AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I find myself wanting to scream a lot lately. What else is there to do when you’ve reached your limit? But often, I’m in the presence of another person, so sometimes I let out a deep SIGHHH instead — or a soft vocalization, kind of like the low guttural noise people make when they’re in labor.

Something happens when sound is released from your body. Part of the burden gets carried away into the wind, or into the space you are in. There’s a shift in energy.

We often want to rush past our pain and our feelings of discomfort. I certainly felt this way when I was in labor. There comes a point during labor called the “ring of fire”. This is the moment where the baby’s head crowns and the labia and perineum reach the point of maximum stretching. This name does this moment justice; it literally feels like you are burning. It only lasts a couple of seconds, but when I was giving birth to my son, I remember thinking, this needs to end NOW. Even in those few seconds, I was thinking, how can I get past this sooner? Am I even going to make it? Sometimes life can feel like that. We ask ourselves, how much longer? How will I get through? Will I make it?

These moments, where I feel I am at my limit, where I feel I am being stretched the most, are where I meet God. The spirit that knows my every pain, frustration, anxiety, and confusion. The spirit that sees, loves, and hears me. I see the manifestations of the spirit through the whispering winds, the heat of the sun’s rays, and in both the calming and roaring sounds of the ocean. I felt the spirit as I heard the roaring sound of my own voice as I brought my son to this Earth. In these moments, I feel both stillness and power and my body is attuned to the frequency of the Creator. I feel at peace. 

“How often do we make things worse by going against the natural rhythm of our bodies, the way they were intelligently designed? Or by running away from the things we need to face in our lives at any given moment?”

I didn’t realize how much I needed to be tuned back in until I took a vacation this past week. As much I love my home, living in a crowded city during a global pandemic amidst continual injustices and violence on black bodies takes a toll. But as I had the opportunity to be present in the moment, I could slow down. I could see that there was more time and space. I could breathe. As I looked out at the ocean or breathed in fresh air in the woods, I was reminded that I am not alone and that the burden is not all mine to bear. 

Similarly, during labor, I knew I was not alone. I felt the presence and power of my ancestors who have labored before me as they gave me the strength I needed to come out on the other side. But I rushed it; I didn’t want to slow down because I was scared of the process. I pushed when I didn’t feel the urge to push because I was tired, uncomfortable, and wanted it to be over. The pushing stage in labor is all about the process, and it’s not supposed to be linear. It’s more like a dance; two steps forward, one step back. Going with this rhythm actually allows for the perineum to stretch more safely, at its own time, leaving less of a risk for tearing. How often do we make things worse by going against the natural rhythm of our bodies, the way they were intelligently designed? Or by running away from the things we need to face in our lives at any given moment?

So if you feel like you’re drowning (the way most of us feel in 2020), just let it out. Breathe. Be still. Surrender. You are heard, you are seen, and you are loved. We are laboring together and through it all, something new is being born at the exact right time.