Identity... the voices in and around us.

Let me start by saying that I grew up a swimmer.  I swam from the time I was 8 years old until I was in High School and then played Water Polo as well.  I tried to do the “land sports”, but it wasn’t too pretty.  Let’s just say that watching me try to run hurdles in Junior High was just plain embarrassing not to mention painful.  Gymnastics wasn't much better.  After falling off the parallel bars and not being able to breath for several moments due to the “Whack” on my back, it was all over.

I attempted track again in High School. But let’s be honest... I did this because I liked a boy on the team and thought that if I was on track he might notice me. He didn’t and I got chin-splints within days.  I ended up as part of the “weight team” (a label alone that would cause most girls in H.S. to drop out).  My Shot-put experience was dismal and my coach was so afraid of my aim that he wouldn’t let me near a Javelin (probably a wise choice on his part).

I was a “water athlete” and completely convinced that I would never be a “land mammal”.  I was a good swimmer, and may I say a bit of legend in water polo for some time even after I had graduated. I was able to use my skills in the water as a source of employment and exercise and still can today.  

That is all a good thing right?

Perhaps.... but here is the glitch. I identified myself in terms of the limitation that I had put on my bodies ability, AND on the voices of others who said that my body might not be “cut out” for that kind of sport.  I carried that belief through college and into my adult life.  That was my story, and my belief in my own bodies limitations was a central part of that story.  My image of what I could or could not do was directing my choices as well as my image of myself. 

Some of this belief began to change when I met people who hiked.  Their voices challenged me to go beyond my definitions of what I could do.  They also listened patiently while I complained on so many hikes.  For that I am eternally grateful.  A critical hike came when my friends invited me to hike “around” Mt. St. Helens.  Notice I use the term “around”.  In my mind we were going on a leisurely hike in foothills “around” the Mountain.  When I arrived however, I was informed that we were actually hiking UP the mountain.  Imagine the expression on my face when I pictured my limitations colliding with the concept of hiking up that specific mountain.  Check out the video and links and just imagine what was going on in my head.  It’s ok to laugh now.....

A little clip I found describing the Mountain and the hike

I did the hike, but let me tell you it was incredibly hard and was not a happy hiker for most of the journey.  I was the last one to the top, and while all of my friends were getting ready to hike back down I was contemplating my budget.  Could I afford the cost of a rescue helicopter to come and get me?  Did I forget to mention that I pulled a hamstring on the way up?  My mind was yelling my story at me, “You can’t do this.  You are a water mammal!”  Needless to say I was also the last one down.  I would have sat down someplace in the middle and just stopped had it not been for a very faithful friend who watched over me and just wouldn’t let me give up.  He was an anchor for me and a voice that was louder than the one in my head.  

I learned a great deal about myself in that hike.  I would like to say that it a first birth into a new place of identity for me.  Later that summer I hiked out of the Grand Canyon via Bright Angel Trail, after white water rafting for 6 days.  It was amazing to see the change in my ability and my mindset.  I wasn’t the last one out this time.  

Now let's hop forward to today...

I actually use the backpack I carried out of the Grand Canyon as my Doula bag.  I take it to all of my births as a reminder of my own journey.  I know that hiking and labor are completely different and I would never equate what a woman goes through in the process of having a baby to that of my hikes.  The reason I take it with me is to remind me of the importance of identity.  My own and that of the woman laboring.  I had people around me speaking into me and my identity.  They walked along side me challenging me and encouraging me to go beyond what my own story was telling me.  They saw in me the “more” that I at times couldn’t or was too tired to see.  That is my goal at a birth and that is why I carry the bag.  

This week I began something new.  Taking the inspiration from one of my own clients, I am getting back onto a treadmill.  She, like many of the amazing women that I support as a Doula, has stayed fit and exercised throughout her pregnancy.  I am so proud of her and how much strength she carries in her identity.  She knows her story and she has this belief in herself that is unshakable.  She has people around her who are unflinching in how they support and anchor her.  Even as she is waiting on the her little one to decide, “it’s time to come out!”, even when she has moments (as ALL women do) that are tender, she is anchored in a place of identity.  

I am challenging those deeper places of my own identity, in my bodies ability to be a “land mammal”.  I am stretching beyond the old stories to something new.  

Where are the places in your own life where there is an “old story” that is not longer (or perhaps never was) the truth about you?  How are you changing the marks in your life?

and by the way.. that friend who is having the baby also has an amazing blog site.  Check her out!!
bohobabybump.blogspot.com