ice

It started with ice...

Just a few cubes to make my water extra super cold and then the joy of chewing the melty bits…then the ice machine stopped being able to keep up with me. I chewed ice wantonly, like it was the most delicious snack in the world. I chewed until my tongue was numb and I couldn't speak properly. I snuck out of the house for cups of ice water from the shops with the best ice. I ranked them. I bought bags of ice at the local convenience store. It embarrasses me that I did this, but I was recovering from a mastectomy. I indulged myself in the seemingly harmless chewing of ice.

“This is a symptom of low iron, Ang.” It was a refrain I had in my head before anyone had ever said it. And then, unconsciously doing in front of friends and family, it was the same thing over and over—“You have low iron.” Like a petulant teenager, I would roll my eyes and say, "I know." I have had anemia on and off for years, so that seemed possible. Nothing too severe, but it caused some ice eating over the years. After a miscarriage…being a vegan. But nothing like this. My husband insisted that this was the worst thing I could ever do for my teeth.

“Your teeth are so important.”

Yes, I thought, it makes eating ice easier.

I casually mentioned it to my primary care physician, who just said, “Really? Eating ice? So, Pica...Let’s order a blood test and see what’s going on. How are your periods?”

“Severe right now. Menopause sucks.”

“Severe how?”

“I have bled and passed clots the size of my fist for weeks, then it stops for a week and starts again.”

“Time for a gyn appointment.”

And so it began…ultrasounds, pelvic exams, biopsies…and again, I am on the shitty side of the statistics.

…

Anemia has seriously kicked my ass this year. It has made me slow, easily fatigued, spacey, even more sensitive to my environment than I normally am as a misophonic intuitive with neurodivergency. Anxiety and fear loomed, as surgery loomed. The threat of two separate cancer diagnoses in one year hung over my large belly, like a dagger in mid-air pointed at my womb.

When I had my breast cancer diagnosis last year, it was not long before I was trying to create a sacred experience of my breasts and their imminent removal. But this, the womb, the space that held my babies, that housed sexual trauma and fear, that was the only place my Lucia lived, felt different. More intimate and vulnerable. I want to weave flowers through it, make a joke, be okay with it, but it is different. There is a latent shame here in my womb. What causes cancers in the womb? Sex? HPV? My slutty stage? Blackouts that ended up in the bed of an unknown person? Was it the grief? The half dozen pregnancies? Was it the healing I did for so many people?

I met with a surgeon. He was an old Turkish man, kind and gentle. He explained that he would have to remove my uterus, my ovaries, my fallopian tubes and my cervix. And then he said, “We have to ask what causes this cancer. It is your weight. And so, I suggest you have bariatric surgery.”

The womb is not a place to store fear and pain. The womb is to create and give birth to life.

I sat stunned at his words. But what do they tell thin women diagnosed with cancer? I have so many unknowns. And he tells me they know my weight caused this. Not the slutty stage. Can I go back to the slutty stage causing this?

My weight. My weight. It is a constant, stupid effing refrain. I worked intensively, intentionally, expensively one-on-one with an Intuitive Eating Coach and Dietician last year. I looked at my disordered eating, my constant yo-yo weight and dieting. How I have been trying to lose weight since before I was ever fat. She tried to undo diet culture in my brain. It was so ingrained and woven through everything that I am not sure it was ever successful, but it was liberating to be able to just see food as neutral. Not bad or good, just sustenance. She—thin, young and beautiful—assured me that taste and satisfaction matter with eating, that processed sugary food is just food. She taught me about what it means to feel full and feel satiated. “I am not sure I have an off button, though.” And she convinced me I do. She told me dieting has made me fat...and then brought receipts in the form of study after study. I believed her. Bringing mindfulness to my eating freed me in many ways. And yet, I still wanted and want to lose weight. I slowly started weighing myself again, and restricting calories. Cutting sugar, carbs. Fasting.

Then the small 75 year old doctor told me that Bariatric Surgery is easy and I should do it so I don’t have any more cancer. I started spiraling. Ice has zero calories.

The womb is not a place to store fear and pain. The womb is to create and give birth to life.

In a better moment, a few days after, I called another surgeon and made an appointment. He was horrified and got tears in his eyes when I told him what the first guy said. He said he cares about all of me, and besides, that is not even true. It wasn’t the slutty stage or the weight. It just happens.

Some things just happen.

The womb is not a place to store fear and pain. The womb is to create and give birth to life.

I am having a total hysterectomy in a few weeks. And so my womb will be gone and I will be thrust into immediate cronehood at 48. I am okay with this. My womb has caused blood and death and pain and now it causes fear. I am done with you, womb. You have served your purpose. Good riddance.

Sharon and I talk about why healers get sick. Why we can hold space for so many and then get struck with such difficult trials. Does healing cause illness? Are we shitty with boundaries? How much more protection can we do? I can add it to the list next to slutty stage. I don’t have any answer, but the womb is a vessel, a space that can hold fear and pain and stories…the stories of my clients and my ancestry and colonization and babyloss and sexual trauma…the stories of all the women. The stories of all the suffering.

The womb is not a place to store fear and pain. The womb is to create and give birth to life.

I am going to use this space in my low belly, the one left when my womb is removed, and fill it with flowers and love and radical self-acceptance in the way we do when we have done so much work we always look for a “Why” and “How” and “What was my role in my suffering?” but realize we just need mothering.

I just need mothering.

I just need to say everything is going to be okay. And I just need to love my giant belly and my cancerous womb.

Everything is going to be okay.

…

So, yeah, all that is to say I am having a huge surgery in early July. A total hysterectomy. My current diagnosis is pre-cancer in the endometrial lining. There is a 50% chance there is actual cancer there. Full pathology after surgery will let me know the truth of the matter, or if it is just the ticking time bomb of cells gone wild. I go for my routine check-ups, like my PAP smears and my Mammograms, which has been the reason I can catch these cancers so very early. If you learn nothing from my story, take this away. Check your boobs. Check your hooha. They are what kills women. Luckily, most endometrial cancers, when you catch them early, are cured by hysterectomy. So, whatever happens, I feel like the odds are in my favor.

I am taking time off from seeing clients and doing readings until I feel stronger. For now, July might be all I need, but I will let you know. I am encouraging everyone to make appointments for readings with me at Alta View Wellness Center in Harrisburg if you are local, or via Zoom if you are not in the next two weeks. I will be stacking appointments on Fridays at AVWC and Thursdays for distance sessions. My anemia is still going strong, so I need downtime, but if I have enough requests, I may add a weekend day between now and then.

Thank you always for the love and support. People always ask if they can send Reiki. I always feel so vulnerable in this area of my body and often limit people sending, but maybe I should do something different this time. If you have an opinion about this, let me know. I just always feel all the energies there and it feels violating, so maybe I need to switch that idea or flip it somehow. I just don’t know how to do that. But if you want to send, maybe just pray for now. I will ask for Reiki.

My love is always with you,

mothering

The breath catches in my chest. The cold hits me, energizes me. I am drawn outside. The winter air calls. I want to hike in the snow--to walk and walk and walk until I am way up in the mountains. The sound of my breath echoes in my ears, the cloud of it leading me deeper into the wood, higher into the ether. The sun flickers through the pine trees. It doesn't matter to me that it is cold. I dress warm, and stop when I grow tired, watch for signs of life. But that is not what happens when I step outside, daydreaming about walking for hours, rather a little one pushes through my legs and pops out the door ahead of me with no pants on, giggling wildly. I have children with me always. I wake up with a kid draped on me, his little feet finding a place to knead, a head finds its perch on a shoulder. When I close the door to wee in private, the door flies open, like the black hatted villain in a Western just slung open the Saloon door and is saddling up to the bar. Then it is the insistent, persistent calls for Mama, MAMMMMMMMMMMMA. Where you at? as my two year old says.

I was born maternal, nurturing my twin in the womb. Stuffed animals and baby dolls and then naming each fly that landed on my arm, and feeding it bits of water and fruit. Mothering is encoded in my dna, and writ on my body now is silvery stretch marks across my belly. I had three children in three years, then my fourth five years later. And I left my career to be there for my children. My body now is all mother--soft and low hanging breasts and lines around my smiles and eyes that show the love and joy my babies bring me.

For me, for many of us, mothering grants a daily spiritual experience. We bring this absolutely vulnerable being into this world, and then nurture it, watch it grow stronger. We love without conditions. We accept without limits. We give selflessly to them without a scorecard. Whether you mother human bubbies, or little fur babies, or your writing, or your artwork, or your home, or your own healing, the heart chakra cannot help but burst forth. 

And then imagine if we love ourselves this way. 

We would start a revolution. A wild love warrior revolution where we say to those negative voices, to the ones saying we aren't enough, or have enough, or give enough, "You are wrong, and I love you anyway too." Spiritual women and men often get teased about nurturing their inner child, as though it is a joke. And yeah, maybe it makes us sound a little woo-woo and emotional, but hell, I am a little woo-woo and emotional. I'm okay with that. The mothering of the Self is such a vital important part of us being able to mother anyone else.

As I continue on my work with Earth Medicine School in the second level, Pixie takes us deeper into who we are and what we do. And it has been an absolutely fascinating discovery into who I am. When I listed who I am, my first word was Mother.

I am a mother.

This is what I do all day. If you follow me on Instagram, I may post some artsy pictures of communing and meditating and doing cool artsy, bohemian stuff, but most days I am in the nitty gritty with a rambunctuous, curious, awesome, goofy two year old and two big kids with bigger emotional needs. I try to also post pictures of my kids crying too, because that is my life. It is all of it. The other day, for example, the baby had a bit of diarrhea, and screamed in ten minute increments on and off since he woke up. Because his bum hurts and he keeps pooping and he doesn't know what to do. And my job is to just hold him and rock him and change that smelly diaper and smooch his head and make sure he's hydrated and keep a stream of beauty coming so he can make it through an awful day.

When I go to work, I deal with people from all walks of life dealing with all sorts of issues, but maybe they too are in the same place as my son. They feel uncomfortable and don't know what to do.

I recenter my practice in what I know. When my children are feeling out of control, it is time to center. Breathe. Then I begin asking the questions:

Are you thirsty?  Drink water.
Are you hungry? Eat an apple.
Are you tired? Nap.
Are yousad? Cry.
Are you lonely? Call someone.

This is the same with my clients. Let's get simple. Let's breathe. Let's assess. Let's figure out your goals. What is uncomfortable for you right now? Is it your spirit? Is it your body? Is it your mind? Is it your heart? How are you uncomfortable? Are things too tight? Are they too loose? Is what you thought you had gone? Is it too heavy to carry? Is there a hole that needs to get filled? This sounds very basic, but it is the checklist I make in my head when I talk to a client. 

Nurturing comes by from setting boundaries some days. Other days nurturing is a warm blanket and tea with a good book. Other times it is saying yes to help. We don't mother each project the same nor do we treat each issue the same in session. With clients, I am a source of acceptance and non-judgment. How could I judge? I have worked on all kinds of people. People that look scary, people that look beautiful, soccer moms, alcoholics, witches, Christians, Buddhists and everything in between. I've worked on ex-cons and drug addicted moms and people with cancer and people who have survived the unthinkable. And whenever I close my eyes, their guides come. ALL of their gorgeous angels and spirit guides, animal guides and ascended masters come in droves expressing absolute, perfect love. They don't smell the cigarette smoke or judge that this person cusses when ordering take-out. I can feel that perfect love for each person. There is never judgment there. Only a suggestion, a reminder of our ability to release what is no longer serving, sometimes a redirection, but the thing that blows me away every time I work on a client is the amount of immense love, overwhelming love, Spirit has for us. It is profound. It is unconditional. Spirit loves us like we love our babies, with absolute awe and wonder, with reverence and endless compassion. And Spirit says what I so often tell my clients, "I wish you could see yourself the way Spirit sees you." As light. As love. As a heart. As a baby. As a wise sage. Who am I to judge when Spirit does not? It is overwhelming powerful and humbling.

But mothering isn't just about love, it is about constructing frameworks and boundaries, teaching ethics and how to behave in lovingly firm ways. I am not necessarily warm always. I am pretty masculine at times, blunt and to the point to avoid confusion about my expectations, but I like to laugh. And practice loving my clients as I love my children with awe and reverence and patience.

How are you showing up in your life? Who are you and how does that filter through your work? What or who are you mothering these days and how does it differ from the way you mother yourself?