Holding Mothers with Kindness: Imbolc Reflections on Motherhood, Yoga and Healing in Northumberland

Imbolc Reflections on Motherhood and the Body

Another winter season halfway through. I quite like winter. That permission slip to stay indoors, to not go places, to enjoy the outdoors in shorter bursts. To get properly dirty! To splash in puddles and have your nervous system reset by the wind!

I feel this winter particularly in my soul. It marks the end of a seven-year cycle of motherhood for me. I fell pregnant around the middle of March 2019, so as we approach the spring I have also been reflecting on my first seven years as a mother.

I chose my word for the start of the year around the winter solstice… integrate.

So much has changed, shifted, transformed in the last seven years, and I really wanted to take this winter season to reflect, pause, acknowledge and witness the woman or maiden I was, and her journey into the woman and, of course, mother I have become.

Seven Years of Motherhood: A Journey of Integration

I feel as though I might reflect on each year individually over the next few weeks if time allows and if my creative spark stays alight. I seem to be getting so many ideas landing at the moment that some of those may be written about before I dive deeper into each of my seven years.

But this Sunday, with the promise of a full moon rising that night, I headed to the beach alone.

It was so, so misty, but not too cold, and I drove to a part of the coast (just five minutes away) that has witnessed all of the iterations of me over the last seven years.

I have walked along there with a nausea that was all-consuming, so loud in my head as well as my tummy it stole weeks of my life in both pregnancies. I have jogged along at 27 weeks pregnant. I have also waddled at 40 weeks pregnant, and hobbled two weeks after giving birth.

In my dreams I birthed a baby in the dunes here. Perhaps in another life I will. Maybe I have already.

Pregnancy, Birth and the Changing Body

The sea has witnessed my complete unraveling at 4.30am on a July morning, and a softening into the sleep deprivation in October 2020, when I often wandered to witness the 6am sunrise. A sleeping William strapped to the front of my body, beginning to bear more weight onto a body that felt completely broken. Shoulders to pelvic floor to feet. All of it hurting with every step. A tiredness so deep it consumed my very essence.

I have laughed so much my heart hurt with two-year-old William. Sat alone and cried. Created some of the most inspired offers. Dreamed about the future.

The water held me at 38 weeks pregnant as I swam in the sea in my second pregnancy. The tide rushed to meet Beatrice the first time she visited this piece of sacred beach, strapped to my chest, a deep sadness in my heart (I can’t remember why, but I know I cried a lot that particular visit).

This piece of beach has witnessed me in all of the change and beauty that motherhood brings. I feel completely safe here. So held. So free, yet completely connected.

Listening to the Body: Strength, Recovery and Compassion

I walked along the dunes, the sun setting to my left, the sea lapping the edges of the dunes to my right. The promise of a moon rising somewhere behind the thick cloud, drawing the highest of tides to the shore. Eventually I stopped at the bottom of the biggest dune. One I have looked at many a time and never actually climbed all the way to the top.

I could see the sky gently turning red, the light of the full sun just out of my vision. I decided I’d try to climb to the top. To see how it felt in my body. How my ankles, knees and hips would respond.

I climbed it with ease, cacao in hand, and as I approached the top a clearing in the long grass framed the most beautiful picture of a burning red sun reflected in the water of the wetland below. A barn owl silently circling the lower dunes. A soft “wow” escaped my lips. Beautiful.

Just stunning.

As I looked around, a tear came to my eyes. Seven years. Seven years of motherhood, the finding of a soul, the discovery of my purpose, grief, heartache, joy. I decided that I would climb the hill seven times. It felt symbolic of the journey travelled as the wheel of another year turns again.

Why Mothers Need Gentle, Compassionate Spaces

Each journey up I reflected on the matching year in my motherhood. The first year brought sickness, loss of control and the realisation that not everything could be planned. The second year brought the birth of a child I honestly never thought would arrive safely, COVID and isolation. The third, sleep deprived and finding my feet in new soul or heart work. The fourth year was a good one. Lots of adventures! And a conception. The fifth full of pregnancy sickness, an incredible birth and life-changing fourth trimester. The sixth year a struggle personally, easing back into work, understanding my worth in our family ecosystem, and an evolution of heart — my work no longer just movement, but about holding women in safety, nourishing them deeply with knowledge, but also simply witnessing them as they are in the moment.

And all of this has enabled me to find my self-worth. The most powerful knowledge to hold.

The seventh year has gifted the understanding that my self-worth seems to be having a transformative effect on all of us. Magic happening at home, in my work, and my children continue to bring inspiration, lessons and a bit of sparkle every day in some small (or big) way.

Holding Women Safely Through Yoga and Touch in Northumberland

I was careful of my footing as I climbed and realised I was finding my own boot imprints from the previous climb, straying occasionally to a route I thought looked more stable. A representation of my journey, really. A few stray decisions, but generally coming back to myself. My strength. My power.

It wasn’t actually hard to climb seven times, and writing this three days later the ache I have in my legs is more to do with the amount of chair pose I have taught this week in my yoga classes across [Added for SEO: Northumberland].

My heart rate increased, yes of course, but it never felt impossible. It felt good! Energising. I don’t do a huge amount of cardio now as I move so much daily. I also still struggle with heaviness in my pelvis when running, and during certain points of my cycle. I know what I need to do to support my recovery, but right now, while breastfeeding, getting back into the gym more than once a week feels too heavy. My body wouldn’t manage. It would break somewhere else.

I sat down after the seventh climb and I cried again for the second Sunday in a row — you can read my words from last Sunday’s trip here.

I still hurt in my bones for the maiden I was in those first three years. She so desperately needed to be held safely. To be witnessed in her transition into motherhood in spaces that were non-judgemental, quiet and soft. Her body needed holding too. Not in a gym forcing movements that caused more uncomfortable sensations, but by someone who deeply understood how she was feeling and also witnessed her imbalances that came with her from her maiden years. Biomechanics, not rocket science. Understanding, not advice or therapy.

Creating the Space I Once Needed as a Mother

And as I write this now, I am so proud of the maiden. Blown away by her courage, her tenacity, her certainty in her intuition being right — that eventually she learnt how to surrender to it. To become a mother.

I now create what I so deeply needed, and have had so many beautiful words from mothers over the last two months confirming my work is needed in this wild world.

“You allowed me to be soft and kind with myself in a world that is not.”

“Your calm presence inspires how I try to mother my daughter.”

“Your knowledge of the body and how to adapt any yoga pose to support the individual is just incredible.”

“Something today soothed my soul, thank you so much again for providing such a soft, beautiful space for mothers to land.”

Seven years to build a woman that will walk through life now so differently.

Seven years to birth two babies and a business that is holding mothers exactly as I wanted to be held.

There is more magic to be found in the soul. My womb is the next fortress waiting to be released. I cannot wait to see where she guides me and the lessons she has to transform me into a matriarch and then a crone.