Story Of A Good Girl | Jenny Wren

Dolls lined up, all in a row.

Fairy girl, bright hair, wasn’t to know.

Told I was a flirt with my big eyes and lashes.

Two years old.

When I got older, my imagination burst.

Animals and princesses as I turned and turned.

Heart hungry, heart shy.

Pinning my hopes on those boys that I liked.

If I only knew how vulnerable

I looked on the outside.

#

When I grew older, the horses arrived

I learned magic with my hands and healed them

With my mind.

Hours in the stableblock, whispering

Hauling hay

Sweating in my good body, girl body,

Woman’s body

That threatened to turn bad.

Dangerous in my knee socks

And my skirt

Thigh-high.

And now it was drink and endless nights.

Told I loved the drama

Instead I tried to hide.

You’d find me under tables and in cupboards most times.

Overwhelmed from the pain

I carried

Inside.

They didn’t want to know—

Thought that my instability

Was an affront to their ability

Every mouthful I denied

Mocking their sacrifice,

Sometimes I still feel the choke

Where food symbolised

The food of love.

#

Painted patterns

On my skin

Needles pushed through cartilage.

A different kind.

As a child I worshipped

At the stain-glass walls

Now I worship

Under artist’s scrawls

The sound of the gun can penetrate

Through to the bone.

Pressing to become more real, more real

More.

I found a man

Who called me home

That irresistible emptiness

So familiar

Beckoning forth.

#

Body rounding, what is this?

I know I dreamed of you

Little fish

You wriggle and thrive

And all I have to do to keep you

Is survive

And birthing you could be

The hardest thing in my life

And I did it,

And you’re here

And you’re telling me that it was all lies.

Look how the pretty one

Can be bloody and wise

Roaring her child earthside

#

Unlearning takes time.

The labyrinth to traverse

The lessons so hard

You have to learn twice.

I am not the dancing girl

But the woman

In her fortress.

The warrior

Even when my voice trembles.

Those hands for healing

Now used in birthing

The power that I find in words

Come together

Weave

A magic web around my world

#

You will attempt to cross

At your peril.

What I Learned From My Son This Week | Jenny Wren

Today is a big week for us as it's Judah's first week in reception class at school.

I have had so much going on with work and other stresses, and I recently was recommended to purchase a piece of Kyanite, a gemstone which is said to help with psychic boundaries and emotional wellness. I was so happy when it arrived last week and I have been wearing it daily, and hanging it up on the bathroom door when I go to sleep at night.

When I woke up yesterday morning I couldn't find it anywhere. Judah always gets up before me. I searched in the laundry basket, in my bedroom, anywhere it would have logically been and it was gone. I felt so upset as I felt like this necklace had been a proactive step for me in restoring some harmony and balance.

Judah is a bit of a magpie. He loves gemstones and jewellery and he has always been particularly fascinated with crystal cages and popping the crystals in and out. I asked him if he had seen it. No, he hadn't. I asked him again. I told him he wasn't in trouble I would just really like to have it back.

He heaved a deep sigh and went to the coffee table, where he opened one of the drawers to reveal my necklace, crystal out of the cage.

I didn't reprimand him, I just reminded him - Judah, this is mummy's special necklace. We don't take other people's special things.

"Well..." he said "You take my kitty and give it to Autumn-VI"

I was stunned. Judah has had this orange cat beanie baby since he was two, when his father and I separated, it was a good way to keep the comfort and continuity when he went on sleepovers. He loves this orange kitty. It gets packed dutifully in the front pocket of his suitcase and is clutched to his chest at night. 

Autumn-Violet is in the stage where she wants EVERYTHING. Anything that she perceives to be of value she just plain WANTS and she will kick up a fuss to have it. I will admit if I want five minutes peace to get stuff done it has been easier to give her Judah's kitty. She loves the privilege and babbles at it while I get on with something else.

Judah would sometimes snatch it back and I would gently remind him that she is a baby.

But obviously to him - this was not okay. I was giving his treasured possession to the baby and invalidating his feelings. I had been doing something really wrong without even realising it.

It made me really think about the importance we adults place on our possessions versus our children's. How my necklace that gave me emotional comfort I had automatically attributed greater value than his long-standing kitty. 

I felt awful.

It was a good reminder to me that for little ones, their experience and autonomy are just as important if not more so than ours. 

I apologised sincerely and told him that he was quite right, and I had been very wrong. Good thing they are more patient and forgiving of us as we learn.

Doulas Are Not The Fluffy Bunnies Of The Birth World | Jenny Wren

Lately I really think some people have this misconception that doulas sweep in with our essential oils and our birth pools, selling a dream, that we give false expectations to women, that we tell them to ignore any attempt at medicalisation of their birth, that we are the woo woo fluffy bunnies of the birth world.

I wanted to set something straight.

Doulas are often the only ones telling it like it really is.

The doulas I know blog about stillbirth, abuse and birth trauma. The things others would rather not think about.

We urge our clients to make not one, but three birth plans, to consider every eventuality to make sure their wishes are followed whatever happens. Because we know that it does and we aren't afraid to admit it.

For educating our clients about things like assisted delivery ahead of labour, we are told by medical staff that we are "scaring" women.

The doulas I know spend hours combing through guidelines and evidence to make sure women know exactly what their rights are.

We manage microaggressions in the birth room and try to keep the peace.

We support women through terminations.

We help to pick up the pieces afterwards when the medical staff go home believing they have saved the day.

From where I am standing, doulas are the ones with enough respect for women that we make them aware of the whole spectrum of birth - from the dark to the light - in all its beauty and its pain.

We don't try to hide it or use it to scare women into compliance.

We may look fluffy, but we are fierce.