I did a brave thing

Okay, for me it was a brave thing. It is part of a shift of identity, so not brave in that the sense I worked on conquering my slight fear of heights, or claustrophobia, which is a more intense fear. Nope, nothing like that.

I edited my books. More specifically I edited my collection of birth related books. As part of finally working on my office, I sat down with myself and the dozens of books, most of which had been lovingly chosen to support my work with families. After about nine years of this work, there were about a small bookcase worth, not as many as some, but a considerable portion of my collection of books. What this means is that I am growing to accept that I have expanded out of that role, that by going to graduate school, I made a committment to working with families in new ways. I cannot imagine saying I will never go to another birth, that feels so final, so so sad. Part of what has made this so hard is the last birth I attended, almost a year ago, was so hard for me. In a way it broke the last thread of patience I had for the work. This is very hard to accept, I would have liked to go out so differently. Maybe that's part of why I cannot say I won't go to another birth.

I loved the work, I really did. In working on my office, I found a journal, mostly empty, but covered the period of when I started doula work. The hope, the passion that were on those pages felt so hopeful, so naive, and so brave. I would like to think I maintained a lot of that through my career. I think I did. Mostly. I felt brave everytime. I felt scared everytime. I could swear there were many moments at births where the earth stood still just to watch. That is what I miss the most, I think. It's hard to say what about being part of this moment I will miss the most. I suspect there are lots of "mosts" for me.

The thought that I could be "broken" in my spirit is perhaps the hardest piece for me. My faith in people was messed with so much, my values not shared, my soul given each time. I wish I knew why I couldn't be fed more, in the end, by the work. It sounds funny to call it work, it was in that it was a job that paid some bills, but it was so much more than that. There are many women who find being a doula is a calling, I can't say that. I also find it hard to call it a career, a job, or work. Maybe there isn't a word that sums it up for me. I found honour in the process, in being invited (regardless of getting paid it is an invitation), in being a witness. Being a doula is one of the most invigorating and exhausting things I think one can do for work, for passion, whatever the word.

I just thought of the buddhist phrase, "right livelihood". That's closer for me, given my studies and interpretation of the buddhism. It fit but ultimately the things I saw, experienced, and struggled with, meant it no longer could fit me for where I am, on my path toward not exactly enlightment, but an ever growing sense of evolved, being at something like peace. I yearned for those moments. That incredible sense of peace, of all being right in the universe, when the world stood still during a birth. It felt, I imagine, like the high some people get from drugs. There was a birth I went to about a year ago, maybe even a year ago today, had that moment. I ran on that for days. I can still run on it, when I really embrace the memory. Maybe if I had more of those to feed my soul I could have kept doing it the work, or could have left it with more grace than I feel I have had. Maybe this post will help release some of the bitterness so that I can still draw on the moments, and there were many really, that did fed me. I hope so.