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She chokes and smothers like a cloak weighing you down

A starved Anaconda,

each breath becomes harder to take,

each word becoming quieter

she cant hear you,

nor can you hear her, for the poison seeps in.

I want to be brave – ask her not to keep squeezing me,

to stop taking my power away,

see me as an equal and not thy pray.

Lifeless, breathless…

I look within for sanctuary for the poison has taken my sight,

paralysed physically,

this will be my last fight.

She’s accomplished her ego feast

entangled, knotted,

twisted umbilical bond.

Written by Francesca Shaw 14.14pm on the 22nd November 2024

Crescent, half or full she will still beam,

feminine mystery,

some call her Luna and some say she’s a Selene.

Suffocated and hidden, unseen for the cloud,

full of autonomy- emerging,

follow her or not- colossal, proud.

Innocently unaware of those that wait,

mist clears,

gasps of wonder,

celestial date.

And then, just like that, she was gone,

until the next cycle,

when she reveals her teachings again.

I will honor this months blessings and remember, this months Moon song.

Inspired by the Flower Full Moon on the 5th May 2023, 555 Portal and Retrograde. A beautiful evening under the moonlight.

Regardless of whether the two pink lines were planned or not the fantasy of a dreamy maternity leave is real, so real that we have pretty much planned the entire maternity leave from start to finish and added a big fat rosey tinted cherry on the top!

From the instagram posts of how a ‘stay at home mum’s house should look’ to the idealisation of looking like Victoria Beckham 3 weeks after birth as the media displays we should, we are literally brainwashed a fantasy maternity from the second we announce we are expecting.

Having gone through this four times myself I have had hours upon hours of moments of despair questioning why I don’t feel happy being at home with my baby. Wondering why I can’t get more than three tasks a day done when all I have is ‘a baby to look after’ and how do I tell someone how I really feel about losing my mind to scary intrusive postnatal thoughts. I have always had so much compassion for everyone around me be it another new mum, friend, work colleague and even strangers so why is it so that my brain won’t go easy on me?

Everything I have purchased for my child has happy images on, everything baby related is sweet, cute and innocent but whilst I’m sat up at night feeling alone and anxious as I check to see if my babies breathing or struggle to change a nappy through exhaustion it doesn’t feel nice- It isn’t sweet and it certainly doesn’t look innocent.

Why did no one prepare me in pregnancy for what and how I would feel after birth? Our natural primal instinct or as I will refer to (the old brain) are wired so much more differently to how we are expected to parent and in comparison to the new age (new brain) that has evolved over millions of years.

So many mothers are expected to raise children on their own from the very beginning. Be it the partner returns to work within days or that they have no support, family or friends. We are not designed to raise babies alone hence why the menopause came into play to allow the older generations to support with the children. To eradicate competition for mating and to allow the mother to rest and be cared for too. We have forgotten how to live in tribes and villages and it is massively impacting on the new age mothers and their maternity experiences and mental wellbeing.

Our old brains are inherently triggered when we birth to avoid harm so all of a sudden we find anxieties in the most small day to day activities. Some I remember are…….will I drop the baby walking down the stairs, have a made the bath too hot, have I counted the scoops of formula correctly, am I holding them properly, why are they crying do they not like me? Have I dressed them correctly, do I look like I am coping, have I bought the right nappy cream, I like dogs but I am scared when they come near the pram….why? I will tell you why, our old brains are programmed for fight, flight, freeze and shut down and when we have children it is proven that our brain matter decreases MRI scans today can prove this. Matrescence is the physical, emotional, hormonal and social transition of becoming a mother (Raphael, (1973) and the part of our brain called the amygdala becomes more sensitive to threat when we have babies meaning we are naturally on high alert. Imagine 200 million years ago and been on the African planes late at night and being surround by predators that could attack you and your baby. When your baby begins to cry this will attract attention and therefore when we are laid in bed on a night trying to soothe a distressed infant most mothers will recall being more anxious at night. This is instinctively our old brains kicking into action to protect our infant from harm- clever right! Unfortunately evolution has evolved our new brains and we are now in a generation of reasoning, language and self awareness. Unbeknown to mothers hormones are then thrown in and we have a real brew for metal combustion bubbling into the postnatal pot.

Let’s talk Oxytocin! This hormone is amazing it’s the hormone known as the love drug! Entwined in the most beautiful of human activities such as sexual intercourse, birth, breastfeeding, love and trust. Yet not many will be educated prior to birth that oxytocin can trigger the mothers old attachment memories- linked to her own childhood. This means that the mother may feel emotions that are unhelpful and triggering if she didn’t have the most of positive attachments to her own birth giver. Heartbreakingly she will not realise these are related to herself and not her baby.

Following birth we need to rest and digest, basically eat and sleep like a well walked and fed family pet! Nothing is more wonderful to see than your pooch laid in front of you on the lounge floor content and full as you gather as a family snuggled on the sofa. Yet in comparison we are literally seeing new mothers up and out of the house within hours of birthing. It’s completely against all of our biological instincts- yet we still don’t listen to our bodies. Every time I see a new mother or father I wish I could say rest and listen to your instincts. If only we trusted our own intuition and had the ability to speak about how we really feel. It is Ironic that our solar plexus (nerves in our abdomen) is yellow and that particular color on a chakra chart is linked to our gut instincts. With it been wear yellow day for young minds and mental health awareness I felt compelled to share this little blog. I speak for the mental health of my own young teenage mother mind, she has never gone back to how she was before I was a mother. I am now in my early 30s and at the teenage stage of parenting. This in itself is like a whole new level of maternity leave! If I am honest I can’t decipher weather I am just as mentally challenged now as to when they were infants. I really hope that if you have stumbled across this blog post and you can relate, that you either find some comfort in my words or have been inspired to reach out and talk about how you really feel. Motherhood isn’t all sunflowers and yellow fluffy teddys but if we begin to speak about our truth we may start to see or feel the warmth of the sunshine on the days and nights that feel so dark.

Written by Francesca Shaw 10th October on wear yellow day for mental health 2022

#Hellowyellow

Shadow work isn’t easy and it’s one of those things that you can never really predict how it will go. Delving into the deepest areas of your soul and asking questions, addressing behaviours, reactions and triggers that will literally shudder your bones is very uncomfortable. Yet in the uncomfortable we unravel the inner essence that is you . Your truth, your pain, your experience and most importantly you rediscover and begin the journey of healing.

Knowing the real you can also be a shock! Perhaps it is a part of yourself that you’ve hidden from many, lets face it we can all wear different hats in different situations and surroundings. Perhaps the real you arises emotions of joy, excitement, fear, anger or even shame. This is all a process and you must remember to be gentle with yourself whilst you grow.

I have personally being working on learning to love and parent my inner little girl. This is really challenging given my fractured childhood in the care system. I regularly battle triggers on a day to day basis and I never really realised how much trauma, had actually dismembered my mental health. After years of therapy I’ve found a therapist that I can actually be totally raw with and truthful. I feel like she understands me… the real me, the shadow me. After a recent session I wrote this poem for I had realised that it was no coincidence that I had so many abandonment triggers. Triggers that to this day can send me into episodes for 1-2 days (they used to be for weeks at a time) I have improved greatly.

Left,

I was left before I was earth-side,

he didn’t want me – 8 Month fetus.

Left at birth,

she couldn’t help it but I was still told she left.

Left at 4-6 weeks,

Post natal they call it,

she called it a trip to Greece for 2 weeks!

Left by a step dad age 5,

Left to fend for myself in the lounge whilst she sleeps,

know one cares if i’m alive.

Left in care age 6,

family available but know one wants the role.

Left out by peers because I’m hardly at school.

Left again to fend for myself.

Left in care a few more times.

Left at contact centres, know one turns up consistently.

Left in rest bite care,

no other option but it still feels unfair.

Left out by friends, uninvited to get ready for the prom,

every teenage relationship is a cheating ROM com.

Age 16 left in court by my own mum,

legal guardian they said, she refused to sign papers to say i’m hers.

Left in my flat for many a night,

the nappies, sick, bottles and tears with no support come a Friday, for only the moon’s shimmer would watch over me with it’s light, whilst I sat on my balcony in despair that I was left.

Left whilst you go to prison for beating me – oh wait that’s my fault too.

Left parenting, parenting for drug nights, poker nights, Ps4 nights.

Left for other women,

Left after birth to bleed out and know one answered their phone.

Left by best friends for affairs,

Left by friends that lie, cheat and back stab.

Left out of my fathers Eulogy.

Left unable to go to my own graduations, two out of the three I missed but who cares he hissed.

Left after surgery for weeks unable to walk and having to parent alone.

Left with no car, no money, no food.

Left by friends in bars stood up because they deep down couldn’t give a fuck.

Left to terminate life on my own.

Left when iv’e first trusted because envy invites vampires that lusted.

Left so much I don’t even know how to be invited anywhere be it to a place, into someones life or into someone’s heart.

Now I fear how to cope when a child naturally grows up and fly’s the nest.

For as mine grow and spread their wings,

letting go will be another emotional test.

Written by Francesca Shaw on a new moon evening 6th October 2021

10.14 am proudest mother alive.

Completely drained, limp, with intermittent surges of adrenaline from time to time. Morning drifted by my weary eyes yet they stayed transfixed upon this new life. This baby was not only a boy, child or person he was my son. Upon my lips touching his hour ago vernix covered cheeks he felt like silk. He tasted fresher than the most filtered spring water you had ever drunk. I was drunk in euphoria unbeknown to me was this surreal experience possibly going to be my last.

2 pm afternoon, visitors gallivanted to and fro, crisp crinkling of envelopes opening to reveal congratulations cards had begun to wear thin on my tired senses. This sounds ungrateful for as new mothers we should welcome the gestures of kindness- yet where is the kindness in not allowing a new mother to rest?

8 pm I was finally alone to inhale Elliot’s tiny breath, gently I embraced his naked body next to my swollen breast. Fulfilling my maternal instincts in peace then suddenly piercing discomfort riddled my torso. Rapidly my womb began to ooze fluid. Something was seriously wrong! The odour from the bed sheets became staler by the hour; I could feel myself drifting away. Weak, dithery, clammy I reached out my little finger for comfort, Elliot gripped his tiny hand around it. 

Investigations start.

1 am metal, cold degrading devices butchered my womanhood until I couldn’t take any more. 

3 am injected with what they call a legal heroine. Palpitation, delirious and hallucinogenic, abdominal scans more fondling with metal and manly nurses hands. Trapped with my own self surrounded by strangers and separated from my son- fear like I’ve never experienced before. 

4 am irrational fleeting thoughts, BLEEP, BLEEP, BLEEP what are these machines? Tangled in wires millions of them attached to me like venomous snakes squeezing the life out of my veins. Never before have I been so religious “please, please, please God help me” I internally scream as I repeat the lord’s prayer….Know one came, know one answered their phone and know one cared. 

5 am teary eyes and three litres of dark blood later I held my son for what I believed was the last time. Wheeled to theatre on a rickety, old, squeaky bed my bones jolted and grinded as they whisked me into the lift. The last thing I remember from that hour was the stench from the orange iodine as it seeped into my nostrils. As I drifted off to sleep I strained towards the nurse on my right, clutching her freckly warm hand with every last bit of motherly love I had, I said “tell my three babies that mummy loves them and please, please, please don’t separate them”.

7 am I was Alive-just.

Written by Francesca Shaw after a gradual PPH (Post -par-tum haemorrhage) following a third live birth with intervention. This experience in 2010 left me needing 2 blood transfusions and several months worth of medication and therapy as I developed PTSD and postnatal depression. I went on to have a 4th child and was too frightened to have a hospital birth. This led me down the path of a home birth with an independent midwife (which ended up being the best pregnancy and water birth I could have ever dreamed of) despite the hospital trying to convince me I was high risk and couldn’t have a home birth. I started researching everything from scans, breastfeeding, vaccination, terry nappies and placenta encapsulation. I later trained as a breastfeeding peer supporter and facilitator and supported new mothers in my community for nearly a decade. I urge any mother that is expecting to listen to her wild woman inside of her, to question the intervention to explore her options before just going along with everything that is said to her. Research Douala’s and ask questions when you feel like you’re being pushed into decisions that go against your gut instincts. Thousands of women experience negligence and are left with lifelong trauma that they are never debriefed on- you deserve better and so does your baby.

I would like to thank Deborah Faye Rhodes, Amanda Wardle, Rebecca Ball and (Susan Stephenson who sadly passed away after my 4th child’s birth) for all supporting me during the pregnancy, birth and for 12 weeks postnatal. These women helped to heal my soul and made me believe in my body again. Forever, I will be grateful to you.