I’ve got me.

The year of 2022 started with hope. Hope for stillness and softer beginnings. We were now a family of four, and our sweet Violet Bea was finally home. And she was not well. I had gone through waves of medical negligence in my pregnancy that felt like it'd never end--until it did, with Violet's early arrival at 29 weeks.

You go through the motions of life just to get through life sometimes. New wounds have been made, old wounds have been opened. And you try to keep going, keep surviving. Because what would it look like if you stopped? What would it looked like if you paused? Could you? And would you fall apart?

I remember when the first clump of my hair fell to the shower floor. I ran my hand through my hair, and another clump of hair lay in my hand, tangled between my fingers. Hair loss is normal in the postpartum stage, I assured myself. It’s not as bad as it seems.

It was only a matter of days when my hairline would completely fall out. I learned that this was more than just postpartum hair loss, but a result of significant stress, sleep deprivation and grief. I stared at myself post-shower, naked. The cold water trickled from the tip of my hair down to my lower back. My c-section scar lay across my stomach, thick, bulging, crooked and purple. It was not a battle wound of bravery and survival, but rather violation. I knew that feeling all too well. Breastmilk dripped from my aching breasts that had doubled in size and hung low. Two inches of baldness framed my face. Who was this person in the mirror, I thought. Who was she and what had been done to her. I collapsed to the floor and I cried. Until I heard Lily’s voice in the distance. “Mama?” she called searching for me. I know, sweet girl, I thought. I’m trying to find her, too.

I am not ashamed to have had these thoughts. Nor am I ashamed of the devastation that I felt in that moment. I go back to this Audre Lorde quote that “Our feelings are our most genuine paths to knowledge. They are chaotic, sometimes painful, sometimes contradictory, but they come from deep within us. And we must key into those feelings... This is how new visions begin.”

As I listened further, I could feel my body telling me that I don’t need to keep going forward. I don’t need to keep pushing through. I can sit right here. I need to sit right here.

I realized that I needed rest. Sleep—yes, but there were other forms of critical rest that were not being met. Physical rest. Mental rest. Spiritual rest. Emotional rest. Social rest. Sensory rest. Creative rest.

My first thought was that it was impossible to meet all of these needs, but I wondered, why is it that I feel the need, and the pressure, to meet all them to the max? I wondered, what would it look like if I made conscious choices to lean into it, even if in small ways every day?

So I dug in. Here’s what I found.

I found an even greater love in my work and advocacy.

A love for the ground below me, the sky above me and trees around me.

To the deep friendships I’ve built over time.

I found a desire to create

To embrace the page

To dream

I found moments that I would’ve missed

The soft moments

The real-time moments

We live in a world that tells us that this is how we must live, and breathe, and grieve. If we can create our own rules, and look at our life and our rest in abundance, who would we be? How much more could we collectively heal?

As we enter this new year, I don’t pretend to have all the answers. But I close it knowing more about my restoration process, what it looks like and how to tap into it. I close it feeling free. Taking these breaths have made me feel alive in ways I never dreamed. For the first time in my life, I know I’ve got me. I’ve got me.

Wherever you are in your journey, I hope you're bringing your reflections into the new year, too.

Happy New Year, everyone. I’m wishing you all rest and reflection and love and light. Thanks for being here.