all negativity, has its roots in Fear. We decide that something is wrong, that it is faulty, because somewhere deep down we fear what our reality would be if it were true. 2+2 = 22?! Wrong! If that were true the very Earth would crumble beneath my feet! (And this doesn’t mean that 2+2 does, in fact, equal 22, only that we should question why we are so quick to say it is untrue.) Only through the lens of Love can we make trustworthy judgements. Self-awareness is my only solution, as it often is. I must continue to observe my thoughts, my emotions, my involvement, and my energy. I am not alone in this. I need to ask for support from friends, for them to be a sounding board without pushing me deeper into the strong current of negativity. Only through self-awareness might I have a chance to understand when I am purpose-fully using critical thought, and when I am being unjustly critical.
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I am going to come right out and say it… I did not read Eat Pray Love. I can’t tell you why exactly, but something about Elizabeth Gilbert’s popular book, its movie adaptation, and the hype around it all really rubbed me the wrong way. I do eat, pray, and love. I also read books, but I couldn’t get myself to pick that one up. I don’t know if it was the colorful cover (it probably was), or the key word “fear” in the subtitle, but something caused me to buy her new book, Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear. I bought the hardcover, in fact. As soon as I started to read it, I was struck by the self-deprecating thought, “Shit. Elizabeth Gilbert is writing about fear much more articulately than I ever will. I should probably stop writing all together.” I was also struck by the thought, “Shit. I was supposed to write this book, not her! It should have been me!” Funny, not just because both of these lines of thinking are absurd, but also because, fast-forward a few page turns, and Gilbert spoke directly to those thoughts. Damn. “Okay, I guess I will keep reading then,” I told myself. …And then I proceeded to put the book down for two months, with a mark at page 91. Perhaps not so coincidentally, I also didn’t publish any of my own writing in those two months. I guess I should say thank you, Elizabeth Gilbert, for the massive blow to my ego. You broke me down, but when I picked up the book again this week, you managed to build me back up. I know no one can see me, so I want you to know that I am shaking my fist aggressively and looking skyward, thinking to myself, “damn this league of female truth-teller/self-help-y writers which I have found myself a part of!” In order to set a framework for her book on creative living and fear, Gilbert makes a valiant attempt to convince all readers that they are creative, whether or not they are an artist by trade. This is something I too believe, so I didn’t take too much convincing, and I have to wonder if anyone who selects this book for themselves would take much convincing. Still, she does so beautifully:
So this, I believe, is the central question upon which all creative living hinges: Do you have the courage to bring forth the treasures that are hidden within you? … The hunt to uncover those jewels – that’s creative living. The courage to go on that hunt in the first place – that’s what separates a mundane existence from a more enchanted one.
What struck me the most about this book was Gilbert’s description of the relationship between creativity and fear. Because I consider myself a creative, and my partner considers himself one as well, we often find ourselves revisiting the same ideas as we discuss art. The idea that good art comes from dark places/human lives are complicated and art should be a reflection of that/you need to make yourself so, so, so vulnerable as an artist. Rarely, though do we directly discuss the relationship between fear and creativity, which is a little bit funny to me, considering my obsession with fear. Gilbert describes clearly the difference between bravery and fearlessness, “Bravery means doing something scary. Fearlessness means not even understanding what the word scary means.” The proverbial ‘they’ say that people who take (physical) risks typically only get hurt in one of two cases: 1) they are so scared that they are paralyzed by fear, or 2) they are so fearless that they forget to consider risk. Both are irrational states of being. So, we need the middle ground – bravery – in order to intelligently take risks. Fear is necessary in order to create. “In fact,” Gilbert says, “it seems to me that my fear and my creativity are basically conjoined twins – as evidenced by the fact that creativity cannot take a single step forward without fear marching right alongside it.” When embarking on a creative endeavor, Elizabeth Gilbert speaks to her fear:
Dearest Fear: Creativity and I are about to go on a road trip together. I understand you’ll be joining us, because you always do. I acknowledge that you believe you have an important job to do in my life, and that you take your job seriously. Apparently your job is to induce complete panic whenever I am about to do something interesting – and, may I say, you are superb at your job. So by all means, keep doing your job, if you feel you must. But I will also be doing my job on this road trip, which is to work hard and stay focused. And Creativity will be doing its job, which is to remain stimulating and inspiring. There’s plenty of room in this vehicle for all of us, so make yourself at home, but understand this: Creativity and I are the only ones who will be making and decisions along the way. I recognize and respect that you are part of this family, and so I will never exclude you from our activities, but still – your suggestions will never be followed. You’re allowed to have a seat, and you’re allowed to have a voice, but you are not allowed to have a vote. You’re not allowed to touch the roadmaps; you’re not allowed to suggest detours; you’re not allowed to fiddle with the temperature. Dude, you’re not even allowed to touch the radio. But above all else, my dear old familiar friend, you are absolutely forbidden to drive.
I absolutely love this analogy, and will add it to my toolbox for living Love Over Fear. I highly recommend reading Big Magic, and would love to discuss with anyone who has. Who knows, maybe I’ll even pick up a copy of Eat Pray Love now… just maybe.    
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When did I become a Woman? It’s not that today was the first time I saw these curves staring back at me, naked in the mirror. But today was the first time I loved them.   …Even the belt of softness around my hips. …Even the hole above my belly button where a piercing used to adorn. …Even the dimples on my thighs.   And I asked…   When did I become a Woman? It wasn’t the first time I bled. Or had sex. Or made love. But, the first time I lucidly dreamt of my own child suckling at my breast.   When did I become a Woman? It wasn’t when I was raped. Or harassed. Or heartbroken. Or hurt. But, when I was willing to admit I had been victimized.   When did I become a Woman? It wasn’t when I fell in love with a man or a woman. But, when I had the gall to own my fluid sexuality.   When did I become a Woman? It wasn’t when I put on a dress. Or a bra. Or had a manicure. But, when I felt beautifully human.   When did I become a Woman? It wasn’t when I learned about feminism in school. Or history. Or was rallied by my friends. But, when I realized on my own as I sat reading current events just how much the movement meant to me.   When did I become a Woman? When I realized I was graced by power not weakness. When I chose to be a Woman.    
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