A Heart Centered Life
healing the world one heart at a time

I’m always amazed by what life makes (especially when we have no idea what is actually happening behind the scenes) and how those minor and major upsets, often turn out to be huge blessings, bringing more to us than we could have ever imagined.

So, lets go back several months when (I THOUGHT) I was down on my luck:  I was almost 8 months pregnant when our cottage was flooded and the landlords followed up the event with an email suggesting my beloved and I find a new place to live.  We were devastated.  We were, for lack of a better description, SHOCKED, scared, and suddenly, homeless.  Our first stroke of luck came when we were able, last minute, to get into a sublet — but that was temporary and left us scrambling as we searched high and low to find a new place to live.  We were in the SF Bay, living on one income and found we could no longer afford to live there.  

As we weighed the odds and pondered our future, we discussed the possibility of returning to Portland where Sa’id had been born, we both had family and friends, and I had lived on and off throughout my twenties.  While it was not ideal for me (I was deeply vested in my life in the bay), I was aware that there was not a door opening for us there and it might be time to look at other options.  After countless sleepless nights and a baby that could come any day, we decided to go to Portland.  Grieving the loss of my home, my friends and clients, and the california sunshine, we put our things in a pod and headed north.

We arrived with a plan to stay, temporarily, with my friend Polly while we got our bearings, found a place to live, and had a chance to settled in.  We thought it would be weeks.  It turned out to be months.  And while there were certain difficulties we faced not having our own space, being at Polly’s was another blessing among many that made our transition doable and relatively stress free (though i will say moving to another city and leaving behind a life you’re deeply connected to during your 8 month in pregnancy is in no way, stress-free!)  

Sa’id struggled to find work and I grew increasingly scared, and more and more uncomfortable as i neared the end of my pregnancy.  Looking back, with the perspective I now have, i know it was a time of turning things over to God in a deeper way than I had previously been able to do.  It was a time to deepen my faith and have trust that there is a beneficent being out there, that loves me completely and meets my every need.  In allowing Him to be the One in charge takes so much worry out of my days.  My heart has been cleaned and I walk now, in closer proximity to The One I call God. When I felt helpless, He brought help, when fearful He soothed my mind, and when confused about why I was spending my nights away from ‘Paradise’ (my old haunts) with no place of my own to nest in and worried about why nothing had yet to open for us, He encouraged patience within me.  Turns out He was, as always, right! 

During our stay, Polly and I rekindled our friendship, got to know each others beloved’s, and my husband and I were granted the holy offering of giving birth in their home since we had not yet found a place of our own (which was an incredible experience I will write more about later).  

Looking back on those stressful months, I barely recognize them as mine.  Here I am, seven months later, feeling more blessed than I could have ever imagined.  We have finally landed in our own place–a beautiful new condo in the heart of Irvington neighborhood here in Portland, a stones throw away from everything we could possibly ever need.  I have a great job which allows me ample time with Sa’id and the little guy, and Sa’id has started school for music production, a life long dream of his (and much to his surprise, he’s finding he’s very good, though I never doubted his talents for a second!), and together, our relationship is thriving.  

I never could have imagined what I had to gain in letting go of a life that no longer suited me and my best interest (at least for now — I do hope to one day return to the California sun!).  I thank you God, and each and every person that has pitched in, sent prayers and have befriended us in our transition.  We could not have done it without the help of so many.

My husband and I moved somewhat suddenly and very unexpectedly from California to Oregon in my 8th month of pregnancy.  This transition was more stressful than I care to remember but one saving grace of the move, and what tuned out to be just one blessings among many was giving birth to our son, at home.  

Through a series of rather serendipitous events I met, via email, a woman named Wendy who would become our midwife .  She was helpful, supportive, and strong.  I liked her immediately.  After meeting her in person, we were certain the choice to have a home birth was definitely for us, and that having her or someone from her practice be part of our home birth team would be an honor.

One of the other blessings that came our way was the support of Kristi, a lovely, generous woman who would become our doula.  She was just about to finish up her doula training, and we were to be her last practice delivery in order for her to get her certification.  It was a perfect match for both of us.

While we had less than two months to solidify a relationship with these women, one that would require deep trust on both our parts and a bond that most families would have started with their midwives prior to, or just after conceiving, we knew it was the right thing to do.  We met weekly and ended up creating a trusted bond, one that meant I could totally rely on them when the moment came for me to really lean on and into them, and 6 hours into my labor, I really did!

It was 930 pm on April 21st, a Monday night.  My husband and I were lying in bed chatting when the first contraction came.  It was strong and I knew it was one that meant things were starting, and our boy was on his way.  Yet my feelings were mixed because I didn’t want to get ahead of myself.  I had no previous experience with child birth and didn’t know if they might just be Braxton Hicks contractions, not the real thing.   I grabbed our Pregnancy bible, searched carefully for the section that would remind us how to time the contractions, and confirm one way or another what we were dealing with.  

Those next few moments were heightened and seemed to go slowly, as we watched the seconds tick by, but by 950, we were pretty certain they were not Braxton Hicks contractions  -  they were coming every 90 seconds or so and were lasting for almost 30 seconds, which meant, according to the book, that  we were suddenly in the first stages of active labor.  After an hour of monitoring the contractions, we knew it was time to call for help.  First, Sa’id called our Doula, Kristi, then put in a call to our Midwives, telling them he thought it would be a good idea for them to come on over.   Everyone was there by 11:45pm.

I can’t really remember all of the details of the next few hours, bec they flew by as I found and got used to the rhythm of my contractions, but I know that I could not have made it through the process without the deep holding and care each of them gave.  I remember moments, snippets of the process, and feel so blessed to have been given so much love during those long hours while waiting for our little guy to join us. 

Kristi came first, putting on a beautiful CD — one that my Sufi community had made — It was healing chants we do during our spiritual practices and my heart cried with joy as I heard those melodious tones reverberating through my being.  This was perfect.  I was overwhelmed by her deep care, and connection to my needs, having thought them through before I even knew what they would be.  I chanted, and sang, while breathing through the height of my pain.  She encouraged me to move around on the yoga ball and the floor to ease the intensity.  She kept me hydrated, put a cold cloth upon my forehead, and allowed me to squeeze her hand whenever I needed, and that turned out to be alot. 

Wendy and Alisha, the midwives, came shortly thereafter, and were a great help themselves.  They offered soothing words of comfort and helped me in and out of the bath during my transitions as labor progressed.  They talked me through my fear and my not thinking I could possibly go on any longer. They assured me my body was doing exactly what it was supposed to be doing and shared that I was progressing in a more than reasonable amount of time.  

When I thought I couldn’t take it another moment, Alisha suggested we check to see how much I had dilated.   9.5 centimeters.  I felt relieved, and excited.  My body was doing what it was supposed to be doing and we were getting closer.  I had been in and out of the bath a few times, as the water was helpful in easing the intensity of the contractions, but now, we were back in the bedroom and I was tired, certain I couldn’t take it another moment.  

Alisha, one of the midwives assured me with her strong loving voice and we all settled in for the next few hours as my body worked to move the baby down into the birth canal.  Sa’id was present, and helpful, holding me through the whole process.   After a bit of rest on the bed, I headed back to the tub.  The urge to push finally came.  Alisha and Wendy monitored the fetal heart rate periodically and I, pushed, breathed and bared down.   

At some point, we went back into the bedroom and rested in between the contractions which were much more intense at this point.  We were still waiting for my water to break and I could hear the loving encouragement of the midwives in between the peak of the contractions.  Eventually, and finally, my water burst.  Not long after, the baby’s head started crowning as he continued his journey into the world.  He came slowly, about 1-2 millimeters per contraction.  I’m not sure how long it actually took for him make his way out, but I know he wasn’t in a hurry.  I could feel myself burning and tearing as I pushed, and he made his way out.  

I remember Alisha telling me that this was it, the ring of fire, and that our boy would soon be in our arms.  I honestly didn’t know how I made it through those last hours, I was exhausted, but somehow, the mystery of nature took  ahold and  at 829, our son was lying on my chest.  Sa’id made prayers in his ear and his first taste of life was the sweetness of a date,both of which are Islamic custom.  We all marveled at his beauty and preciousness as waited for the cord to stop pulsing.  Sa’id cut the cord, and after the placenta was delivered, and our son latched on to my breast, we were left alone for an hour as a family.