My moons, my moms

My moons, my moms

Like the moon, in our pregnancy we expand. Slowly, gradually, and over a set gestation, And then, when we are full, we birth new life.

Like the moon too, we then wane. Having given every ounce of our energy and our being to our creation, we sacrifice all that was. Physically, emotionally, we decompress.

We are then but a small piece of what it was we understood ourselves to be, and yet we are still there.

And we renew.

Like the moon, just when we thought we have absolutely nothing left to give, we rebuild.

Women regenerate. Finding it within ourselves to regain what was lost, or to start over fresh. Piece by piece, day by day.

We are nothing if not resilient.

Some months we may feel we wane more than others, while other times, we feel more full.

No matter, we cycle, unwavering in our resolve.

Just like the moon in the cloudy night sky, we find a way to bring back the light. We are constantly regaining our strength.

This past year, 12 full moons graced my bedroom window, over frostbitten fields, dandelion pastures, sun scorched landscapes and auburn evenings. This past year too, 12 new souls were introduced to me, their mothers and families allowing me to be present to process their pregnancy, birth and recovery unfolding.

And so it’s no coincidence that with every changing moon, I think of them and their individual journeys. And I remark upon their ability to have dreamed, hoped, feared, sacrificed, cried, transformed and recovered all over again.

Every new moon, a mother is born. Every moon a woman shifts. She is brilliance.



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