I loved my freedom and the hundreds of hours a month I could pour into my work, studies, clients, and self before I had my kiddos. That life lit me up. There was risk, and there was reward. There was an edge I could play at, where I felt fully alive, aligning myself day by day with my purpose and honing my skills.

I’m slightly embarrassed to admit that before I had kids, when I saw women with young children, I was obscurely repelled. They seemed less cool, less free, and less clear about who they were and what brought them alive. They seemed so tired and so bound.

And yet, I envisioned a future in which I had a family. When I got pregnant, I remember thinking, “I will never be an exhausted mother.” I was determined to keep my freedom while being fully engaged with my kiddos. I was going to wear my baby and teach classes, hike, and be in community. I imagined my calm, happy demeanor would serve my baby and show her a life well-lived.

What’s that saying? “We make plans, and God laughs.” That was indeed the case for me.

Eight years of being up 2-8 times a night between my two kids, a middle pregnancy that ended too early, a highly ambitious husband building a business, and my kiddos having a wide range of emotions in which my “calm and happy,” were truly not enough to meet their needs… and why not throw in a pandemic and deep friendship pains?

Another unexpected part of entering motherhood was the mama guilt I felt when I asked for help or took any time away. The often unappreciated, unpaid work at home felt overwhelming, and the unconscious expectations of the primary caregiver—so different from those of the “secondary” caregiver (often reflecting outdated female/male roles in heterosexual relationships)—were shocking to my system. Simultaneously, these dynamics were almost unnoticeable because it’s the water I (we) swim in. So how do I make a request for a different way when it just seems to be the unspoken expectation of society?

Life was probably like, “She would be a VERY annoying mom if we gave her easy-ish kids, enough sleep, and an updated household! She’ll tell everyone to just keep a sleep schedule, breathe, and enjoy the moment. Let’s break this chick down. Let’s bring her to her knees.”

Touché, life, touché.

When demands far outweigh support, nervous system resourcing is a lifeline.

On the days I could barely get out of bed, I used nervous system tools to keep my spark alive—just enough. Enough to speak my truth within my marriage when it needed it. Enough to change friendship dynamics when they were too far out of line. Enough to find gratitude for small moments. Enough to co-regulate with nature. Enough to speak up for my desires here and there. Enough to make life decisions that moved me toward more support, more internal and external resources, and a new reality.

When basic needs are met, nervous system resourcing is a bridge from coping to thriving.

My life has a more beautiful range than it did before having kids. Risk and reward, and playing at an edge of comfort and the unknown are back. But now I am also a person who loves slow, who cherishes connective time in ways I never knew before. I have deeper friendships, more time with nature, and less time with my work. I ask for way more help. My desires and needs matter within my family. I have more boundaries, more clarity, more snuggles, and more hard conversations that lead to deeper truths and a deeper knowing of myself and other. I’m able to pause when I feel triggered and resource myself before reengaging (most of the time!). My kids have room for their feelings because I’ve made room for my own feelings. I’m in a partnerships that has received more honest devotion than I’ve ever known. I’ve never been more proud of who I am in life and the relationships I’ve cultivated.

So here I am over 9 years later and I see women with kiddos (and truly all women in middle age and beyond) who have any semblance of self and I am in awe. The depths they have traveled, the love they have felt, the grief they have experienced, the beauty they have created, the cycles they have been through, all have me bowing at their feet. I am compelled to be near them, to hear their stories and to show up with layers of support because I believe we are the revolution.

Nervous system resourcing helps us make decisions on behalf of the heart, and on behalf of the parts that need to take an authentic risk to feel alive (however tiny or massive it is perceived from the outside).

I acknowledge that death is a vital part of life. When we go through matrescence, we experience the death of the maiden, the death of the independent one, the death of relationship patterns that no longer serve (or maybe never served), the death of “work above all,” and possibly the mini deaths of the people pleaser.

With every death, there is a birth: the birth of the mother, of the protector, the organizer, the birth of immense love, the birth of the one who needs community, who needs help, who needs boundaries, who sees time as a valuable rare resource, and the birth of the one who must learn to exist on the other side of matrescence as a sovereign deeply caring woman.

This is the heroine’s journey, and I’d love to take it with you because we were never meant to do it alone.

What this course is not: This course is not about perfectionism.

This course is not about a pain-free life.

What this course is: This course is a support system meant to expand capacity for both the hard and the joyful.

This course is about pattern breaking, working edges, and finding resources so you can find yourself and do the next right thing (which may simply be pausing or saying no).

This course will offer nervous system maps that will help you orient to where you are, and where you want to go.

This course will also help you claim your sovereignty within your partnerships (but that is your work to decide when and at what pace!), and how to be a curious and active part of an interdependent ecosystem.

Most importantly this course is about community.