Dear Ones,
Several years ago I traveled to Ireland with my family. It was time well spent on long country drives, admiring surviving pieces of rich history, in colorful seaside towns, and cozy pubs. With heaping plates of fish and chips, shepherd's pie, cold glasses of Smithwick's with a Guinness top, and crisp pints of cider never too far from reach. What I wouldn't give to be feasting on these treats again, now. As part of our adventures, we had the privilege of a semi-private tour on an old Irish dairy farm, inhabited and cared for by the same lineage for centuries. Our host, named Paddy, of course, was a gentle soul of a grandfather. We strolled the property in our wellies and rain jackets as he shared stories of his family history, welcoming us into both his current home for tea with biscuits, as well as a stop in the original master house still kept on the land: the place where he was born, as well as his mother, his grandmother, and many more babes before them. Our group of about 40 eager visitors squeezed politely into the tiny space. Paddy took to an old stool, settling in with a sigh and a matching creak of its wood to his bones, then began to recite a classic Irish poem by Mona Tierney from memory. Not a sound was uttered by the intimate crowd. We were captivated by his cadence, the way his truly sparkling blue eyes lifted and dropped in rhythm with the words. His beautiful accent sealed the deal for our delight in this man. O’ What is it all when all is told This ceaseless toiling for fame and gold The fleeting joy of bitter tears We’re only here for a few short years Nothing’s our own save the silent past Loving or hating-no thing can last Each pathway leads to a silent fold O’ what is it all when all is told What is it all a grassy mound Where day or night there is never a sound Save the soft low moan of the fanning breeze As it lovingly rustles the silent trees. Or a thoughtful friend with whispered prayer May sometimes break the stillness there Then hurry away from the gloom and the cold O’ what is it all when all is told What is it all just passing true A cross for me and a cross for you Ours seems heavy while others seem light But God in the end makes all things right He tempts the mind with loving care He knows the burden that each can bear Then turns life’s grey into loving gold O’ what is it all when all is told. I had originally planned to end this brief writing exercise with just those words. But a college friend shared a favorite family proverb from her dad, a true Irishman, today on her on Instagram that inspired me to expand with a final thought. Her quote: “It is in the shelter of each other that people live” (thank you, @noracanz ,for this lovely bit of food for thought). When all is told of this life, I hope it is a story rich with investment in kinship. Connection. Shelter shared; safe space for self and others to dwell. When I think about my life thus far, the highlights - the moments of real, fulfilling, deep living, whether joyful or painful or somewhere in between - have always been blessed by the physical, emotional, or spiritual shelter of others. Living means loving, hoping, suffering, adventuring. Living means growing and healing, forgiving and serving. Living is hard. Full stop. Yet it is made easier, worthwhile, even, by a thoughtful friend with a whispered prayer. Let us choose to shelter each other, so that we all may fully live. Grace & Peace, Trish
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Welp, I told my husband two years ago that these photos would never see the light of day (though I didn’t mind obliging him in silliness during our maternity shoot with baby S). But since we are officially back in Philly, not having maternity pics taken for baby 2, and quite frankly I am leaning into being more lighthearted as a form of my 2021 words “release/surrender” ….behold! My Eagles loving man, pretending to hike, hike, hike deliver our child. Good Lord, I hope these make y’all laugh.
On a less light note: So many kind people messaged both publicly and privately about my last pregnancy Instagram post, sharing thoughtful compliments about me and the bump. Thank you again for that. I have never posted a photo with so little clothing on, so the extra vulnerability was present, then met with really gentle encouragement. The response, however, also prompted me to broaden these womanly body thoughts a smidge. Mostly, I feel I need to clarify that I am the furthest thing from self conscious about my pregnant body. In fact, the power I have felt while growing my babies has allowed me to worship my skin more than any other time in life. It’s the AFTER that presents a…problem? I resent this. I resent that a switch gets flipped, without my permission, as soon as a baby is birthed. Deliciously soft, curvy and plump change from being acceptable and cooed over, to residing on a rapidly expiring timeline of grace. I resent that any man, anywhere, across all time and space in the history of the universe, has any drop of privilege assumption to say a single word in regards to a woman’s postpartum body (yes, this happened to me). Ma dudes - even if you had the God gifted ability to grow human life within your being (which, you don’t) or experienced the process of delivery, vaginal or c-section, and it’s effects (yea, you do not) OR could sustain said birthed life with nutrients created from your being (nope. not in your wheelhouse) …maybe still keep it to yourself? Like...deep, deep down in the depths of self that never see the light of day, ever? Really this applies to all people and all body commentary, but I don’t have time to dive into that right now! Thirty minutes to write while my toddler naps, and whatnot. For me, what’s worse is that I have resented women who do “bounce back”. Even when it happens fairly naturally, without a ton of effort, while I’ve been consumed with trying not to care how many steps I clock each day just to hit movement goals. Even if they’ve obviously kicked their own asses with commitment to exercise and mindful eating, and I’ve slothed it up watching reality TV with a sleeping newborn on my chest. I have resented the before and after photos shared publicly, that strike me more as an effort to gain approval for “after" than to acknowledge any meaning in the journey. (We coaches are obsessed with the journey, far more than the destination!) We do not have time for unpacking the media's obsession with "bounce back" stories, either. Just know that it's not news to be praised. It's toxic. Even if postpartum women have every damn right to make these bounce-back choices for themselves, and *technically*, I do, too…the choice feels so heavily influenced, doesn’t it? I sincerely want to know why. Why is this your goal? And I’m annoyed at myself that, even as a professional Life Coach, I could still find a way to react by briefly questioning the dignity in another persons process. Which makes me no better or evolved than the rest. Which proves it’s never truly about “them”. So why am I triggered? I resent that the internal debate never seems to fully cease. Maybe I want to push my body and see how she transforms. Can’t that be enough? I remember Brandon saying once that part of his love for fitness comes from his fascination and awe of how he can manipulate his body - how it responds to him - and I have always felt that to be a powerful and curious place, rather than ego driven. But how do I know how much of that is for outside approval or a false sense of safety from judgment, versus my soul-goals and personal perceptions? When I say I want to be strong, have more energy for my kids, am I telling the whole truth, or just hoping I’m not totally betraying my feminist-body-positive stance by wishing for abs like I had in high school?…does it matter? We can feel it all, right? "Yes, And.” is what I teach regularly. How does that apply here? How might my values come forward more strongly, to help dictate my choices and the feelings that follow? Why does it seem that, despite such beautiful efforts by women on a global scale, this feels like impossible harmony: Some women will rock their hard earned abs and feel great in a bathing suit, and others will stroke their soft, stretch marked bellies and feel just as fine in a bikini. And no one looks at the other with eyes that label “good” and “bad”. Labels become too boring. And then all of that energy we save from refusing the cycle of comparison is used on things like, gosh I dunno, actively loving our communities, our kids, our friends, our earth? Can we imagine what would be possible from there? I know we can. I know we have. So where is the gap? In what is possibly the worst closing thought of any post I’ve written…in part because my kid is waking up, in part because my thoughts are scattering...I have no clear answers to any of this. Except: Somehow, despite all odds and never ending loop thoughts as I age, change, transition, thoughts that need to be navigated with deep grace and perspective, I love my body. I do. And I really, really, really want you to love yours, too. grace and peace, trish |
