Tag: motherhood

Please Don’t Forget Me!

In the challenging and mundane moments that are parenthood, it’s often hard to remember the times when we were just us. You, Me – Us. Partners! Hours of freedom to do what we like – listening to and responding to our own needs as they transpire. Trips away to paradise- to cities- exploring, playing and just being. Weekends filled with passion- limbs intertwined in every room of the house and him- devoted entirely to me – only me- and looking at me with eyes that so clearly convey that I am the person who brings him the most joy and fulfilment. I am happiness. I am love. I am peace. I am his safe place. Pure contentment. And then I’m not. 

Having a child is no doubt the most challenging hurdle that any couple can encounter.  I am still coming in for landing twenty months into the journey.  I knew parenthood would bring us a myriad of challenges, but I did not prepare myself for facing the fact that I am now number two in his life. Having a daughter to the man you love is a combination of complete joy and satisfaction, mixed with disconnect, loneliness and dubiety. 

Perhaps this is just my own experience and my own insecurities, but ever since becoming a mum, I have felt like less of a partner. No, I am not competing with my daughter because I am emotionally mature enough to know that the way he loves me is not the way he loves her. But I can feel that things are different and I am smart enough to know that getting his attention and his complete focus these days requires work, a huge amount of selflessness and some tact.  I am smart enough to know that not all relationships last the distance, and that entering the realm of parenthood can make or break a partnership, no matter how solid the foundation. 

It’s not easy this motherhood thing. Last night I went out to dinner with my mothers group ladies. I returned home at 11pm tired and depleted because socialising is, well… social. Husband asked me for back scratches (his love language), but I reactively and aggressively rejected him because I was counting down the seconds until my head would hit the pillow and I needed to maximise my sleep for the night in order to be a fully functioning mother from 530am for a full day of intense toddler fun. These days I prioritise myself and unfortunately, the result of that is that I am not as smitten and devoted to my man as I used to be. The flow-on effect? Our relationship suffers. He suffers. Pre baby, I was borderline obsessed with my husband. I was at his beck and call with a sex drive that was literally ‘on-tap’. He used to make my limbs shake. He was a drug. Goosebumps, heart flutters, dripping p*&$y- the works. I would get withdrawals if a certain number of days went by where we did not ‘connect’ and then I would do anything and everything for his attention. As soon as he gave me a hit of his attention and physical touch (my love language), my nervous system calmed down. If he did not give me a hit, my cortisol levels would rise and I would find myself a complete emotional mess.

 I am sure my attachment style has a lot to do with my relationship with my own father. These days I am more securely attached, but not by choice. My secure attachment is more to do with the fact that I need a bit less from a man since becoming a mother and I am craving being on my own a lot more these days due to the demands of motherhood. I am also hyper aware of my own journey and why I am who I am as a mother and wife – why I do the things I do. And so I am also reluctant to challenge my husband and beg for his attention when he is so devoted to his own baby girl instead of me. In fact, I actually want this devotion for her. I see the way he adores her. But I am also entirely absorbed by my own feelings because I had him and now I feel like I do not. I notice how he does not hear me when she is engaging him. I notice the empty silence and single word responses when I express my emotions. I notice the days where he does not kiss me goodbye or greet me hello  and the times where I am talking to myself and no one is listening.  I do not feel heard, held or noticed and I crave all of this so much. I deserve this so much.

I get why relationships – why marriages fail. I get why people cheat. I have ticked off all of the above. One minute you’re entirely devoted, the next minute you’re feeling flat, undesirable and literally craving attention- any attention! Some other person is interested in you and bang! A fire inside you lights up. And so the demise begins. 

Dear Husband, please don’t forget me. I adore how you adore your baby girl. It brings me so much pleasure, particularly as I have no memory of my own father adoring me this way. Every little girl craves for her father to be devoted to her and the way that you ravish our girl is exactly as it should be. But me – your wife. I need more. I deserve more. Because I am still the baby girl that was not ravished by her own father. There is a little girl inside me and she is still hurting. She craves to be adored, loved unconditionally, desired and touched. She craves to be the centre of attention and for your eyes to be glazed over as you look at her. Darling husband, please look at me with admiration the same way you used to- before her. I know that you cannot replace what I have not been blessed with prior to our partnership, but I do know that you can cherish my commitment to you better and with more zest and more dedication. I do not need to be pushed aside because you have a new ‘love’. Love me- as I am- with her. Love us together because ultimately, you and me – we ARE her...

…Until Next Time…

H.V.G.

X.O.X.O

Love, Death and Absent Hearts

“A father holds his daughter’s hand for a short while, but he holds her heart forever.” Photo by Juan Pablo Serrano Arenas on Pexels.com

I just found out that my father has stage four prostate cancer. Call it intuition, but i’ve had death on my mind recently and a pending sense of doom combined with an urge to spend more time with my mum. Turns out my gut was right but my heart naturally leant towards the person closest to me. Mumma.  In the famous words of Buddha himself, “The only thing certain in life is our death”. We all know that we are going to die one day and like many individuals in their late 30’s, I have parents in their seventies, and most of my friends are in the same boat. This means that death pops into my mind occasionally, and I can’t help but fear for the day that my partner and I lose our beloved parents. It’s inevitable, and I guess the only thing we can hope for is that they can pass in peace, relatively pain free and without a long battle. 

As parents, we hope that we will pass before our children.  If we are blessed enough to grow old and have our children hold our hands through the beautiful journey of ageing, then we can surely call our lives ‘complete’. My heart aches daily for my own mumma who sadly lost both her sons before she even turned 70. My oldest brother Samuel passed away when I was in year 12 at school. He was born quadriplegic spastic and had a trying life drooling from a wheelchair with many many health complications. He passed away when his head became wedged between the mattress of his bed and the safety rails. My other brother Henry was diagnosed with a brain tumour at 22. He went on to battle it for sixteen years, finally succumbing to it at 38 – the age I turn in exactly nineteen days. 

Finding out my dad has terminal cancer was certainly triggering given the way that my brother exited this world. Watching him go from a thriving thirty something, climbing mountains and exploring the world, to a drooling shell of a human in a wheelchair was the toughest thing our family has endured. It was also sadly familiar given my oldest brother Samuel’s existence. I wouldn’t wish this type of decline upon anyone- even my absent father.  The response in my body when my sister told me that my dad was unwell was nothing short of… well… nothing. My response was, “oh, ok. Are you ok?”. Quite frankly I was more concerned with how she had taken it given that her relationship with her father has been a lot more solid than mine. It took me a whole week to process my sister’s words. I kept waiting to feel something. After five full days of telling myself to pick up the damn phone and call him, I was able to call him and ask how he was. You see, my dad and I are not close and so this situation is complex. My emotions are complex. Parents got divorced. Blah Blah… the usual. However, our situation was a little different. My mum- she’s different. She made the divorce with my father the hardest thing in the world for him to endure- and inevitably it was probably unnecessarily hard on us kids too. She may tell herself that what she did was for the greater good and I will always respect my mumma, but now, with a daughter , who’s father is the love of my life, I know that her relationship with him will ultimately shape her. The role that ‘he’ – ‘father’  plays in her life will teach her how men ‘behave’, whether you can trust men, whether she is worthy and loveable and whether she values herself to her core or has to act as though she has something to prove to the world.

Sadly, I am the latter, The absence of my father due to restraining orders, nasty words about him being a sperm donor and being forced to stand up in court when I needed help paying for my uni fees and books may have taught me strength and resilience, but it did not teach me the important things in life. Self love, respect and trust. Sadly, I was taught to fob my dad off if he called me, to demand money for possessions that my mother could not afford to buy, but to not appropriately thank him and to live by the words ‘I do not have a father’.  Never mind the complicated relationships with men that I endured as young woman and the years of self work required to trust a man and let him ‘hold’ me. This is life.

Now in my thirties, I realised that I had a father at some stage, but he was forced away from me due to my mum’s own anger and inability to process the failed relationship between her and my father. I believe strongly as a mother myself now that my relationship with my husband does not determine my daughter’s relationship with her dad. Sure, I can work with my husband to demonstrate to my baby girl what a loving relationship looks like. I can encourage him to be a model to her, so that when she is old enough to love a man herself, she chooses her man wisely. However, I will never control their relationship. I will never restrict her father from seeing her, adoring her and trying to make an effort if our own relationship were to fail.

I hold a lot of resentment towards my mum for keeping my father from me. I also hold a lot of resentment towards him for not trying harder. I attempted numerous times in my late twenties and thirties (until now)  to give my dad the opportunity to be there- to make an effort. He did not pass with flying colours. There were small snippets of ‘fathering’, like maybe he remembered a birthday or two, but all in all, the damage is done. Earlier this year, I built up the courage to say some hard words to my dad and ask him to have a relationship with my daughter- his granddaughter, because I deeply wish to break the cycle. My relationship with my father should not determine his relationship with his granddaughter. And so when I found out that my father has terminal cancer, and eventually I felt some emotion, I was more pained for my baby girl potentially not knowing her grandfather, and for me – when I was a baby girl – for not having a father. I live from a place of compassion towards my mother and to my father because it wasn’t easy and I am sure they did their best. And as they approach their end years, whether that’s one, two, ten or a miraculous twenty years from now, I simply want peace and love. Death is hard enough as it is, even if it is the only thing in life that we are “sure about”, losing a loved one is no doubt the most difficult and complicated life event that each human has to endure in their life path. The multiple layers that come with estranged relationships makes the process more challenging still.

So my task for now? I am working on establishing peace with my father, given that I do not know how long he will be here. When he goes, I want to be able to tell my baby girl about the care and compassion i gave him. “Did I love him”, she will ask. That answer, I cannot be sure of, but I can certainly tell her that she was loved by him – and all the men in her life.

Until Next time…

xoxo H.V.G

The Quest To Be Free

I was talking to a girlfriend recently about our feelings around feeling stagnant when some kind of loose plan isn’t in place. Ever since I can remember, I’ve invariably been an adventurer, a planner, a saver and a goal setter. These self-taught skills have meant that i’ve always been great at holiday planning, saving money and being an optimist with a solid vision for the future. For the past 18 months, however, life has taken a sharp turn as I entered the realm of motherhood and have found myself with virtually no direction, no plans, none of my own income for most of the time and having to rely on my partner to agree to plans and goals. This is all fine and dandy in theory, however, my partner’s goals and aspirations involve growing his business, staying close to his family and a very loose idea of ‘providing for his family’. He is more traditional in the sense that he likes the idea of being the breadwinner with the stay at home wife. My vision is of the colourful kind. Full of adventure, play and souls to love. I also love to work. I see hard earned holidays, weekend activities, music festivals, camping, vegetable growing, animal rearing and hours and hours dedicated to creative pursuits at home, all surrounded by a purposeful job with a good income that stimulates my brain. This is where my current struggle resides.

For me, having a clear vision is paramount to my happiness. I am a dreamer and for most of the part an optimist. I love knowing where I’m heading- where I’ll be sipping my next cocktail, how much money I’m putting aside and where it’s going (ie a deposit on property, new car, next holiday) and so on. I have always had a job with a salary in fear of not being able to plan to save a specific sum of money. I love making my own money too!. My husband is more ‘live in the now’. I don’t know if it’s the fact that he came from a very fortunate upbringing and never had to plan due to money and resources being more readily available to him or if it’s a personality trait. Perhaps my ability to plan and save come from being from a less fortunate background where we relied on child support and were of the ‘asset rich’, ‘income poor’ demographic. Ie, nice house and car but our shopping was everything homebrand and our clothes were from op-shops. Or perhaps it just resides in my soul and my archetype is that of a dreamer and future planner. 

For a long time, I used to push and push to get my partner to make plans for the weekend. The weekend would arrive, and time and time again, we would be without direction. The result of this was that there would be conflict. I would be craving plans and adventure. I wanted to do things like hiking, dancing at festivals and having romantic weekends away. He, on the other hand, felt frustrated by the lack of ‘doing’ , yet also held a strong resistance towards having too much of a plan because he wanted the safety of repetition. For him, knowing that he can do his regular exercise, eat his regular dinner in the comfort of his own home is usually all he needs. My soul craves more. I am an extravert. I love to mix things up, invite couples over for entertaining (gosh how i love entertaining). I love a drink or two or three and even better if they are consumed at a winery. I love nothing more than to dance freely in the sunshine at festivals like Womad and Bluesfest. And the most important thing? I love having these things on my radar. I crave adventure. It keeps me sane. Now that we have a daughter, things have shifted. I stopped pushing. There is less resistance. There is less sleep, less planning and more tailoring our plans towards our baby girl’s needs and not ours. I am bored. I am understimulated. I am even unhappy at times. Holidays are not holidays when you are running around after a young child and up at all hours of the night because there is a time difference and they don’t adapt well to porta-cots and I don’t remember what it feels like to get on an aeroplane with my love with the world at our fingertips. Call it adulthood, but I am really grieving this and so much more.

There is no doubt that transitioning into parenthood is more difficult for some people. No, I don’t deserve a pat on the back for giving it a go and I do not want you to say “poor you” or “harden up, welcome to parenthood”. I am simply pointing out that I believe some humans are homebodies happy with the mundane repetitive life in the suburbs. Some people love predictability, being able to get in their car and drive three minutes to the supermarket, having their families nearby and visiting the same local cafes followed by their annual holiday to Noosa or Bali. My husband thrives on predictability. Hell, I even thrive on it when it comes to some things. But some of us inherently crave more soul and adventure in our lives and we need a clear vision of all the wonderful soul filling and wild adventures to come. We need to know that if life is going to be repetitive and predictable as it often is with a child, that there are still adventures on the horizon, something big to work towards and a tangible sense of ‘freedom’. As I explained to my girlfriend the other day,  I like to live with my cup filled to the brim with my next cup on standby so that I don’t end up with the possibility of a half empty cup. And I need to have the power to make my own decisions and plan my own life. I need to feel free. I often feel as though I am walking on a treadmill with no end in sight -like I am a participant in the lives of my daughter and husband and I do not feel free. In the beautiful words of Nokwethemba Nkosi, “Your happiness doesn’t come free, but you need to be free to be happy.” And so it begins.. The quest to be ‘free’. Here. Now. In the future.

Until Next Time….

xoxo H.V.G.

Would You Like Seconds With That?

Photo by Vidal Balielo Jr. on Pexels.com

Nothing irritates me more than being asked if I would like anything else when I’ve only just taken the first bite of my meal. Let me taste my food, chew, swallow, take a moment to digest, and THEN you can ask me if I would like ‘contorni’, ‘secondi’ or ‘dolci’. Nothing chokes me up more than being abruptly asked when am I having a second child.

Like so many women these days, I chose to put certain priorities ahead in my twenties and early thirties such as career and travel. I was never the ‘motherly’ type by definition and for most of my teenage and adult life, I envisaged a future of work, travel and fur babies. In fact, for a long time, having children was a hard no. If someone asked me the dreaded ‘do you want children?’ question, I  would swiftly brush it off. All around me though, I am surrounded by what I call ‘superwomen’. By my definition, ‘Superwomen’ are not those working mums who step out of the house five days a week and drop their bub at daycare. Let’s be honest here mums, what’s more challenging on the soul and psyche? Eight hours of mothering or eight hours of work? Yes- ‘Superwomen’ are those mum’s who are fully- and I mean FULLY immersed in motherhood. They are there all day every day every day and  they do not need to ‘escape’. They are there. Just like our mum’s, they don’t work because motherhood is their life, their job and their soul purpose. There is no Au Pair- they are home bodies and they do it all. In fact, many I know don’t even own gym memberships and Instead they squat at home with their baby’s held to their chest, followed by the proud Instagram post. These women always dreamed of a life filled with multiple dimpled butts and gummy smiles. While I was busy planning the next trip, changing my career for the third time and dancing until 4am, some of my closest women- the ‘superwomen’ of my world were growing humans and leading a life that I could never imagine myself living.  I guess I kind of assumed that I wouldn’t take the path to motherhood ever, because as I passed the age of 30, my priorities didn’t shift and while I had always been a romantic, getting married was a given, but having children was not. 

Becoming a mum did happen for me- it was a huge decision, and even then, I never really fully ‘made the decision’. In my early thirties, I developed mixed thoughts and feelings around ‘potential’ motherhood. After a visit with a very abrupt gynaecologist at 33  to get an IUD, I was told my egg count was ‘low’. For a 33 year old, this is a confronting statement, and because I wasn’t ‘there’ yet, I just accepted the comments and trusted that the universe would give me what I needed. Being someone who prefers the natural approach to so many things in life, freezing my eggs was not an option. As I also believe in the old adage ‘things happen for a reason’, it was easy to develop the mindset that if I wasn’t cut out to be a mum, then I wasn’t cut out to be a mum. 

When I fell pregnant at 35 after only one month off the pill,  it was a shock. And while I had decided that I was excited to take the next step with my partner, I didn’t exactly feel ecstatic to be pregnant. My first words were ‘oh fuck’ followed by tipping out the bottle of wine on the kitchen bench and a phonecall to my best girlfriend where I proceeded to say ‘fuck fuck fuck fuck i’m fucking pregnant’. But I promptly accepted the gift that is life and immersed myself in the journey of motherhood. I treasured that tiny soul inside of me like she was my universe and I even enjoyed the journey of pregnancy. Yes, I was finally at a stage in my life and relationship where I felt comfortable in all aspects of my life. My career was established, I was fit and healthy and I had done the work. 

Fast forward eighteen months into my motherhood journey, and the question of number two lingers, heightened by the external nudges. I am so aware of my age and my mental note to self to have a cut-off age for motherhood. My body still feels in 15% recovery mode and in between feelings of groundhog day, partial longing for my previous life, sense of discipline (and body), I am more than filled to the brim. My daughter continues to surprise me every day and I am falling more and more in love and awe as I watch her evolve and grow. As for number two though, unless you are a ‘superwoman’, how does one decide that two is the right path? Maybe if I had the gift of time, that is, if I were in my early thirties, I could grapple more with this concept, but between the on and off sleep deprivation and feelings of overwhelm, I feel like the moments where I desire to have a newborn again are fleeting. Get it out of the way? Ha. Occasionally (usually when I am ovulating), I get intense feelings of wanting to be pregnant again and to add to our family,  but then it’s like I snap out of it and reality kicks in. With the growing chaos in the world and the small feats that make me identify as ‘me’ again, I am truly torn. There is so much that I want to do. So much. The things that make me happy to my core include hiking, yoga, travel, attending music festivals and having a job that I enjoy. Not exactly the perfect list of core interests to accessorise with a baby. And when I dream of the future, there is no concrete vision of what family looks like. I have only the examples portrayed by my beautiful mumma and my sister, who both chose to have tribes. 

One? Two? It’s a constant game of tennis and I feel like I am stuck in the net. This is not a light decision for me and as many of you reading this probably know, this pivotal decision changes lives- for better or for worse. For some, embarking on the second child journey leads to a complete loss of self, loss of intimacy, life purpose and even failed marriages. For others, they wouldn’t have it any other way. Their children complete them. Whichever way you look at it, this decision forces me to assess two different identities and the prospect of two completely different life paths. If I could program my ovaries to procreate the cutest little blonde boy with bulging blue eyes and the gentlest of personalities to replace my late brother Henry, then maybe, just maybe I’d go again. But for now, life challenges me. I am a deer in the headlights and eventually, the decision may just be made- FOR me and not BY me.

Until Next Time….

xoxoxo H.V.G.

The ‘Mumposter’

“[Motherhood is] the biggest gamble in the world. It is the glorious life force. It’s huge and scary—it’s an act of infinite optimism.” – Gilda Radner

I had a moment at Salsa Class the other day. You would think that by my late thirties, I would have my shit together and quite frankly, not care what others think. When I arrived at class, I felt more than a little little insecure. I had my period, I had been struggling to figure out what to wear because I felt bloated (yes I move better when I look good), and I wasn’t exactly feeling sexy or like dancing with strangers. When I walked into the dance studio, all of the presumably younger Latinos and Latina’s (I am neither of these), were greeting one another excitedly with kisses and hugs and the energy of the room was a buzz. As usual, I removed my comfy shoes and sat down to put my heels on in the hope that I would at least look the part and be able to move my stiff hips and tight shins a little more freely. I was ok, and then I wasn’t. Firstly, I had sat down next to a young Latino guy who had been friendly to me a couple of months back, offering to meet up to practise our dancing. Due to life – being a mum and planning my own wedding, I neglected to ever lock in this practice and ever since, I couldn’t shake the cold shoulder feeling from him. He half looked up, looked at the possessions on the chair next to him then he turned back to the dancing. As two more dancers turned up, they approached him with excitement and started an energetic conversation. The calm adult in me told me to keep watching the previous class (who were very good), and to keep smiling. I am not in high school and I do not need to be affected by aloneness. But- I felt like an imposter. I felt like I shouldn’t be there- like I wasn’t cool enough, young enough or attractive enough to fit the mould of a Salsa Dancer. Mind you there are a handful of over 50’s in the classes, although the average age seems to be twenties to thirties. There was no obvious reason for me to feel this way. 

When class started, I was relieved because it was a double class with two levels of dancers, meaning I could just blur into the dancing scene and forget all of my unwarranted ‘imposter syndrome’ feelings. Then there were those one or two familiar faces that I knew would make me feel welcome including the instructor. I was ok. Everything is fine.  “Ok everyone, partner up and make 3 lines”, says the instructor. My ‘mum brain’ struggles to process anything complex. Threeeee lines. Uh, yes three lines. By the time I figured out what ‘three lines’ meant, I realised almost everyone had formed couples. I looked at the last couple of solo men and started to walk towards them only to be interjected by other women. Then I was alone. Oh gosh. Looking around the room, I realised that I was standing by myself and everyone else was partnered. I won’t go into the details, but it certainly felt like a primary school flash back moment where I hadn’t been picked for a sports team. My cheeks flushed as multiple people were telling me at once where to stand because I wasn’t making enough space for the couples to move in their lines. I was almost tearing up and every part of me wanted to rip off my shoes and escape from the room. When I got home, I cried. 

Motherhood has really shifted my identity. Ever since I had my daughter, I haven’t felt like myself. I experience fleeting moments of myself like when I have a good session at the gym or when I’m dancing- and that’s about it. I am 18 months into motherhood. Unlike many women, I did not bounce back. Many would argue that I don’t have anything to worry about because I am a normal size and am fit. However, I have truly been grieving the person i was before becoming a mum- physically, emotionally and energetically. I am not going to lie- I used to get many looks from the opposite sex and I always felt confident whilst working out or attending social gatherings or public venues. I found keeping my appearance in check almost effortless pre motherhood. I had so much energy to train and i didn’t even have to think about the food that was going into my mouth- i must’ve just been intuitively doing the right thing.  Since becoming a mum though, I have gained extra kilos that I can’t shift; losing the great hourglass shape my body used to have. Food is comfort and I have to squish my thighs and belly into my clothes these days. I have honestly aged five years and I have lost my mojo almost completely. Sex drive. What’s that? 


This has been the toughest transition in my life. I do believe that some women are built for motherhood. I am not. You know those women who from their primary school years are obsessed with babies and go into adulthood with a vision of the family and the white picket fence? Then they pop out 3 under 4 and are oh so blessed and still fit into their pre baby jeans? My vision was more of the man, the high life, the travel, the career and the money. And all of the above was to be provided by yours truly.  Until I was 35 I didn’t think I wanted children. My now husband provided a sense of security that I had never experienced and so my vision shifted. Trust. Protection. Being provided for. All of this is what has led me to take this path instead of the other, The outcome? I often struggle. It does not always come naturally and it is work- a lot of work. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy with my family. “Blessed” as they say and I honestly do believe that my baby girl is some kind of miracle as she was both created and born with minimal stress or fuss. I am elated every day to have her, but it is  harder than I ever imagined and there are days where I really really grieve “me”. I haven’t quite found my feet yet a year and a half into the journey and there are so many days when I feel like an imposter – just like in dance class. In dance class I WAS the mum. I felt frumpy and there was an illogical part of me that wanted to be at home being a housewife, whatever that means these days.

In motherhood, I also feel like an imposter. I feel like I am that girl from Salsa class that has entered the sacred realm of motherhood without my licence or loyalty card stamped with four visits to the maternity ward at the Royal Women’s. I often feel lost, empty and a shell of my previous self. There are so many moments of pleasure, pride and disbelief that come with the job, but I have no doubt that becoming a mother for many is an entire life transition that can take years. There is eternal work and some never even make the transition.  Having a child is not simply ‘becoming a mum’. It shifts the dynamic as an individual, a partner, a lover, a friend and a career woman. It’s wild. It’s tough. It is glorious. It hurts. It changes you. Getting your ab’s back or fitting into those jeans is only touching the surface. The real work is realising that I am meant to be here and it doesn’t really matter what that looks like.

When class started, I was relieved because it was a double class with two levels of dancers, meaning I could just blur into the scene of dancing and forget all of my unwarranted feelings. Then there were those one or two familiar faces that I knew would make me feel welcome including the instructor. I was ok. Everything is fine.  “Ok everyone, partner up and make 3 lines”, says the instructor. My ‘mum brain’ struggles to process anything complex. Threeeee lines. Uh, yes three lines. By the time I figured out what ‘three lines’ meant, I realised almost everyone had formed couples. I looked at the last couple of men standing alone and started to walk towards them only to be interjected by other women. Then I was alone. Oh gosh. Looking around the room, I realised that I was standing by myself and everyone was partnered. I won’t go into the details, but it certainly felt like a primary school moment where I hadn’t been picked for a sports team. My cheeks flushed as multiple people were telling me at once where to stand because I wasn’t making enough space for the couples to move in their lines. I was almost tearing up and every part of me wanted to rip off my shoes and escape from the room. When I got home, I cried. 
This has been the toughest transition in my entire life. I do believe that some women are built for motherhood, I am not. You know those women who from their primary school years are obsessed with babies and go into adulthood with a vision of the family and the white picket fence? Then they pop out 3 under 4 and are oh so blessed and still fit into their pre baby jeans? My vision was more of the man, the high life, the travel, the career and the money. And all of the above was to be provided by yours truly.  Until I was 35 I didn’t think I wanted children. My now husband provided a sense of security that I had never experienced and so my vision shifted. Trust. Protection. Being provided for. All of this is what has led me to take this path instead of the other, The outcome? I struggle. I am happy with my family. Blessed as they say and I honestly do believe that my baby girl is some kind of miracle as she was both created and born with minimal stress or fuss. I am happy every day to have her, but it is  harder than I ever imagined and there are days where I really really grieve “me”. I haven’t quite found my feet yet a year and a half into the journey and there are so many days when I feel like an imposter – just like in dance class. In dance class I WAS the mum. I felt frumpy and there was an illogical part of me that wanted to be at home being a housewife, whatever that means these daysHaving a child isn’t just ‘becoming a mum’. It shifts the dynamic as an individual, a partner, a lover, a friend and a career woman. It’s tough. It’s wild. It’s glorious. It hurts. It changes you. Getting your ab’s back and fitting into those jeans is only the beginning.

Until next time…. Keep Dancing.

XO H.V.G.

Mother-Hood or Mother-Should?

As motherhood is the greatest and most natural God-given gift for women for posterity, it would seem that the birth and rearing of children, in the way which to us seems most ideal, would be the most satisfying and the most rewarding career for a woman.

Rose Kennedy

I’ve never been the clucky type. In fact, other people’s babies give me a unique feeling and i wouldn’t say it’s a good one. I find myself overwhelmed by a nervous sensation that’s half way between a fear of dropping them and a deep desire to squeeze their cheeks so hard that they will bruise – before promptly handing them back. Around me, friends and acquaintances are creating families – ‘lives’ and I am left with an unsettling feeling of inadequacy – that even with a successful progressing career as a Project Manager, being fit and healthy- and knowing that i’m breaths away from achieving that milestone of buying my own property, I know I will still have this weird feeling inside of me that I can’t put my finger on – that i’m not good enough as a woman. 

As I embark on my mid thirties, I find myself becoming more and more aware of the purpose- the core function of a woman in this world to procreate another human. And it scares me to my womb. My early thirties didn’t go as planned. I suffered the breakdown of a marriage to the man that didn’t want a family to embarking upon a roller-coaster romance with the first man in my adult life that made my ovaries slightly tingle. Amongst numerous break-ups with him, I have found myself wondering about my fertility, my core desires and my ‘truth’ – whether or not I want to be a mother and if that is something that will fill me up to the brim. For sometime now, I’ve been waiting for my ‘maternal instinct’ to kick in and to suddenly want to declare loudly to the world that I want to be a mother!

… But it hasn’t happened. And as I delve deeper with myself in my journey of self discovery and through learning to harvest my femininity via various practices including embodiment, this is one emotion that I haven’t quite managed to fully move through my body. Even as a woman that has spent around fifteen years on the pill to avoid my body’s most primal function, I am aware of a pressure to fulfil this void as a woman. But how does one discern between fulfilling what’s ‘normal’ or ‘expected’ by society, natural instinct (hormones or lack thereof) and genuine desire? While I understand completely that all big life decisions come with a perceived fear attached, this is the one that rattles me the most and the fears aren’t vague. 

Firstly, the concept of the stereotypical mum. There is no internal part of me that labels herself as a mum the way society sees her. Becoming that stereotype – going to mother’s groups, giving up my career and independence to push around a pram and bitch about other mothers new botox procedures over almond lattes makes me feel sick to the stomach. I’m more a strap on the chest, hike up a mountain alone kinda girl. On that note, is it politically correct to strap a baby on during a spin class? Maybe he/she can act as extra kilos on the stair climber? I rest my case. I can’t actually see myself feeling content with the fact that I have to tend to another screaming, needy human, rather than go to the gym, bake cookies in peace or earn a living for that matter.

Then there’s the body. At 35 the chances of getting pregnant are around 15-20% during each monthly cycle. Then at 35 it’s downhill. According to google i’m headed downhill. Supposedly the chances of the body bouncing back are around the same. I already have some loose skin from fluctuating weight and It makes me very nervous to think what could happen to my body as a result of growing another human inside in my late thirties. But who cares about that, right? Mummy scars etc etc. They say your man will still find you beautiful regardless, but say that to the wives of the two in five men that are rejecting their wives for porn, extra marital sex or massages with a happy ending. Ok Ok, but what about those insta mums, you ask? The one’s plastered all over instagram holding their babies stretch mark free with their perfect tans and tiny bikinis? These women are not the norm. A combination of good genes, good camera angles, tucking in loose bits, cosmetic procedures and being 24 years young does add to the whole yummy mummy look. And hey, if you’ve got the cash, vaginal tightening cosmetic procedures are on the cards now too. That’s if your husband values you as a piece of arm candy and earns enough to invest $50k annually in cosmetic procedures. 

So what about sexual desire? Oh, sex. Such a taboo topic! Combined with the inevitable changes downstairs resulting from childbirth- which i’ve had conflicting feedback on, desire will undoubtedly shift. One of my honest girlfriends told me that things just changed down there; that sex became like throwing a hotdog down a hallway and that she never quite enjoyed it the same. My other mate told me that his friends wife has her uterus just drop out when she’s at the supermarket and basically can’t enjoy sex at all. I don’t know about you but the only thing i want to be dropping on the floor at the supermarket is my car keys. While I’ve heard both ends of the spectrum- no desire to increased desire, the ballpark seems to be that sexual desire shifts and your core needs and hormone production adapts to caring for another human. Humor me. Where’s the complete appeal in this? I get it, but let’s be honest, sexual intimacy is important. If most of you aren’t doing much of it, i’d suspect that even if you won’t admit it, you wish you were doing it more. Yes, I have a strong sexual appetite for a woman. Most days I’d be more than happy to embark on a sexual venture. If I had to make a split decision whether to film a porno or make a baby I know which would excite me more. If i can’t get my man into bed frequently enough now, then why would  he desire me more when we are sleep deprived, my stomach skin is sagging and my vagina is fit to park a mini cooper? Oh how incredibly shallow of you H.V.G! As if sexual desire matters when you’re staring into the eyes of another human that you created yourself! Call me shallow, but it really is a genuine fear and I am likely speaking a truth that many women are afraid to voice. 

And then there’s the stuff- oh the stuff! One of my girlfriends said, ‘oh but you get used to having all of the stuff’. Well… i’m not so convinced. I have such structured dreams about styling an incredible home. Picture Arizona meets Canadian log cabin. My dreams don’t involve placing jungle gyms and rockers in my living room and the thought of the constant mess and soiled clothing is enough to make me have kittens. And if you know me well, you would know I’m not a cat person… Moreover, having a tradie boyfriend that thinks that screws and concrete are washing machine friendly is enough stress for a woman like me. And as a career woman who has only recently experienced my first taste of non working life, I am also torn between some weird blurry desire and my innate need to work, have a career, earn money, earn my possessions, travel, buy property and not rely on another person to support me or fulfil my core needs. There is so much more to accomplish in life and I am shit scared of taking the wrong turn and experiencing regrets, whatever they may be. 

And yet, even writing this article, I keep looking back at the statistics. My actual chances of falling pregnant aren’t incredible. So, given my apparent aversion and apprehension towards the topic, why does reading these statistics make me feel sick to the stomach? Surely this should only bother me if I have a deep core desire to be a mum? But for me it’s about allowing myself to enter the safe realm of choice. I want to be in a position where I am able to make the decision consciously- knowing that I am supported emotionally and financially by my man should I choose to sacrifice my body and knowing that putting my career on hold will not be the worst mistake of my life. My inherent nature – my learned behaviours from childhood is to work hard, earn my possessions and to make my own way in life – and that children are a burden. As I approach 35, the anxiety attached to the concept of motherhood is all-consuming.

But I can’t run away from this. One of life’s greatest decisions- life’s biggest opportunities for choice – taking one path vs another will shape a woman – for better or worse- for the rest of her life. 

Until Next Time…

X H.V.G