About Jessica Perryman

My very first profession was as a teacher, a high school English teacher to be exact. I thought I had found a vocation that would provide meaning to myself and be of service to others and that I would remain a teacher until I retired. As the years went on I realised I was in need of something more. I felt lost but didn't know where to look to find that sense of certainty I once had. This feeling contributed to a fall in my mental and physical health. I was experiencing chronic back pain and acute anxiety at 27.

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Then a colleague of mine inspired me to try yoga. I didn't really know what to expect (this was pre Intsagram yoga) but I was drawn to it. It was much harder than I had thought it would be! Or perhaps my body wasn't as lithe and youthful as I thought it was... But I stuck with it.

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Over time my body became strong and my mind mirrored this experience. I discovered that breathwork and mindful movement allowed me to reconnect to my body and relieve me of pain, both mental and physical. I discovered the peace of meditation (and no it's not just 'not thinking'. My overactive mind would find that impossible!). I knew that one day, I wanted to pass on what I had learnt here to others so they too could experience a brief moment of peace in their otherwise overwhelming lives. But I was still struggling to overcome feelings of inadequacy. Still recycling that old belief of 'not good enough' around and around my skull.

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As the years went by, I felt more and more drawn to working with wellbeing. I completed my Masters of Counselling and Guidance in 2017 and became the Wellbeing Co-ordinator at the school I was teaching at. I worked at a school for at-risk and disengaged youth so there was a significant need for mental health and wellbeing support. I spent a lot of time writing and teaching wellbeing programs to staff and students and again found a passion for what I did.

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Soon after this I fell pregnant with my first child, the beautiful little blondy who graces the home page of this website. Being the sometimes disorganised human that I am, I didn't make it to my first antenatal class until I was 34 weeks pregnant. Until then, I had been of the thought, 'I'll just go with the flow' during labour. It must have been fate that the midwife delivering the session was pro natural birth and deeply spiritual in her discussion of it. She said something that moved me. I don't remember the words exactly but it was akin to 'giving birth is your opportunity to know your true strength. Once you have birthed a baby you will understand the depth of your feminine power'. I wanted that for myself. I had felt disempowered for so long, stuck in not enoughness, I wanted to get out.

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Long story short, I gave birth to Eva in a hospital after 15 hours of labour. I had completed a crash course in hypnobirthing and managed to forgo the epidural but I still received intervention in the form of synotcinon (the drip that increases frequency and intensity of contractions) and finally morphine as I could no longer cope with the artificial contractions. Eva was born unaffected by the drugs thankfully, however I was definitely spaced out, exhausted and later I would realise, traumatised by the experience. For 2 years I truly believed I had a good birth. Until I fell pregnant again with my son.

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While pregnant with my son, I had the chance to reflect on my daughter's birth. I realised that even though my husband and I were armed with knowledge, I still fell prey to the hospital settings rules and regulations, as well as the subtle fear inspiring tactics used by well meaning midwives which categorised me as a 'failure to progress' placing baby in 'foetal distress'. And I don't know any parent that wouldn't do exactly what the doctor said upon hearing those words.

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Fear was my enemy. I was scared of the whole situation: the pain, the doctors, the hospital, the lights, the machines, the beeping, the interventions, the tearing, my body, my vagina, the baby, taking the baby home, motherhood. All of the things! They all came crushing into my world view as my daughter made her entrance into the world. I hadn't prepared for this.

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I knew I had to do it differently with my son. I studied to become a pre and postnatal yoga teacher to prepare my body, and I booked into a birth centre with the hopes of finding a balance between medical safety and emotional safety. But alas, the rooms which promised to be homey still felt clinical and did not receive the continuity of care I had hoped for. I felt at a loss for what to do.

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And just as I had nearly resigned myself to my situation, another fateful moment arose to show me a different path. My chiropractor told me about her home birth experience casually one day during a session. 'Oh wow, that's brave,' I said, 'I could never do that.' Again, my 'not enoughness' spoke on my behalf but something inside me resonated deeply with the idea, the potential, the opportunity of it all.

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And so, again at 34 weeks, I changed care providers to the Community Midwifery Program. As soon as I met the team I knew I'd made the right choice. They spoke about consent, they spoke about uninterrupted birth, they spoke about empowerment. They spoke my language.

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I gave birth to my son in the shower at home. I felt his head breech, I caught his slippery body in my hands, I pulled him to my chest. It was quiet, it was dark, it was sacred. I felt the power of my body and the expansion of my consciousness as I brought him into this world. It took just 6 hours and while it was not completely pain free, I still felt strong. I shook with adrenaline but smiled with light-heartedness. A big step from being wheeled in a chair down the hallway, dazed and unfeeling from the drugs.

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And now came the challenge of motherhood. Now with two instead of one. 

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There is so much focus on preparing for the birth. We take classes, decorate rooms, build cots and buy car seats, but what happens when you get the baby home?

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Sadly, many of us are left in the dark about the realities of motherhood and the postpartum period. We are given unrealistic expectations from society, those around us and mostly, by ourselves. I definitely fell into this category after the birth of my daughter and I literally made myself sick trying to be who I used to be before motherhood. I couldn't lose weight (I had gained 20kgs) and I was constantly suffering with colds, flus, ear infections and skin rashes that I had never experienced before. I was completely depleted. But ironically, I thought I just needed to do more (exercise and eating choices) to get better. 

It took me over 6 months to realise what I was doing and another 12 to fully recover from birth. During that time, I started seeing a therapist who helped me reconnect to my body through mindfulness and somatics to work through the issues that had created that belief system in the first place. I learnt how to be compassionate to myself in a world full of perfectionism.

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With my son, I knew how to care for myself better. And because I had learnt to show myself compassion, I didn't hate my pregnant body or degrade myself for not bouncing back within 2 weeks. I was grateful for my body having created the very things I loved most in this world, my children. I looked at myself in the mirror and I liked what I saw.

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I'm not saying motherhood is a breeze now. It's not. But I'm learning to offer myself support when things get hard instead of criticising or judging myself for not being enough. Sure, I keep myself accountable if I stuff up, but that mistake doesn't define whether or not I'm a good mum anymore. 

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I don't want to raise children who believe their worth is tied to how perfect they are. I don't want to raise children who feel the weight of 'not enough' dragging them down in the classroom, in relationships and in life. How can I teach them this if I don't believe it for myself first?

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And I find myself drawn to teaching once more. Not children, but mothers. We are the centre of the home. We model to our children how they should treat themselves. Our wellbeing is intrinsically tied to that of our family. When we are well, so are they.

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