<-insert Xena's warrior cry here->

I need to talk about just how messed up I was up until not even a year ago.

It amazes me that I could be an inspiration to other people, such a help to other people, while simultaneously hating myself.  It amazes me that I was so out of it, so off-balance, that the only self-worth I could garner came from trying to please everyone else.

This face about sums it up.

For context, in case you haven't read my earlier blog posts, let's summarize my childhood with a single word: abuse.  Let's summarize my young adulthood with another word: rape.  Okay, I can summarize my life up until November 2010 with one word: victim.  Or, survivor.  Depending on how you look at it.

Becoming a mother was the beginning of healing for me, though things got a lot worse before they got better.  In June 2008, at the age of 27, I found out I was pregnant.  At the time, I was in a co-dependent "friendship" with a woman who conned me out of $14k over the course of six or seven years, who was also mooching off of me, living in my apartment with her then-boyfriend. 

I discovered my unplanned pregnancy the same week that I was laid off from my job, high school teacher, the thing I had always wanted to be when I grew up.  I had just started a new relationship, but was impregnated by a different man, the only "friend-with-benefits" I'd ever had. 

The moocher "friend," a woman I trusted and loved with all my heart, took off a few months into my pregnancy, leaving me a 10 page letter about what a horrible person I was and how sorry she was for my child because she was sure I'd be a horrible mother.  My baby's sperm donor had no interest in our child.  My boyfriend started treating me like crap early on, but I had already broken the lease on my apartment and moved in with him.  I felt helpless.  I felt trapped.

Don't we all look so happy together?

I tried to focus on the positive.  I had my heart set on a happy ever after...with a misogynistic deadbeat who sexually assaulted me every single night for two years - and I didn't recognize it as sexual assault until last month, when a friend who had read my memoir called it what it was!  I kept making excuses for my ex, to myself as well as to my friends, until the night he left me and my one year old son penniless and homeless, in November 2010.

Hello, rock bottom.

I was an exceedingly lucky homeless person.  I didn't have a home for a few months, but I always had a bed to sleep in, people to help me search for work and to watch my son while I searched, people giving me whatever they could spare, even if it was just love and support over the internet.  My son and I never had to sleep on the street, never went hungry, and never went without knowing that we were loved.

It still amazes me how empowering an experience it was for me.  There were dozens of people helping however they could, many of whom I barely knew, all cheering me on, encouraging me, telling me I could do it, pushing me to prove to myself that I could.  I couldn't let myself fall to pieces or give up, because I had a precious toddler depending on me.

It probably goes without saying that I was depressed as all hell during all that.  I was so scared, and so angry, but I suppressed all my negative feelings as well as I could.

Holding it all in was killing me.  The optimistic, light-hearted, playful, affectionate, nurturing woman I had been locked herself away in some hidden corner of my heart.  I felt like a hollow automaton, just going through the motions, doing whatever I had to do.

My love for my son, and my determination to give him the best possible start in life, kept me from killing myself.  My beliefs about positive, conscious parenting drove me to seek out methods of self-healing so I could be the best mother I could be.  My spiritual path and experiences provided the tools I needed to put myself back together, piece by piece, and pure Divine Love provided me with a home in the last place I ever would have thought to look.

In this home, I am loved, supported, valued, and given the space I need to heal.  Gratitude really isn't strong enough a word to express how I feel.  I truly am blessed beyond my fondest dreams.

Now, having finally learned to love myself, having finally healed to a point that I feel like a whole new person, no longer either a victim or a survivor...now I have too many friends suffering the same kinds of crap I suffered.

My inner warrior princess is shrieking her battle cry, ready to throw her chakrum and cut through all their chains, if they would just hold up their wrists at the right angle.

I want to help.  I want all that I suffered and all that I've learned from that suffering to help others, to empower them.  I wish I could just hold them in my arms and overwhelm them with self-worth, confidence, and determination to make their lives even better than they can imagine.

But I can't.  I can't make anyone feel, think, or believe anything.

All I can do is offer my unconditional love and support, guidance when they ask, and keep praying that one day soon when they look in the mirror they will see themselves as the beautiful, loved, powerful beings that they are.

But...dammit, people!  Life is too short to waste on misery!

My Birth Story (Excerpt from my thesis, "Birth of a Mother")

My Birth Story – Excerpted from my memoir, Birth of a Mother

Me as a newborn with my proud parents.

     "I spend a couple of hours in the tub, alternating positions from reclining on my back to squatting, to lying on my tummy, getting restless. My three hundred and twenty pound body does not fit as well in the deep plastic tub as I would have liked, and I start letting my legs hang over the sides to stretch my calves and feet to keep them from cramping.
     As endorphins and other hormones flood my body, relaxing me, opening me, and preparing the way for my son's entrance, I want nothing more than to go to sleep. After every rush, I relax against the tub and close my eyes, feeling like I could start dreaming if I wasn't afraid I'd drown in the meantime.
     The nausea hits me without warning. Then my entire body feels flooded with restless energy, even though I simultaneously feel heavy and unable to move. The sensation suddenly morphs into feeling like my body is about to split into two, or explode. I remember from Gaskin's books that just before the pushing phase, mothers “transition” into it by experiencing feelings ranging from nausea and discomfort to panicking and losing confidence in their ability to survive the birth. To relieve the tension, and head off the panic, I facetiously announce, “Well, this must be transition, because I feel like I'm going to die!”
     As Kelli and Maggie burst into laughter, Kelli's assistant, Kristie, walks into the room, also laughing. “I knew she'd make me laugh as soon as I walked in the door!” she says, grinning at me.
     I appreciate Kristie's presence in the next moments, first because she rubs my feet while Rose puts a cold washcloth over my eyes, and Maggie has me sip more juice from a straw. Transition passes, and my body moves itself into squatting position without my conscious effort, and with the next rush, my bellow turns into a grunt, and I find myself pushing.
     Kelli looks up from knitting my son's hat and stares at me a moment, before asking, “Am I going to finish this in time?”
     My laugh is cut short by another rush that ends in pushing.
     I'm vaguely aware of my sister running around, helping the midwives and encouraging me, following their lead. I hear her telling the men in the other room that they need to watch the way they feel or think, because I might pick up on their worry or tension, and my heart overflows with love and pride for her, but I am too far gone in labor-land to tell her so.
     The urge to push is relatively weak at first. I roll onto my side, my other side, to my hands and knees, squatting and leaning over the tub, and squatting and leaning back against it. The last three positions feel best. A couple contractions even find me on my back, because my legs are cramping, and my feet are wrinkled and numb, yet throbbing. Someone rubs my feet and calves at some point, which feels like a wonderful release of blocked energy.
     After pushing for what feels like twenty minutes, Kelli checks me with her fingers, and finds a little bit of cervix still holding back my son's head. She pushes at it while I bear down, and it's much easier to figure out what muscles with which to push when I can feel her fingers. We get the last of the cervix away in that fashion, and the endorphins are making me crave sleep again. I hear myself saying, “a nap would be heaven” after every contraction, and finally, I decide to move back to my bed so I can rest between pushes without inhaling water.
     In a flurry of activity, all the ladies run around me, moving the birthing stuff back into the bedroom on the other side of the house, while Kelli helps me out of the tub. I notice my birth team blocking view of my body from the men as we make our way through the house, and feel like that was thoughtful of them, though I couldn't care less about being seen naked right now. Before I went into labor, I had a birthing outfit picked out, but once labor really started, naked was the only way I wanted to be. I am no longer ashamed of this large, incredible body, the body that conceived, housed, nurtured, and protected my baby as he grew.
     On the bed, I discover that lying on my side makes the contractions hurt, so for the most part, I stay in the chest and knees position, which lets me rest between contractions and almost sleep. I feel so out of it that I can't figure out how to sustain the pushes to move my baby out.
     I become frustrated, and the sound of the men talking in the other room distracts and irritates me, so I ask Rose to shut the door, not realizing that Dolphin is standing in the hallway.
     Kelli says, “How about we move you to the birthing stool, and let gravity help?”
     I stare at her like she's speaking in tongues for a moment, and when my foggy brain finally deciphers her question, I say, “Okay.”
     The birthing stool looks like someone turned a rocking chair on its side, but cut off the chair part, and then cut handles into each end of the curved runners. It's sturdy, though, and gives my birth team much more room to help me. Maggie and Kristie help me spread my thighs as far as they will go, and Kelli kneels between them, while Kristie contorts herself on the floor with her head under my butt to keep a hot compress against my perineum with one hand, and wipe away fecal matter with the other. They are all my heroes, and I am grateful at the matter-of-fact comportment of these experienced ladies, keeping me confident in my most vulnerable moments.
     On the birthing stool, with Kelli's assistance, I finally figure out how to push effectively, and then how to sustain it. I ask Kelli to use her fingers to guide me, so I can focus on pushing against them. I smell clary sage oil punctuated by occasional whiffs of my own feces at different points, and feel impressed all over again at how efficient the ladies are at keeping me clean and the floor and bed covered. I am so grateful that I feel so comfortable with them that I can poo on them and not feel bad or embarrassed about it.
     They know I can do it, and encourage me over and over. Incredibly attentive and intuitive, they know what I need and want before I do, half the time. Rose is also a huge help, just by helping them. She becomes an active member of my birth team, even though she's never witnessed a birth before. I could burst with pride for her.
     […]
     In the last fifteen minutes, the pushing urge becomes all consuming. I grunt louder and longer than I ever have before, pushing until I think I can't possibly push anymore, surprised when my body adds an extra, stronger push at the end of what I thought was all I could do. My throat is raw and I taste mucus from the grunting, as if I'm coughing up phlegm rather than vocalizing as I move my baby's head down my birth canal.
     I don't feel the infamous “ring of fire” when he crowns, just an itchy, stretchy feeling. My birth team sets up a mirror so I can see his head, but my glasses are still in the kitchen, so I reach down and touch him instead. His head feels like a slimy hairball, and I almost laugh, but suddenly, I can't think or do anything but push. My body totally takes over. His head comes out, and Kelli wipes his nose and mouth, then turns slightly to put down the cloth, whirling back around just in time to catch my baby as he shoots out of me, seconds after crowning. I almost laugh again at the wide-eyed expression on Kelli's face, which is the only face close enough for me to see without my glasses.
     But then she puts his warm, slippery body on my belly, and I cradle him to me, and the rest of the world ceases to exist. His head is covered in short brown hair, looking darker in the birth gore. His eyes are dark and almond-shaped, his nose flat and round, his lips full and perfect in his scrunched up, beautiful face. He could be any ethnicity in this moment. He is the entire human race, the past, present, and future. He is the entire universe, my universe, the overwhelming precious answer to every prayer I'll ever make.

Why I, personally, have chosen to NOT vaccinate my son.

I could write a book on this subject, but there are already decent books out there, and I doubt anyone would listen to someone without a PHD in medicine anyway...lol

I am not going to quote statistics or books or articles here...everyone is fully capable of doing their own research.  I will recommend Dr. Sear's book on vaccines because he talks about each vaccine individually, and I know many mamas who have chosen to selectively vaccinate or follow his delayed schedule, which works for them.

So, I'll start by saying that before I conceived my son, I believed what I had been taught - that vaccines were good, and that people who refused to vaccinate their children were either ignorant, or religious zealots, or both.

Then, I met my midwife, and through her I met many happy, healthy families who chose to not vaccinate.  During my journey towards my un-medicated, painless, joyful home birth, I learned to trust my body, to trust my instincts, and to question every belief I held.

My first question about vaccines was, "do they work?"  And the answer I found was, "sometimes."  Booster shots are necessary because vaccinated immunity can wear off, or never take; whereas true immunity, from exposure to the actual disease, usually lasts a lifetime.

Our immune systems are not separate from the rest of the systems in our body.  One of the flaws of our medical system, and of science in general, is that they look at pieces and bits and try to extrapolate what they learn about the bits to the whole.  Another flaw of the medical system is that it focuses on treatment rather than prevention.  Yet another is that healthy people simply don't go to the clinic or the hospital anywhere near as often as unhealthy people do.  Doctors, nurses, and other medical workers live in a world full of disease and damaged systems, usually of anonymous people that they see once a year or less when they are healthy.  They don't look at the body as a whole, they look at symptoms and do their best to deduce a diagnosis and treatment.  And they get it wrong.  Often.

Vaccination is supposed to be about prevention, but it doesn't always work.  The best way to prevent disease, and to recover quickly from it, is to keep the immune system and the body strong with enough sleep, enough water, enough nutrients from whole foods, enough exposure to the sun on a daily basis (approximately 20 minutes plus time for our bodies to absorb the vitamin D our skin produces before showering,) limiting sugar, animal products, and other processed crap, and enough exercise.  The medical world would rather sell insulin pumps than teach type 2 diabetics how to eat and exercise properly, for many reasons, and many people would rather pop pills and even get shots and surgery than change their lifestyles.

Vaccines are dangerous.  That has been proven without a doubt to my mind.  There are far more deaths and serious complications resulting from vaccination than there are deaths or permanent injuries due to the diseases vaccines are supposed to protect us from.

Herd immunity is a dangerous myth.  The idea that every one should be vaccinated to protect the few who can't be is flawed.  First, it relies on the idea that immune people can't carry a disease that they are immune to.  That is false.  Recently vaccinated people are far more dangerous to people with compromised immune systems than an unvaccinated person could ever be.

Even if we did eradicate all the disease that we vaccinate for (which we CAN TREAT,) different diseases would replace them.  We already have terrifying superbugs that we can't treat because of the excessive use of antibiotics, antivirals, and other drugs.

It also promotes the idea that unvaccinated children are disease factories, which is ludicrous.  My son is almost two and a half years old, and over his lifetime so far he has had a stomach bug for 48 hours, and a cold twice for 24 hours or less.  Meanwhile, I've had all of my shots, and before I went vegan, I was sick for two weeks out of every month.  Since I've changed my diet, I have only been sick for 24 hours or less two or three times - still more often than my son.

Unvaccinated children get sick less frequently than vaccinated children, especially if they are also breastfed.  Breastfed babies have their mother's immune system until their own immune system fully develops, around age 2.  That means, whatever we are immune to, they are.  And often, our breasts will give them the antibodies they need even when our own immune systems fail to do the same for us.  Nursing mamas often get sick while their babies remain healthy.

I also learned that diseases were already on the decline before vaccines were introduced, and in some cases, vaccines caused the incidences of certain diseases to increase.  Nutrition, clean water, and hygiene improved before vaccines were invented, and were already helping people's bodies fight the diseases.  Studies that "prove" vaccines are effective don't take other lifestyle or environmental factors into account.  They often are funded by groups that profit from the use of vaccines.

The most frightening thing is the preservatives, known carcinogens, toxins, and things that we don't know exactly what effect they have...in quantities too high for comfort, injected into the bloodstream of developing infants and toddlers, whose tiny bodies and high metabolisms make them much more susceptible than adults to adverse reactions.  And the vaccines we have now have not been around long enough to know what effect they will have in the long term.

From every thing that I have researched, it is my belief that the chemicals in vaccines, combined with the toxins in our foods, our environments, our clothes, our cosmetics, sunscreen, bug spray, soap, our water, the very air we breath, combine to weaken or wreck our immune systems, and disturb the chemistry of our blood and our brains, leading to an increase in every single problem a human can have.  Diabetes, Multiple Sclerosis, Cancer, Lupus, Autism, Depression, ADHD, and diseases we are giving new names to every day are constantly on the rise.  KIDS have all this stuff now!  The amount and frequency of vaccines has increased dramatically in the last twenty years, and so has the amount and frequency of health problems of the children who are injected.

One thing I have learned is that there is never just ONE cause.  But some things, when eliminated, can make a world of difference.  My son and I eat nutritious whole foods, organic when possible, drink plenty of liquids, limit the amount of toxic chemicals in our air and on our skin, get exercise outside every day, and give our bodies enough sleep, keeping them as strong as we can.  That's working for us, as it works for many, MANY other families.

I'm not anti-vaccine - I think they have their place.  In countries with poor access to clean water and nutritious food, and available treatment, vaccines can help.  But this isn't one of those countries, and vaccines have no place in my family.