The Labyrinth of Birth, An Unexpected Journey

After plowing through my last reading assignment, I wanted to jump right into "Labyrinth of Birth" by Pam England. I was lucky to find Cut, Stapled, & Mended (CSM) in our public library, but was not so lucky with the Labyrinth. Before spending money on a book I wasn't sure I'd derive any value from, I confess, I read all the reviews on Amazon. Most seemed pretty crunchy with five stars praising its worth. Then there was the glaring single star review that said that the book was ok in the way of being arts fartsy, but was essentially a waste of money when it came to childbirth, spend your money elsewhere. Hmmmmm…I decided to try to keep an open mind, while quieting my inner cynic.

The mailman was knocking on my door the day I finished CSM, and I didn't want to lose any steam. I tore open the envelope and began reading what I expected was a mediative book on delivery; something to help me relax, go with the flow. The subtitle of the book says, "Creating a Map, Meditations and Rituals for Your Childbearing Year." I guess I thought it would be easy, if anything, easier than Cut, Stapled, & Mended. No graphic depictions of surgery or emotionally charged chapters. Just flowers and humming, swaying, and pretty pictures.

Boy, was I wrong. This book is hard. Not hard in terms of the words on the page, or the concepts put out. Hard as in real work. It is a book that is not meant to just be read, it is meant to be experienced.

Early in the book, you are asked to draw your own labyrinth, including foot prints, a threshold, and symbolic entry decor. Well…I decided I'd skip that part and do it later. I wanted to finish the book. Period. After that, I'd go back, do the drawings or dance naked in the backyard banging a tambourine or whatever.

Nope. Doesn't work that way.

WTF am I doing?!

Of course you can read on skipping the drawings part, which I did for a half a chapter. However, I felt like I was missing a connection I was supposed to be making. What Pam was talking about in the following chapters REALLY required you to not skip any steps. I soon realized if I tried to skip steps, tried to skip the work required to truly experience this book, I was missing the entire point.

Reboot to tonight, I did my first drawing and BOY WAS IT EYE OPENING. I actually started one and then scrapped it because I was pressing so hard when I drew that I snapped my crayon clean in half. Oops.

So here it is (don't laugh, I'm a crummy artist):

So many symbols, so many realizations

Okay let's talk about this. First things first, Pam recommends that you use a sheet of paper you can fold in your pocket to take with you and hang near where your birth journey will take place. I personally grasp concepts better when they are written large. I did my drawing on a giant post-it board, the kind that you use in meetings or to play Pictionary. She also recommends using pastels in case you make a mistake you can buff it out. Well, I hate pastels, they are messy and I had tons of other art supplies. Plus, I didn't want to spend more money. I am cheap. In hindsight, however, they were probably purposefully suggested. Looking at the illustrations in the book, the examples drawn by her students have this organic feeling; this smoothness and flow. I, on the other hand, used a Sharpie marker. While I was initially satisfied with it's clean, crisp look, I now feel that it looks very ridged and unforgiving. Hmmm….

(Inner thought to meditate on: The rigidity of the walls of my labyrinth. Is this symbolic of my anxiety and search to maintain control? Perhaps symbolic of my cesarean cuts, the tight line of the scar?)

This is a 7 circuit labyrinth, which is referred to as the "classic". It is the one that the book instructs you how to draw for your first. It is round which indicates it is feminine; a square is considered masculine.

Labyrinths can be left-handed or right-handed. The "handedness" refers to the first turn you make as you enter the "mouth" or entrance of the labyrinth. An initial right turn is associated with "Great-Feminine", while a left turn is associated with "Divine-Masculine".

I struggled with this initially, trying to decided if I wanted a masculine or feminine labyrinth. It seems like a person woman on a birth journey would naturally chose a the feminine. Honestly, I have never really associated with women, so I thought masculine might be a better option for me.

Then, I thought back to the times when I wanted women around me and how there were few, if any, present. I struggled to find women to be my bridesmaids, come to bridal and baby showers, and other traditionally female times. In a way, my journey mirrored Roanna Rosewoods from CSM, as she had the same difficulty of connecting with women. I feel really alone when I look back and realize that I essentially had good number of acquaintances standing with me up on by the alter when I should've been surrounded by my best friends. Roanna must have felt the same way at her blessing-way.

I didn't want this journey to be like that one. So, in the end I chose the feminine. Thankfully so, because that is the one the book teaches you step by step to draw.

Let's go, Ladies.

I tried to just draw and let it happen. You might ask why I chose the color blue for my lab when I was intent on trying to be more feminine. Truth be told, it's because I am hoping our next baby will be a boy. So, in honor of this symbolic journey to meet him, I chose blue. I also chose blue because I wanted the labyrinth color to be soothing like water.

The paths are supposed to be wide enough so you can trace them with your fingers while saying your mediations. Check. Before I added the other parts like the feet and vines, I thought my lab looked somewhat like a placenta. HARK! Am I on the right path?

Next you are supposed to add the feet at the entrance of your lab, about 2 inches from the entrance. I chose to make the feet red for multiple reasons. First, red symbolized the blood of the surgeries I have endured, and the hundreds of shots of blood thinners I had to take while pregnant. Red is also a powerful color, and I wanted my walk to be powerful and with purpose. After I drew them I noticed they were not square with the entrance to the labyrinth:

Which way are we going?

This WAS NOT done on purpose. I don't know what else to say other than my subconscious played its hand here. Shit is getting deep.

(Inner thought to mediate on: Does my feet not being square with the entrance symbolize that I am unsure I want to continue on the road of a VBA2C or to continue on the route of a scheduled cesarean?)

Next you are to draw a threshold, a symbol of transition and transcendence. I decided to draw a tangled vine of flowers. Firstly, because I feel I can draw a half decent flower. More importantly, I wanted the mess of vines to represent the complexity and convolutedness of this journey. The analogy of following a vine from root to flower rings very very true to me. One can easily be led astray by following the wrong curly-cue, and get tangled in a web of thorns, fear, and doubt. You're tempted to hack through to find the answers you want quickly, but that kills the vine. Your birth journey is both tangled and intertwined with other women and your care providers, whether they are doctors, midwives, or lay support. Sometimes your vine takes a divergent path than that which you or your provider wants. Are they going to force you to grow their way, pruning and securing you to the "trusted" path. Or are you going to curl off in a different direction, finding your own sun and soil? Yes, I feel a vine is apt.

Lastly, you are supposed to decorate the entrance of your lab with an image that holds symbolic meaning. I chose to draw an old-fashioned key. I chose an old-fashioned key because I feel like it symbolizes the wisdom of women who have already completed this journey, who can help us younglings to find the tools we need to be successful. I chose a draw a red ribbon on the key to again, emphasize the femininity of a beautiful ribbon and power in the color red.

Women are the key to finding the answers needed on this birth journey.

Once the lab is completed, you are supposed to trace it, slowly and purposefully. Again, in a rush to get an item checked off my list, I tried to race through to make sure I didn't make any mistakes. I got lost, the lines ran together. I started again. I moved too fast. I got lost again…and again…and again…………….and again. That's when I went back to the book to see what I was doing wrong. You are supposed to go SLOWLY with your non-dominant hand, while saying a mediation. I decided to reserve the mediation for later, but I proceeded with an eye roll and a sigh to use my non-dominant hand to slowly trace the labyrinth. "This is stupid," I was thinking. "What difference does it make what speed I go, it's all going to just run together anyway.""In, to the center, turn around back out again, right?"

Well, not exactly. What I found really interesting (and perhaps personally symbolic) is that I not only did NOT get lost when I went slow, but the path went differently than I thought it would. I mean intuitively, I thought I would enter, then sharply go to the outer most circuit, working its way to the innermost circuits and back out. What really happened is that you are almost tricked into thinking you are taking this shortcut to the center before you are swung back out into the outer circuit. This realization was probably the most symbolic discovery of this whole exercise. It was teaching me that I was looking for a quick answer to the middle, to the birth I wanted. But that is not how this journey works.

No shortcuts on a spiritual journey.

I truly have many things to think about.

Cut, Stapled, on the Mend?

I was approximately six weeks postpartum when I finally broke down and asked my doula to come for her postpartum visit. She had been asking me since week two to come, and I just couldn't bear it. I had been delaying this visit as long as rationally possible. I anticipated a judgmental tone, a "you let us all down" undertone to the whole meeting. I just couldn't face her.

When it finally became embarrassingly far out from my delivery date, I couldn't stall any longer. She had other clients to see, loose ends to tie up. She stopped by on a hot summer day, quiet and thoughtful.  She asked me how I was feeling, but she didn't need glasses to see through the pleasantries I was offering. I was in bad shape and she knew it. There was nowhere to hide.

She started off delicately, sticking to the "factual" type details of the visit: "How's the baby feeding?" "Are you feeling any pain?""Any concerns?"I tossed her a bone: "the baby spits up a lot, it's kind of worrisome." After that exchange, she stepped up to the plate, boldly stepping into the fire:

"How are you doing?"

"I'm okay."

"Mmmhmmm…?

"You know, kind of having a hard time." I said nonchalantly with a shrug. I couldn't look into her eyes. She knew. She knew I was a total mess. She looked at me expectantly, waiting…the silence was cacophonous.

Before I knew it, words were tumbling out faster than I string them together. The tears flooded my face. I cried that pitiful cry; the one where you're gasping for air as you try to talk. And she let me. She let me fill the space with my sadness, anger, and shame. Then, I was holding back something. Things that I'm not sure I am even ready to write.

I worried she secretly resented me as a client, no matter gentle and attentive she was coming across. At the time, I can say that this silent presentness upset me very much. It was like a friendly tabby, quietly sitting in the corner watching, listening, an occasional flick of the tail. The eyes are watching thoughtfully, the ears listening attentively, but what does that tail flick mean?

I didn't want a quiet, thoughtful response. I didn't want space. I needed someone to catch me. I was drowning, but I couldn't ask for a life preserver. I should have told her, but I didn't. I couldn't be any more pitiful than what she was already witnessing. So, I just shut it down. Numbness, information seeking, compartmentalizing.

Self preservation.

One of the first things she recommended was reading "Cut, Stapled, and Mended", which she confessed would be a difficult read. I dutifully wrote down the title and scrawled "difficult to read" next to it on a scrap of paper from an old spiral notebook.

This scrap of paper has been beckoning from the junk drawer for 7 months. Every time I picked it up, my hastily scribbled note scared me away. The scrap went back into the drawer, back into the dark. Another time, another day perhaps.

After my previous post, putting it out there for the world to see, I very well couldn't back down. To the drawer, out comes the paper. The search was on, the book ordered. This was Monday.

Today is Friday, and guess what folks:

BAM!

Truth be told, I liked it. It was a quick, candid read. It felt authentic, real. Half of the words were the very same that I had shared with others about my own negative birth experiences. All I could do was nod along as Roanna chronicled her sadness, her desperation for answers, her trials and failures. She went to extreme measures, even beyond what I think most would consider Eastern or homeopathic measures to achieve her goal. Without giving too much away, she knew what she had done did not work the first or second time, but undeterred she kept trying. Kept growing.

A question formed in my head: "Why did my doula have me read this?" Was she trying to tell me I needed to resort to the extremes that Roanna did? (drinking frog extract, seeing a psychic, boiling a root for 30 days and drinking the tea it produced, taping magnets to my body) Or was it simpler?

Well I asked her today over coffee. Her simple answer was: "I wanted you to know it could be done."
Simple as that. Did I have to go through all Roanna's extremes. No. But it is important to know what my personal limits are, and then take it to that level. That way, I can tell myself, as Roanna did, "I did everything I could."

I'm frustrated that I didn't do this sooner. The book was not the big, bad, scary beast I thought it was. Although, it might have been the day, the week, the month after my doula's visit. She told me she could see a change in me, one that I cannot yet see. Maybe this is a sign, a sign to keep on going. To try the next hardest step.

Maybe it's time to talk about Lollipop's birth…well, at least try to talk about it while I tackle, "The Labyrinth of Birth." It serendipitously arrived on my front porch this very afternoon.