I’m of the thought that any way that a precious baby safely enters our lives is a tremendous gift. We mothers often have expectations or dreams for birth that may or may not come to happen. I have always strived and fervently prayed for safe, natural births. I’ve been really blessed, after consistently quite difficult pregnancies, to be exceedingly grateful for the stories of each of our children’s births.

Before my first, I found it helpful to read birth stories to better understand the possibilities of what could happen and to feel more prepared. I share my births here not only to record it for our children and to celebrate the faithfulness of God, but to impart hope to those who are uncertain if a “pain-free” and peaceful, spiritual birth is possible. I believe it is… and my birthing experiences are a testament to it! It honestly for me takes a good bit of intentionality and preparation, but thanks be to God, we welcomed our sixth baby just weeks ago, through a beautiful daytime home birth.

I realize my choices and preferences for birth are unusual to many, but I’m at peace and profoundly thankful for how these momentous events have unfolded. If we are open to it, creating and welcoming a new life can be a deeply healing and transformative journey. Thank you for celebrating baby Anneliese Noelle with me, dear sister.

Here is, to the best of my recollection, the story of Anneliese’s arrival!  Anneliese is our sixth baby and fourth girl.  She was the most active baby in the womb and she has been the sweetest, smiliest little love.

Starting and Bustling

In January I began having many days of prodromal labor, then approximately two to three weeks straight of it before her arrival.  It seemed like a never-ending routine of the contractions or “waves” starting and that inevitable jolt of “is this it?!” Besides buzzing around and nesting, I coped in the late night hours by watching episodes of “Madam Secretary,” which was an efficient distraction.

I eventually found myself and my growing little girl ten days past the guess “due date.”  Again, this was after nights and nights of off and on intense contractions, likely making slow but steady progress.  On Sunday night of January 28th, they started in the evening again.

I began recording the waves around 8ish.  They were consistently about 13-15 minutes apart until 10pm, when I texted our midwife Doran a heads up that there hadn’t been a break.  This wasn’t wildly different than other nights, but it was more consistent this time, so I shared with her I was planning to go to sleep and would let her know if they got down to 5 minutes regularly.  I was so exhausted from the entire pregnancy and the rollercoaster of the last weeks, that at this point that I didn’t want to stay awake swimming in anxiety to just have the contractions be inconsistent again.

Doran said okay, and she’d be on standby. 

Each hour through the night I woke up two to three times with an intense contraction, but I just kept aiming to go back to sleep between wake ups and frequent bathroom trips.  I didn’t recall waking between 4:30-6am window, so when I woke to sound of the other four little ones running around, I wasn’t sure what the status was labor -wise.  I tried to relax and wait in my bedroom to see, but any mother of multiple children knows that once the crew of little ones are awake, the home is full of “you may not relax” forces.  I noticed more strong contractions around 7am. Shortly after, I saw Nicholas fully dressed for work and my stomach sank a little realizing he was in business-as-usual mode. The children homeschool on Mondays, and with the realization of what day it was grew a heavy feeling– I just couldn’t imagine powering through the day with the kids at home on my own in this state.

I beckoned Nicholas to a private conversation in the bedroom to give him an update. Now I was teary, sincerely wondering if all the activity/ preoccupation required for a day with four very young children would cause labor to slow down again yet another day.

I decided to ask Doran for advice on the situation, and she messaged back to maybe see if things slowed down or picked up with getting up and moving around more.

So back to the bathroom for the bazillionth time, I started putzing around to get ready for the day. As I put contacts in and brushed my teeth, it was, from what I could detect, the first time the contractions kept going stronger while standing.

I came out and told Nicholas I thought it would be best to find a plan for kids outside the house, suggesting he could work from home until we knew better what was happening.  I had an intuitive sense that if I created space physically/ mentally/ emotionally for it, baby would be able to come.  I was so tired but a certain womanly strength inside advocated for it.

It seemed as soon as this became the direction we were headed, strong contractions picked up and I saw a text come in from Doran the midwife asking if I wanted her to come.  I hesitated for a moment but just responded “yes” and started quickly throwing kids clothes in a bag.  My “let’s go!” mother voice kicked in and I started announcing to the household for children to get shoes and coats on, and to head toward the van.

Felicity, just having woken up, stared at me blankly seated on the chaise in the dining room with no movement.  Maribelle started revving up the whining/refusing and while Nicholas bent down to her level to start some skillful negotiations with her, I interrupted assertively and asked him to just scoop her up and put her in the carseat– no time for Janet Lansbury empathizing this time! My announcements got louder and more succinct: “EVERYBODY! OUT. THE. DOOR!”  Felicity commented later, “you know that was rather abrupt, Mom.”

Aunt Ginger, still in her PJs,  emerged from the basement suite and jumped right in to the mix bringing small humans to the carport. With the front door open I realize, woah, it’s cold outside. Get all the coats in a bag. I was full on momma hen darting from one room to the next gathering all the things. Once little people were actively being buckled, I just tossed a full box of pullups and a huge box of wipes behind everyone leaving on the front porch and closed the front door with gusto.

Once they were off, I immediately got dressed for labor and with urgency said to Nicholas who was upstairs doing something, “POOL, BABE!” 

He answered back down, “yep!” 

I hurriedly headed to our bedroom, put on a hypnotrack on my phone with headphones and started to try to focus into the words.  If I had to rate my top fears for childbirth, for some reason one is not being able to get into self-hypnosis early enough to “stay in it” for when it gets real intense.  It feels like a race to the starting line in a sense, for me to get to a place to relax and follow the prompts.  Once I make it there and do the mental work of convincing myself “I can do this, I can relax,” then the tracks are a reliable, effective guide.  

As the powerful waves kept coming I settled into following the audio prompts in my ear. I could also faintly hear scurrying around outside the closed bedroom door.  Nicholas was getting the pool and other things ready.  I always have a clear birthing time list ready for him that we go over third trimester, and he was intently doing the tasks step-by-step.

I turned up the volume on my phone and lay on the bed on my side to try to minimize any major progression until the midwives arrived.  I had done that with our previous daughter’s birth and I liked the leaning into a familiar template. It was then that I entered into my “safe space” that hypnobabies invites you to create during months of hypnobirthing practice…

Entering Safety

My safe space or bubble of peace is a mental home I’ve been visiting for some time now, even before this pregnancy’s hypnobirthing.  It is my version of the Holy House of Nazareth aka the Holy House of Loreto aka the home in which Jesus lived before His adult ministry.  Tradition teaches us Mary also grew up in this sacred space, and that the Incarnation occurred here. I’ve always been in awe and deep joy contemplating Jesus, Mary and Joseph living their quiet ordinary holy days together in such a simple and beautiful little place.

In my mind it is a humble happy home of stone, with a large hearth centered on the back wall with a fire roaring.  I imagine a small kitchen to the left when you walk through the door and then a little further down on the left, a solid slab of wood under a high window overlooking the courtyard. The wood makes a seating bench that doubles as a nice sleeping place.  On the opposite wall there is a similar wide bench near the fireplace.  There’s also a rocking chair and soft piles of animal skins and a lovely natural broom leaning against the stone wall.

As I enter in my mind, Mary is there and Jesus is there, both peaceful and smiling gently.  Joseph is in the courtyard quietly keeping busy with little odd jobs, and staying close to protect the privacy of us inside.  I imagine Mary offering me the bench under the window to rest. I gratefully accept and settle in, reclining and facing the fireplace. I can’t see Mary anymore, yet her presence is palpable behind me.  Jesus is near the fire, and I somehow instantly know that His love and power is the source of light and heat.

Jesus sits across the room, leaning forward attentive to me. 

He is Calm. Tender. All-Knowing .

There is a deep seated love and joy and confidence in me.

He is Fully Present. Fully in Control. Strikingly Still.

Mary remains close, offering touch and strength…comfort, assurance and direction.

It’s as if they both agree there are the fitting places or roles for a time such as this– the feminine mother enveloping me. Her wisdom, knowledge, womanly care that’s incomparable. 

Jesus is fully present, the Source, very near and reverential, yet deferring to this wonderful Mother of His. He is offering appropriate space, giving Mary a primary position right now.

Joseph is outside– I don’t see his face but his protection and attentiveness is felt. He is interceding! Keeping silent, busy, useful, he is knowing full well Jesus and Mary have me absolutely covered in all necessary care.

I try to turn my attention back to being there, inside.  Warm, welcomed, loved. I am surrendering to birthing time and accepting the beauty, the privilege of this safety where my daughter would be born. It all felt so quiet, simple, poor, and full.

The source of the hypnoanesthia, the calm and strength and focus and sheer ability for any of what I’d be able to offer is Jesus.  I am yielding to Him.

The fire began in a mysterious way enveloping the places in my body where I experience the intense birthing waves, my abdomen, back, pelvic area…

as if His touch IS the fire, IS the power and love, IS His hands and burning heart, IS the contraction power and the anesthesia all at once.

It’s a hot amber glow.

Mary is the faceless voice from behind me, merging harmoniously with the very voice of the woman on the audio track.

Active Yielding

The midwife rubs my arm gently “I’m here.”

My conscious mind registers her arrival and that I’ve reached the next step.

I “click” my hypno switch “up” to remain in self-hypnosis and open my eyes to acknowledge her with a smile (I think?) and then I return back into the audio track.  I have no need to worry about all the material things now, I have full trust everything is being prepared for birth by Doran, her assistant Denyse and Nicholas.  I know them well, convinced of their competence and trustworthiness, secure in their excellent care. I am keenly aware of this safety net set around me. I have no concerns of strangers intruding, doubting my ability, interrupting the holy silence and prayerful flow I was nestled into. While trusting they would give me all the space I needed, I was also assured I’d have these amazing capable persons to turn to with any need.

Doran later told me they arrived at 8:15am.

*I’d like to pause the play-by-play to mention a little prayer that God answered…

After the weeks of prodromal labor, feeling super super super vulnerable for so many hours and nights, I thought how nice it could be to just have a day birth.

Because all but one of my other births “came upon” me like that a “thief in the night” scripture, and because they were so fast, it was mentally (and so then physically) so hard to “catch up” to them.  There had always been some fear and anxiety then in subsequent pregnancies to not know when true labor would really start and if I’d be ready to “catch up” to it. 

In the wake of the other heavy crosses our family had been experiencing throughout this pregnancy, I craved the beauty, the power, the hope of the light of day… being alert and awake and participating actively within it. Whatever the opposite of drowning and suffocating in darkness would be.

Although the dimness and quietness of nighttime in real ways provides a sense safety and rest (the reason they say most women go into labor in the stillness of the nighttime), my heart had a deep desire for the day this time.  I asked God for it. Realizing it may not be His will, I still prayed a simple request for a break in the grayness of long suffering.  And what a grace His granting a daytime birth was for my soul.

Also, amazingly, Anneliese’s name… it means “graceful light.”

So to turn back into the action…

I was in active labor for sure, no doubt that it was a good idea to say “yes” to the midwife coming.  

As I got up to use the toilet, I noticed gentle bearing down starting. When I came back to the bedroom, I chose to go to the birthing ball on side of bed.  Going from a lying down “labor station” to an upright one was a sure way to keep things moving forward.  Historically this has always been a moment during labor that required bravery of me. I’m always fully aware at this point that by choosing this shift in position I am assenting for things to amplify. I looked up to see Nicholas waiting patiently on the other side of the bed.  His to do list was done so I asked him to come close now, and join me for back counter pressure.

I asked for water periodically, noticing internally I was pushing more at the end of contractions.   The waves felt farther apart somehow at this point , like I was being given more rest in between, however Nicholas said later they definitely were becoming closer together. 

I went to the toilet again, felt “pushy.” Standing to wash my hands, “more pushy.”  I felt things quickening.  I had a moment of being a little panicky to get back to my hypnotic “off switch” as it definitely felt like things were speeding up.

Back on the birthing ball, Doran unobtrusively slid in to check the baby’s heartbeat.  I then shared my secret that I was feeling pushy, while quietly thinking I wanted to wait longer before going to the pool…

I had planned to go into the water at the transformation stage, but I was aware that every wave now felt good to push.  It was curious that it didn’t seem urgent yet, and I noticed it was important to me not to move to the pool prematurely.

Doran came into view and asked what my plan was about the pool.  Herein lies a great example of the perfect balance good midwives have of letting you lead, yet also speaking up with their experienced advice when appropriate. She knew I wanted a water birth again. She gave a gentle reminder that I might want to start considering going that way. I smile as I think about it because these moments with my midwives are like when a mother reminds you with that maternal authoritative flair, “it would probably be a good thing to clean your room now,” and your teenagery self knows she’s right, but is slightly annoyed anyway. I didn’t listen to my stubborn side thankfully, and took a second to take stock of where I was at. I asked her out loud something like, “so remind me… if I’m feeling pushy now that means we are just going forward from here, right?”  It’s a bit amusing to me now that I had to ask this, but it was an indication of how calm I felt, and how on some level I gauged the waves were still too far apart to be close to transition.  Nicholas again told me later that they were definitely actively getting closer together then too.  

A quick review of the things I was so grateful for so far, real gifts during active labor:

• the morning sun shining on my face and body
• real warmth from the sunshine corresponding with warmth of the hearth and Jesus’ love/fire/touch
• light breaking through from behind the tree branches– felt like an expression of light and hope and power behind my eyelids
• faintly hearing Nicholas walk around making preparations… filling diffuser with lavender, getting the pool ready, sensing in my hypnobirthing “safe place” him outside with St.Joseph busying and caring for all the little details
• Nicholas joining me at ball with counter pressure adding to the warmth, giving needed reassuring touch
• midwife communicating I was fully capable, through her chosen moments of giving space and checking in 

Final Stretch

After a few more contractions on the birthing ball, I rose and moved to the office/guest/birthing room across the hallway. At this point I was no longer actively imagining being in my “safe place.” 

I wasn’t quite ready to lift my legs to get into the pool, so I opted for a few contractions on the high back chair.  I switched to the hypnotrack for the pushing phase, now listening outloud through the phone speaker. I took off my dress and Nicholas helped me lift my leg and held my arms so I could get into the pool.  I was feeling quite vulnerable now, relying on the supportive presence of our little team.

As I settled into sitting in the soothing warm water, a big wave came.  I pushed gently and slowly along with it, increasing effort at the end, and continuing the effort down even after the wave was over.  Doran asked if I was pushing and reminded me that baby wouldn’t have room to come out in that seated position.  I internally agreed, but also wasn’t thinking she was close to coming out… I decided to adjust anyway, while I still had some energy to shift, I thought.

I got on my knees facing outward over the pool, and relaxed onto Nicholas’ shoulders.  I did several long very intense pushing waves in his arms.

Pretty exhausted now, I turned around and slid down onto my bottom, sitting for the remainder of the birth.  Nicholas was holding me from behind, the midwives were in my front and right view, the crucifix and image of Our Lady of Sorrows were on the wall before me, candles were flickering and it was so, so very quiet.

With the intensity building I started to have some tears and trembling, but thankfully nothing panicky. When resting between contractions, I intuitively did some gentle but strong pushing.

My sight locked in to  Mary, Our Lady of Sorrows on the wall as I shed my own tears.  It was a gift from a dear friend after losing our son Benedict… so profoundly beautiful to have her with me on my own way of the cross.

I began quiet but audible prayers, knowing strength from here was beyond me.

“Jesus help me.”

“Mary hold me.” 

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”

Softly spoken, “baby… Baby, you can come now, baby.”

Nicholas began speaking encouragement in my ear now, love notes like, “I’m proud of you,” “you’re doing it,” “you’re almost there,” “I’ve got you” … all while holding my shoulders secure behind me.

I had a difficult time finding a way to anchor my body in the water for pushing.

It felt so good to be weightless and somewhat floating, but I also needed footing to be able to exert the last force needed.  This was uncomfortable. The best I could do, (because there was no way I was moving to another position now), was to brace myself with my hands besides me on the floor of the pool. I ended up pushing down and back almost in a position you’d have doing tricep dips on a weight bench.  It worked for sure in the sense of giving me the stronghold I needed, but right after getting out of the pool and many days after, it was apparent I had strained all the tiny muscles attached to my sternum with that force.

The midwives remained quiet and attentive during this time, with the periodic encouraging “beautiful” as I pushed harder and stronger.  I asked at some point if they could see her (“yes, she’s crowning”) and at another point reminded myself aloud “I’m not in a rush” “I don’t need to hurry” and the midwives affirmed that.  Looking back, I see I was really mindful of listening to my body–I trusted it to work even if I needed to rest, but I also often needed to choose courage to “do my part” in digging deep to aid the effort to put behind the pushing, or to urge the wave to go as far as it possibly could.

During pushes I used low gutteral sounds and exhaled the word “peaceeeee” along with the hyonotrack prompts. It was pretty incredible how the script in the pushing track mirrored my own progress.

Finally the last minutes were upon me. 

Finally I knew her head was there and a breaking fullness that is impossible to express.

We were not far from meeting now.

Final pushes…

Suddenly I let out a shout for help, I felt like something was blocking the culmination.

her hand/ arm was up by her face so Doran swiftly put her hand there to assist… 

and then giving everything I had she broke through!

Then the long whoooosh of her whole slippery body exiting mine…

Her warm and heavy body was brought to me.  From her first home to my chest…praise Almighty God and Creator.

We did it. We did it.

Welcome to our arms, my daughter!

The post A Hope-filled Home Birth Story appeared first on the place she made.

I wanted to start this post that day.  I wanted to start this post a month earlier, actually, February 15th, to remember the first anniversary of when I birthed his body.  If I’m honest I really wanted to start writing this September 15th, the feast of Our Lady of Sorrows and his due date.  Truly though, I wanted to start recording some words weeks and weeks before that, after the summer drive to visit the cemetery, when I first heard “Blue Flower” come up on a playlist and speak the movement in my heart.  That song was the first time any written or spoken language came close to describing the utter ache and longing for this person I could not touch or hold close.  Part of me wishes I had put pen to paper even before that, during the many many many days and weeks of bleeding, both after and before his heart stopped beating.  It would be a way to make tangible an experience, a reality, that now seems surreal to me and ancient history for others. 

The pain has always been too raw, though, and inner the resistance too strong and the quiet space too limited to record the details.  I have no self-judgment on that.  Only great compassion for a grief-stricken mother.  I’m offering her a long tight hug and a stronger hand to squeeze.  There were moments that seemed suffocating and totally unbearable.  But we did bear them, dear girl.  So many turned up rearview mirrors so the other children didn’t have to be concerned about the red eyes and waterfalls of tears. The solo country drive sobs. I’m proud of us for surviving this.

I don’t understand how miscarriage can feel like an untouchable gray cloud when there was just so much red blood.  Bright red, pink red, brown red… so many days of unavoidable trips to the bathroom for analysis and agony.

How can having him and losing him feel so incredibly surreal when nothing could be more real than the lump that forms in my throat.  When my arms and chest live with this otherwise unexplainable pulse of energetic awareness of his absence.  Like they know on a cellular level they are supposed to be feeling his warmth and weight in my embrace.

Baby, I miss you with all of me.  I don’t know how to be your mother without getting to care for you in all the physical ways, without getting to attune to your emotions, give you the best of me.  How do I know you without knowing you?  I can’t watch your tummy rise and fall to your breathing, I can’t smell my milk on your neck.  What would your sweet gummy smile have looked like?  What sounds would you have made in your sleep or when something in your sight caught your delight?  It’s a stabbing piercing pain to imagine caressing your fresh fingers and to watch your tiny toes curl around my own wrinkled pointer finger. The only consolation is this certainty Mary is holding you for me.  I don’t know how to be your mother without you– only that I’ll keep loving you with all of me, always. I thank God you exist. I know you matter , more than I’ll ever get to know.  Knowing your soul is with our Lord makes me yearn to be with you at Mass this Holy Week… please pray for us to be in heavenly glory together someday, please son.

A part of me wants to write how it all happened… really maybe only in case a reading sister needed that sort of play-by-play to get through or process her own baby’s loss.  But the hot tears that come even now… a year later, are too blinding.  The gnawing on my heart is still too fierce to go back and face those minutes of labor that felt like an eternity. Maybe one day it’ll be necessary and doable. Lord, you lead me.

Blue Flower by the Gray Havens

I saw you blue flower

And who’s to say

Where you come from 

Feels like far away

I felt you blue flower

In my soul

You got me longin’

For somethin’ more

Now I want somethin’ more

Where are you blue flower

Come back and stay

Cuz’ I can’t find anything 

Better than this ache 

I had to find you

I had to see you

I couldn’t let you go

If only I could finally reach you

The gardens where you grow

I had to find you

I had to see you

I couldn’t let you go

If only I could finally reach you

The gardens where you grow

Now I want somethin’ more

Now I want somethin’ more

Miscarriage Resources

A mom’s peace

Grieving Together: A couple’s journey through miscarriage

Filumena bereavement resources

Please reach out if you are losing or have lost a baby, and need either resources or a friend to care and pray for you. <3

The post Blue Flower- thoughts on the longing in loss appeared first on the place she made.

Today I am excited to get to chat about “personhood” with a dear dear friend, Helena “Dr.O” Orellana.  We were classmates together during our graduate studies in clinical psychology, where she was a back-row dweller never at a loss for posing deep questions or providing sharp answers.   

Helena has always been full of sincerity and generosity, and has one of the most stunning smiles on earth.  Her laugh is infectious. Helena went on to pursue her doctorate and I’ve loved following her journeys on Instagram with her playful pup, Damsel. It was such a joy to reconnect with this gem.

So here we are!  Welcome, Dr. Orellana!

Case Conceptualization 101

SA: You have a special interest in case conceptualization.  In fact, your doctoral dissertation was devoted to it. Can you help our readers understand what case conceptualization is for a mental health therapist?

Dr.O: It means a couple different things, depending on the overall theory that you ascribe to.  In general, it is the way you understand what’s going on [with a client or a patient] and how to help.

Here is a definition that I love by Tracy Eells (2010): “a hypothesis about the causes, precipitants, and maintaining influences of a person’s psychological, interpersonal, and behavioral problems.”

The last part of a case conceptualization is the treatment or goal… asking, “how do you help the person move away from what’s painful and limiting and impairing functioning towards flourishing, a fuller version of their life?” It’s like a story or a road map– where you’ve been, the bumps you’ve hit in the road, and where you want to go.  

SA: Ideally this is done for every therapy patient or client, or “case.”

Dr. O:  A parallel is the diagnostic process in medicine. You have all these symptoms and you want to know what’s the origin.  Is it an allergy that is causing itchiness, for example? Or is the issue a combination of two things, maybe a vitamin deficiency and an allergy?  That informs the treatment you choose.  But [as the practitioner] you also have to take in other factors, like is the patient allergic to a certain medicine or is there a family history of a poor reaction to something?  

This is kind of what therapists do when they conceptualize. They think about “what is depression and what do the symptoms look like?” and “what is the person’s history and other factors influencing how this reaction is expressing itself?”  Depression for one person can look very different than depression for another. The therapist takes all of this [information] in, then different theories have different ways of prioritizing what to look for and paths that they would walk to help the person heal. Case conceptualization bridges the theory [of the therapist] and the individual person [client].

SA: This is so fascinating to me about therapy. Therapists with different theories could go completely different places with the the same patient, depending on the theory or theories they ascribe to.

Dr. O: Totally! Both in the immediate thing the therapist says to that person, but also in the whole arc of the sessions and treatment.  There are trauma theories, for example, that say healing can happen in twelve weeks. Other modes of therapies would say there is no way you could heal something like trauma that fast.

Understanding the Person

SA: Now tell us about the CCMMP.  What is it, and what is its purpose for Catholic therapists?  

Dr.O:  The CCMMP is the Catholic Christian Meta-Model of the Person.  It is the culmination of a lot of time, thought, and work by the faculty at Divine Mercy University.  It takes the wealth of knowledge we have about the human person, from Catholic theology and philosophy, and uses it to enrich the practice of psychology. This model outlines  “what is the reality of the person?” The word “meta” means that this model can be applied with any other theory. In other words, therapists can use it to infuse the way they conceptualize with any other therapy theory or modality they choose.

SA: So the CCMMP is ALL about “the human person.”  How would you summarize “personhood” for one of your students?

Dr. O: It’s a big one in philosophy! The classic definition from St. Thomas (which he took from Boethius) is, “a person is an individual substance of a rational nature.” The CCMMP’s definition of a person builds on this:

“The human person is an individual substance of a rational (intellectual), volitional (free), relational (interpersonal), sensory-perceptual-cognitive (pre-rational knowledge), emotional, and unified (body-soul) nature; the person is called to flourishing, moral responsibility, and virtue through his or her vowed or non-vowed vocational state, as well as through life work, service, and meaningful leisure; from an explicitly theological perspective (Scripture, Tradition, and Magisterium), human persons are also created in the image of God and made by and for divine and human love, and—although suffering the effects of original, personal, and social sin—are invited to divine redemption in Christ Jesus, sanctification through the Holy Spirit, and beatitude with God the Father. “

My favorite definition of a person, though, is by Von Hildebrand, a Catholic philosopher:

“Every man is a person in that his being is essentially conscious: he is a subject who enters into relations with others, who knows, wills, and loves.  A person is a being who possesses himself, who does not simply exist but who actively achieves his being and has the power to choose freely.”

SA:  I love that… “actively achieves his being.”

Dr.O:  He goes on later to say that “the fullest expression of man’s personhood is found in transcendence.”  A person transcending him or herself is distinctively human.  Animals don’t do this. He is saying that every human being is a person, but you become more fully a person in the way that you engage in your life.

For me this is so helpful as a psychologist because mental health issues and illnesses can really subdue, or wound, or cause us to not be able to live in a fully human way. They block that ability.

Thinking Like a Therapist

SA: Please show us what all this looks like in practice! Perhaps pick one of the core truths about the human person and then share how you could use it for guidance in a therapy session.

Dr.O:  Well this is a dead give-away for what my theory is [that I ascribe to], what I think is important.  I come back to the relational. The reality that people need relationship and that they are formed by relationships.

SA: Quick note to readers… See the CCMMP Part VII. “INTERPERSONALLY RELATIONAL” . Here it is discussed how “Humans are naturally social, with inclinations and needs for family, friendship, life in society, and other interpersonal relationships.”

So you can take someone, for example, who grew up in a challenging home environment.   How they learn about themselves, and how they experience the world and other people, is fundamentally shaped by the early relationships they experienced.  So in a home where there was a neglect of needs, the person might understand themselves as somebody who should be dismissed or doesn’t matter. That’s a very painful belief that can shape the way this person interacts with others.  In therapy, I try to think, “Is this person’s ability to relate wounded? How has it been wounded? And how has the muted expression of their relationality part of what I’m seeing now?”

For someone who is lost in life, who is highly anxious, who doesn’t really trust themselves and is really suffering, I think about how might that have been shaped by early relationships.  Then that shapes how I interact, because therapy is a relationship. It’s one of the most powerful parts of therapy. We can talk about our relationship in a way that creates new patterns.  My focus is on giving them new experience in relationship, one that can be talked about. [I could say], “you know, I noticed after I said that, that you seemed very nervous, and I can see that your leg is bouncing and your eyes are darting around– I’m wondering if you’re feeling anxious right now.” My experience of the relationship is informing the words I use to help [the client] talk through what they’re experiencing.

SA: I’m definitely hearing your preference to Interpersonal Theory and Psychodynamic Theory come through!

Let’s Get Personal

SA: Tell me! How has utilizing the CCMMP affected how you understand your own person?  How has it made a difference in your personal life?

In psychology, more than other sciences at the graduate level, you become so involved. Internal reflection is such a part of your own growth as a therapist and as a person .  It is in a way that an architect or an engineer doesn’t have to [engage with their learning material]. As a therapist, you have to be very aware of yourself in the room, and very mindful of your own flaws and how your wounds might be affecting your relationship [with the client].  It requires at times a painful amount of vulnerability. For me, the model has been there throughout this process of learning about myself and growing as a woman. It has been like a chorus, a refrain. I think clients sometimes can underestimate just how much of a gift they are to their therapist.  Seeing how the model is true in their lives helps me see it is all true for me too.

In Real Life

SA:  How can understanding the concept of personhood and the core truths of the human person enrich the life of the everyday woman?  For instance, a friend or sister who isn’t a therapist doing case conceptualizations, but is intentional in her own personal growth and relationships?

Dr.O:  All of us long to be known in relationship, but also to [be known to] ourselves.  I think that especially as our lives change, like moving from being a single woman to a woman in relationship, to becoming a mother, etc.,   all of these profound changes can lead us to be confused about who we are. Just when we think we’ve figured it out or have a grip on it, suddenly something changes, and we think, “ugh I feel so lost here.”  Lost to ourselves, lost to others. In some ways, this model helps us become more known to ourselves. Not entirely or perfectly, but it expresses those core truths that can be anchors in times of transition or times of feeling lost.  [These truths about who we are] help us stay afloat in choppy waters, and also can give us a sense of the horizon, so we can know where to navigate to.

SA: This can be hard work .  It reminds me of intentionality, a theme I have been exploring a lot lately, and that I hope to explore more at the place she made. I am really fascinated by the process of living with purposeful decision- making based on all these truths [the CCMMP], what we know are good for us. In my own life when I am intentional, it makes such a difference. I am curious how intentionality is a part of your life?

Dr.O.  One thing right now in this new role as teacher and supervisor is allowing my students’ views and own strengths in how they were created to heal, come through.  I really want to help foster that, versus the temptation to tell them “well, just do it this way [with their own clients].” I am trying to hear them and to be intentional with my words, and not to overly emphasize what fits me but might not fit them [as a therapist].

SA:  This reminds me of how I am trying to interact with my daughters. I want to honor that they see the world differently, to take a pause and receive their perspective before impulsively saying, “no, this is how I want to do it.”  That pause sounds like a simple thing, but it’s not easy!

Thanks so much for sharing, Helena.  I just love who you are so much and am sincerely grateful you took this time to be with us.

Dr.O:  This is such a great project!

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“A building is constructed with a series of beams (called joists), or strong boards that support floors and ceilings. If the structural integrity of the joist is compromised, or the load it bears becomes heavier, the joist may weaken. When architects and construction workers use the term, ‘sistering’ describes the process of adding boards to the right and/or left of the original joist to strengthen it.”

My dear friend Tala introduced me to this carpentry concept during a women’s morning of reflection in the beginning of the year.  It was a new image to me of this thing I have been so passionate about for so long- the beauty and necessity of true sisterhood. I knew I wanted to return to this notion of sistering in prayer.  Five months later, the reality of sistering would come back to me on its own.

Heavy Load

May 20th finally came.  Twelve weeks pregnant, six weeks of torturous unknown since the last ultrasound.  See part one of the story for a quick catch up.

Quite a few people would advise me with some variation of, “don’t worry too much, you never know, everything could be fine.  Doctors make mistakes all the time.”

True, and yes, I was holding space for this real possibility, yet the picture painted for us after our first sonogram was that the tissue surrounding the baby’s sac looked abnormal.  Looked like a partial molar pregnancy. Looked abnormally thick which often indicates early miscarriage.

Yes, I was praying for a miracle and hoping with all of me that somehow the next scan would show a completely different picture, but  I was also unwilling to ignore the facts of what the doctors were seeing.  I knew that it is important to live in reality and prepare for what really could be…

I am sick to my stomach on the way to the next appointment, the insanely nervous kind of sick on top of the normal intense pregnancy nausea.  I swap the kids music CD with the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack after dropping off our 3.5 year-old at school and 18-month-old with a generous friend. As the anxiety begins to rise in my chest to my throat, I practice slow, deep breathing while Nicholas quietly drives next to me. I close my eyes and count:

in two..three…four…hold…two…three…four…out…two…three…four… and repeat.  

After several rounds, the tears and inner prayers start streaming, “God, I hope my baby is alive.” “Jesus, this is so so hard, I trust in you.” “Lord, is this child going to even look like a baby?” “Please help me.”  Then back to breathing and staring out the window.

We park and get in the elevator and briskly go down the hall and up the stairs, then we make the familiar turn down to the perinatal clinic.  Lots of memories of uncertainties with our last pregnancy start to appear, but now we here for a whole different story.

She calls out my name and I lay on the chair and I give her a heads up that I’m quite nervous and a very emotional woman.  This sonographer is kind and optimistic and squirts what seems like a half gallon of warm lubrication on my belly. Seconds after the probe touches my stomach, an image of a fetus appears on the screen. I hold my breath and squeeze Nicholas’ hand… I see my moving child.  It looks like a baby, it looks alive. Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God!!!

As the appointment goes on it becomes clear the sonographer sees nothing but a normal early pregnancy.  Nicholas is immediately elated. I have all the emotions. A maternal fetal doctor comes in and was empathetic to the difficulty we’d experienced from so many weeks of waiting.  She takes her own look with the sonogram machine and confirms that our child looks perfectly healthy.

One possible explanation given for what was seen on the earlier scans is that perhaps there was a hemorrhage at some point in the uterus which gave the appearance of the abnormal molar-pregnancy-looking-tissue.  Whatever it was, nothing of the sort was present right now. In heaven I wonder if the specifics of the healing will be revealed to us.

Still a bit stunned, we move to a consultation room to discuss my history of early dilation in pregnancy and possible paths forward for treatment for that situation.  I decide to leave those big decisions for later so I can have some time to process what just happened.

Hand in hand, Nicholas and I walk out of the clinic, down the hall, down the stairs, past the volunteer piano player and into a sun-lit hospital hallway.  I stop by a window and cry. With his arms wrapped around me, I cry and cry and cry. Motherhood is the greatest and hardest gift. It is totally profound and excruciating love.

Weakened Joist

As it is with parenting tiny people, there isn’t much time to sit around and process emotions.  We grab Tropical Smoothie, head back to pick up our littlest from our friend’s place, and Nicholas takes us home so he can return to work.  I am exhausted in every.way. and hold zero expectations for the rest of the day. I am not filled with much relief or happiness, really, as might be expected after getting such wonderful news about my child growing within.  I see my husband beaming for joy while I am just tired and weary.

However, as I rest throughout the day, my mind is flooded with reminders and replays of close sister-friends holding me up.  I have powerful images in my mind of board-by-board being sistered into stability:

Elissa calling to check on me often, leaving no pressure to call back, just assurance of her constant prayers, making me a bomb of a personalized self-care plan… nailing in a board.

Amy encouraging me to navigate this storm as I am, giving me permission to let go of the pressure to “suffer well,” always be joyful, and surrender perfectly, also sending me care packages with tea and candles and art supplies…board, board and more boards!

Catie sending me Rachel Hollis’ motivating and upbeat books, initiating facetime check-ins that helped me stay afloat on very heavy days…sistering boards.

Adding More Boards

One by one, I feel their strength in my weakness:

• Sister Brigid accompanying me so tenderly over the phone, as I was feeling so painfully vulnerable in loving my child while facing loss
• Sister Gabriela checking in to tell me they were thinking of and praying for me and my little one
• Nikki and Rhea giving really good and reassuring hugs
• Andrea praying in adoration during our doctor appointment
• Laura watching our girls and going above and beyond with fun outdoor activities with them
• Ann speaking truth– firmly yet compassionately– about the souls of our children, helping me keep an eternal perspective
• Michelle lifting me up in prayer in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep
• Marie praying a novena to St.Gianna for us
• Friends and family on text and email support, offering their love and prayers
• My mother and Ashley offering my baby before Our Lady of La Leche at the Shrine in St.Augustine
• Ginger coming to visit for a week, going camping with me, helping a ton with the girls, playing and praying with me
• Tala listening without judgement to all my crabby complaining
• Angela gifting me her Mercy Minutes book that got her through intense trials

As I lay in bed trying to sleep, I see these women stepping alongside me, holding me up by my elbows, wooden beams reinforcing me as I keep stepping forward. They are Jesus and Mary’s hands and feet and heart to me, ensuring survival in great trial.

Happy Launch Day, TPSM… the Feast of the Visitation!

God has blessed me in an abundant way in the experience of receiving and giving sistering.  Through all different stages in my life. My husband Nicholas has pointed out at times how unusual it is to have have such deep bonds with the amount of women I do. And because I am an introvert who tends toward just having a few very close friends rather than many good ones, I am becoming more and more aware that this charism for sisterhood, one of the Visitation of Mary to her cousin Elizabeth, is a special gift from God that is not to be kept to myself.  I know I’m only beginning to understand it. So in whatever little or big way He wants to use this space here at the place she made, I only pray that every single work of love would sister YOU, sisters.

I’m really grateful you’re here, and smile at all the unknown good that is to come.  

Love,  Serra Ann

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