A rite can be defined as a solemn ritual, ceremony or act, sometimes religious but not always. Rites are used to honour a significant moment in time and have existed in society for millennia. A rite of passage pertains to an act that signifies the movement of a person from one group in society to another. Rites of passage used to be commonplace within communities that had strong belief systems and cultural practices.
An example of a rite of passage that is easily recognisable, even today, is that of Bar Mitzva, a coming-of-age rite of passage that signifies when a boy or girl leaves their social status of child behind to become a young man or woman. Even though this may be considered a religious act more than anything, it also helps the child form a new aspect of self. They are able to integrate the idea of becoming an adult, and the responsibility that offers, more easily because they have passed through ceremony to identify and celebrate that shift in identity. It is powerful in its symbolism because it helps the young person navigate the world of adolescence with the understanding that they can no longer be childish in their expectations or actions. They hold themselves to a new standard.
Birth is a rite of passage whether or not is it celebrated and honoured. Even without ceremony, a woman will pass out of the social group of maiden (this is an archetype that can personify the idea of a young woman with no children, not necessarily a virgin) into the realm of mother. She will leave behind the existence that allows her to enjoy her freedoms without the concern of others and become attached, eternally, to another living being. This moment is one that many women long for, one that will make their lives full. What is often unsaid, is that this shift of identity, of life expectations, is really fucking hard. What was once a simple thing, like going to the supermarket, now requires a herculean effort to get out the door, and that’s not including whether or not you remember the grocery bags.
Another challenge outside of the sheer amount of energy required to parent a child, is comparison. It is the one thing that will truly cause you to become unstuck. You don’t need to look at the mother next to you to get a yard stick for success. There is no ‘winner’ at the end of the day. It’s about what works for you and your family. What makes you and your baby happy. The expectation that things should be different, easier, take less time will cause more suffering than the actual situation you lament.
And the saddest and most silent suffering out of all of this is the mother who compares herself to who she was before her baby. The one who feels she should be doing more, achieving more, is lazy or wasting time just being with her baby. I grieve for her because she is me. I spent so much time after the birth of my daughter just trying to go back to who I was before she was born. Get my body ‘back’, get ‘back’ to work, get ‘back’ to girls’ nights out without realising I was seeking the impossible. Her birth had forever changed me and I resented it. I was resisting the change in my identity that her arrival had brought. I was no longer the woman I thought I was. I was someone new. I was a mother.
All ideas of self now needed to be run through a filter that was concerned with the wellbeing of another human. Can I drink the wine? Can I go to the shops at nap time? Can I stay at my friend’s house past 8pm? How will I cope if I’m hungover tomorrow?
I write this because I didn’t know I had been through a rite of passage. I didn’t know how fully I had to let go of who I was to step into who I would become. I didn’t know that I would have a grieving process attached to bringing a baby into this world. I thought I was only supposed to feel fulfillment, not loss. And I judged myself because of it.
It makes sense to me that so many women experience post-natal depression and anxiety. We sugar coat motherhood to be this beautiful thing that we must only feel grateful for because some women don’t get the chance. And I am grateful. So grateful, but that doesn’t mean I can’t validate my feelings of loss too. That I can’t be honest about how hard it is to be a mother and maintain a sense of identity outside of that role.
By honouring birth for what it is, a transition from one social group to another, allows us to shift our expectations of ourselves and our babies. We can loosen our grip on perfection and find the beauty and resilience and courage in imperfection. We are navigating newness not just as we get to know our babies, but as we get to know ourselves. Who are we now that we are mothers? How do we integrate who we were to who we have become?
This shift is profound and deserves to be deeply honoured. If we feel secure in the development of our new identity, we will be more comfortable in our own skins. We will respect ourselves for what we have done, instead of comparing ourselves to a standard that existed in a time before motherhood. The path to self-love will become evident instead of the path of self-loathing.
The wellbeing of the mother is intrinsically linked to the wellbeing of the baby. By offering ourselves compassion and honouring where we are at, we will be more present with our babies, our lovers and ourselves. You deserve that. You deserve to be honoured.
Birth is hard. It’s really fucking hard, no matter how your baby comes into this world. But it is an initiation. You can prepare for the challenges that lie ahead of you with compassion. Hold yourself with kindness. Let go of comparison and let this be the way you step into motherhood too. You are strong enough. You are brave enough. You are gentle enough and you are wise enough. Claim your birth as an initiation into your feminine power.
Your birth rites are your birthright. If you would love to go deeper into your own potential to tap into the power of birth, to heal a birth experience or to work with me to integrate the identity shift from maiden to mother, click on the 'book online' tab above to explore availability.
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