I didn’t start where I am in that picture above. And I’m not there now. That picture was 4 years ago. I gave birth to my son 5 months ago. I am beginning again. I went to my 2nd nonrestorative or yin class in almost 7 months yesterday. My intention for the practice was this:
I owe some mamas an apology. To that one mama: who returned my text every three months who called all the time cause she needed to hear real words who suddenly couldn’t make a lunch date, ever who brought her kids everywhere who took her kid nowhere who left her fancy gig to stay at
Those of you who live in Atlanta know that highway 285 allows us to bypass traveling through the center of our city to get just about anywhere we want to go. You also know that there are times when 285 is painfully congested. The other option takes us straight into the heart of our city.
A while back I read something regarding postpartum women in another culture from a by gone time. The article noted that for weeks after giving birth, the mother was mothered and her primary role was to connect to and nurture her baby. The women of the village tended to her so that her and baby
He’s here! Me and Jemar’s son, Oyetunde Nasir Raheem arrived Saturday April 2, 2016 at 5:37am. Our birthing time/labor was yoga in the most profound sense. Lots of yin and yang. Lots of fire and water. Sound and silence. Some CHILL. Plenty FIERCE. Clearly every birth experience is different. For me, the newness that is
Being big-bellied makes me sensitive. or perhaps the word is (hyper) aware. Whoa. Lately. How I feel the subtle nuisanced ways that folk try to convince women that if we can’t do it all, we aren’t valuable. And that we should want to do it ALL. And we should want to have it ALL. ALL