3 September 2016

Wounds Of My Womb, Part V: The Emerging Light

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Today, as I type, it’s September 3, 2016.

I’m riding a train headed for the Brisbane International Airport. I’m USA bound.

People have been asking me a lot lately ‘Are you excited about your big trip?!’

And I’m not quite sure how to answer, because, yes, I am excited to experience the rich Native American culture in Sante Fe, New Mexico, the dreamy landscapes of Boulder, Colorado, the buzz and beauty of our big company convention in Salt Lake City, Utah…


Today, September 3, is the day that my little boy was due.

I imagine myself skinny and weak from Hyperemesis Gravidarum, but still with a large, round belly, housing a human. What would that feel like? To be nine months pregnant?

And then I touch my tummy, I look at my fleshy hips, which are no longer protruding offensively out into the world, and I’m thinking about what could of, would of, should of been.

I’m having a Sliding Doors moment.

Here we are, friends, placing a full stop upon this mighty 5-part series.

If you haven’t already, I recommend that you read Parts 1, 2, 3 & 4, which are all, in their own way, very sad blog posts. But today, I want to bring you some light as we conclude this story; the very light that poured into my life after we lost our boy.

You’ll remember that when my pregnancy came to an end, I was incredibly sick and weak after barely being able to hold a meal down for three months. My body was dehydrated and malnourished and my Spirit, traumatised.

Arriving home from the hospital after losing a baby is a very strange thing.
You left for the hospital, pregnant.
You come home, not.
You come home, bleeding.
There is a silence in the air.
The void is felt.
It’s difficult to speak words that matter or mean anything at all.

The next morning, when I woke up in his arms, I looked at my ex-partner, at the room, and I waited to feel sick. I didn’t. I sat up, and waited for the crippling nausea to roll in. It didn’t. And then it struck me.

‘Honey, I’m hungry.’

Hungry wasn’t something I’d felt for months. Food and eating and chewing and swallowing were all hell, because it all lead to one thing: vomiting.

‘What are you hungry for, honey?’

‘An acai bowl.’

And so that’s what we did. I rose, dressed, patted Layla, walked down to the car, and we drove to my favourite little cafe in Currumbin and ordered my favourite acai bowl covered in cacao and coconut and blueberries.

Sitting there in the sunshine, eating, being with him and Layla… it was so overwhelming. I just… I cried. I didn’t realise how rapidly I was dying until I was able to do the simplest of things. The sunshine felt so sweet and nourishing, I can’t even explain it. Before, the sun would touch my skin and I would recoil and vomit. But to just be… receiving… those rays, and lifting my head to the sun, and feeling my shoulders warm up, well, it’s bringing tears to my eyes just writing about it. I felt the Earth and the Sun wrap me up, and hold me. ‘We’ll look after you now.’

I was so ill during the pregnancy that I thought it would take months for me to feel better, but I can’t possibly articulate the rate in which my Spirit returned. And I felt it. I literally felt every cell in my body, alive, vibrating, living, rejoicing.

I felt rods of energy climb up my legs and help me to stand straight again.
Every single mouthful of food was a spiritual experience, often leaving me crying into my plate.
Laughing brought such ecstasy, and I think Layla was putting on a show to get more and more giggles out of me. ‘It’s so good to have you back, mama.’

What I learned about women during this time, is our capacity to hold all things, at once. I literally felt a diverse range of emotions bouncing around inside of me, with a different one rising to the surface every few minutes, with a simple destiny to just be felt and released.

Felt and released.

We hear this a lot in the personal growth world, don’t we?

Feel the feelings.

I thought I had that embodiment piece dialled, but now I understand that I was just thinking about feeling the feelings, because suddenly, in one minute I could pivot from releasing tears of pain over losing what we had fought for, to lifting my chin once more to the sun, and crying tears of joy. Thank you for teaching me how to love.

Grief. Relief. Grief. Relief.

My baby is gone.
My energy is returning.
But my baby is gone.
I can function again.
But my baby is gone.
Everything feels new and fresh and wonderful.
But my baby is gone.
I feel such immense amounts of love for every single being on the planet.
But at what cost? My fucking baby is gone.

The mind rallied to stay in grief and heartache, and part of me truly did want to do that, but there was something BIGGER happening. I literally just… couldn’t. I mean, I would grieve every day, every morning, in my spiritual practice. I would lower my forehead to the floor and ask ‘Why?’ and clutch at my belly and even ask him to come back to me… but after a few minutes, all that pain would truly disappear, and all that would be left, was…


I’m going to sound like such a wanker saying this, but, losing my baby was the catalyst for an awakening for me.

It’s always been not only a personal opinion of mine but an observation from direct experience, that the deeper we are plunged into the Underworld as a result of tragedy, grief, loss… the higher we are catapulted into the heavens here on Earth, so that we can bring back our boons; our gifts; our offerings of grace that suffering so intelligently bestowed upon us.

Because yes, my baby was gone, but – and please hear me when I say this – only from my body.

I still felt him in my energy field, in the world, above me, around me, and in many ways, still in my womb. I felt more connected to him after we lost him that I ever did when I was pregnant (HG women will often comment on their growing bub feeling more like a parasite that is sucking them dry then a growing human to love and adore).

The LOVE that rattled through my body was unspeakable, I would sit at the beach at sunrise, sobbing, tears falling to the sand, and my tears fell out of grief but also of gratitude because I have never felt love pumping through my veins as I did in those first few months after our loss.

Friends would ask me how I was. I would respond with saying: ‘My baby is pouring his light all over me.’ And he really was, I could FEEL it. I could feel the light, I could see the love, I felt as though I were being breathed and moved by him. I felt my chakras come to life, I felt empathy for every single person and creature on the planet. The Divine Mother energy in me was roaring and ever-ripening, despite the pregnancy ending and I just loved, loved, LOVED. Anything. Anyone.

When people say that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, I think this is what they mean.

Deep Peace.
Unshakable Strength.

There are days I feel inconsolable, because there are definitely ramifications for us in the future. It’s likely I will have HG again, and that, more so than the idea of losing another baby, is what is most frightening to us.

When babies leave, they leave so much grace behind. Pain and heartache, of course, but they also reach so deeply into their mother’s soul and leave such an imprint, without ever having been born. Even the babies who leave can change the world.

But all Hyperemesis Gravidarum does is destroy. Sickens. Kills. Maims.

We are afraid of that. It’s a beast that takes residence in your house and consumes every living thing there. It’s scary.

The doctors said to us:

‘Don’t worry, next time you’re pregnant, we’ll get you on anti-sick drugs, anti-depressants and steroids, immediately.’

I just blinked away tears of disbelief.

Really? Is that my only chance?

Today, my ‘job’ is to stay as present as I can, because the most painful question I find my mind returning to, is: ‘What if I live a childless existence?’ And that question is just too much to contemplate.

So instead, I focus on the everyday miracles that unfold in front of me, constantly.
I focus on nurturing and empowering my mother energy, which doesn’t need a child to be expressed and practiced and given. I funnel this love and care into Layla, into my beautiful team, and most importantly, mySelf. I have been mothering myself.

Losing a baby or a loved one or experiencing vast amounts of suffering cannot be comprehended or reconciled at the level of the mind, or with our physical senses. But if we can find the courage to look at our lives symbolically, if we can contemplate the role of Soul Contracts, if we can remember that we are still here, and we are still breathing, and our hearts are still beating… then maybe we can remember, just as I did when I felt the light of our boy’s soul cleanse and restore every inch of me, that on some level, it’s ALL a miracle.

My next tattoo is inspired by words from Rob Bell:

‘What can come, of even this?’

What, you beautiful Soul, indeed?

I still remember sitting in front of my laptop, booking this trip, on this date, as a symbol that he lives on and adventures on with me, by my side, in my heart. This very trip is an ode to him.

Finally, I recently listened to a Dear Sugar Radio podcast episode in which a mother who lost her son, and then subsequently, her marriage. She spiralled out of control and became suicidal. She imagined herself, dead, but eternal, and back with her son in the light, and what she saw was two outcomes.

He embraced her, smiling, and said: ‘Mum, I’m so proud of you!’
He embraced her, with sad eye eyes, and said: ‘Gee, mum, you weren’t supposed to die when I did.’

I know which of those outcomes I want to experience.

I want him to be proud of me.


All my love,

(And all my heart and all my Soul and all my pain and all my joy and all my revelation and all my unwavering gratitude to you, you and YOU)

PS: You are, as always, free and encouraged to share this article with your communities, tribe. It touches my heart when you do.

PPS: Thank you for being a part of this with me… I couldn’t have written these 20,000 some words without your support and presence.

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    • Autumn
      3 September 2016

      You and your son's love and light are so greatly appreciated.

      Thank you ❤

    • Ashley
      3 September 2016

      your words are so touching & vulnerable & sweet. and so are you. thank you for being brave and sharing your story with us.

      <3 <3 <3

    • Kirsty
      3 September 2016

      sweetheart I hear you, I still think of my little boy often but especially on his birthday, it is 3 days after my son's. The love never ever leaves x thank you for being so profoundly honest and authentic and real and what I like to call "snot and all" up front about this. I am wishing you the most heart opening of trips. Cannot wait to hear all about it. Biggest love and heartfelt gratitude goes with you xxx

    • Ness
      3 September 2016

      Tears are streaming down my face. Such grace and light are contained and beaming out of these words.
      I also had HG during pregnancy, although from the sounds yours was even more severe than mine. A big trip was from bed to the couch, and even that effort could make me throw up. But even on the couch, I couldn't read, I couldn't concentrate on tv, I just couldn't. I just needed it to be silent and dark. Mine eased around 20 weeks (but never went away-I threw up the day before giving birth!) And next week my little boy turns one. And he is so happy and beautiful and fun. And I'd have 10 of him if I weren't so terrified of pregnancy. How do I be there for my son, to play with him, to look after him, to care for him, to be his mum, when I can't function?Even though I was 'only' sick, sick til 20 weeks, how do I miss out on being mum for 4-5 months? The thought of it breaks my heart and has me in tears again.
      Sending so much love an light your way beautiful woman. xxx

    • 5 September 2016

      I wish I could reach through this screen and hug you. I'm on my third HG pregnancy and I'm finally starting to be more normal (with daily zofran). This pregnancy I had to resort to a PICC line and 2 bags of IV fluid daily/IV zofran to get me through the first 17 weeks. I was so grateful for another HG mother who encouraged me to just get the PICC and not wait. I'm grateful going into this pregnancy I prepared for the worst (always hoping for the best). I talked often with my husband about all he would need to do alone, we hired a house-cleaning crew to come every 2 weeks, and we arranged child care for our children. I found a midwife who was supportive and quick to treat me and even with all of that...this pregnancy has been hell, and not something that I want to do again. With all of that being said, I AM ALIVE and as I'm pulling out of the worst of it and beginning to regain hunger I just want to tell you that IF you want to, you could do it. You just have to go into it knowing it's going to be bad and make sure you've utilized every bit of support. I'm devastated by your loss and I hope so much that if you ever attempt another pregnancy it will be successful and bring you the amazing joy that motherhood does. May the long time sun shine upon you. ❤

    • Rebecca
      6 September 2016

      I'm so happy your adventures have brought you to the US :)
      Your story is beautiful. Thank you for sharing.
      I love that you used to the term "pride" to describe how your life is being led. I looked up the definition: "Deep pleasure and satisfaction from your own personal achievements. The consciousness of one's own dignity. The best state or condition of something."
      Yes, Tara, you should be proud.

    • Isabel
      6 September 2016

      Dear sister, I really don't know what to say here to do all of this justice. But not saying something would be wrong too… Cause I feel you, I hear you, I pray for you and your cherubs, I want to hug you and squeeze you and tell you all will be ok. Have faith, trust,… Love you X

    • Lucinda
      7 September 2016

      Wow Tara - such powerful words. You have a gift of just reaching.... your light and love is so powerfully felt. Thank you... you are loved, beautiful, angelic and just a joy to the world. and to me. xxxx

    • 7 September 2016

      You are Divine. This is such a powerful series. Thank you for sharing beautiful woman. See you when you return from the US. XO

    • 7 September 2016

      So much love and sunshine to you Miss Bliss. Your words evoke, awaken and stir like nothing else- thanks for being you and sharing so openly

    • 8 September 2016

      I wish you could have come to this beautiful state of grace withou such pain...I admire your courage so much. You honesty is helping so many woman...you have truly found you "light" at the end of the tunnel so to speak... And sharing it so elequently and honestly. I'm in Sedona right now! Another healing place that I needed to visit... The energy here is amazing... If not this trip...put it on your next US trip! And if you're in LA let me know! So much love to you! You are truly amazing

    • Grace Thomsen
      8 September 2016

      Dear Tara, thank you for sharing. I'm reading a book called the Medical Medium by Anthony William (published by Hay House) in it he writes about Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (which I have also experienced). He writes: In order to restore glucose to the brain incorporate raw honey, wild blueberries, melons, beets, bananas, persimmons, payayas, sweet potatoes, figs, oranges, mangoes, tangerines, apples and dates.
      Also, the angel who best understands how the spirit and soul can be beaten down, and how they can be recovered, is the Angel of Restitution, and who you can call upon for the most direct aid with PTSD.
      Kindness and blessings
      Grace ox

    • 12 September 2016

      So so so beautiful, you beautiful lady <3

    • Kimberly
      16 September 2016

      "I didn’t realise how rapidly I was dying until I was able to do the simplest of things." A hauntingly beautiful line. Thank you for sharing your story.

    • Kate Dudley
      16 November 2016

      Such a beautiful post Tara. sending all my love. xoxoxo

    • 29 May 2017

      I've never been pregnant, much less lost a baby, but Tara, this post moved me in a profound way. To tears. I am so in awe of you. Thank you for sharing this so honestly. I'm going to pass your story on to two of my friends who have miscarried. One of whom went to full term and had to deliver her lifeless child. That pain and that gift are unfathomable to me, but you've captured it in a way that I'm sure will resonate with them. As it has with me and my heart.

    • Chloe Shlosberg
      30 December 2018

      I just finished reading your 5 part series and haven’t stopped crying. I’m so sorry for your losses, and it seems so unfair that one person would have to endure such hardships. But, I believe that they have made you stronger, wiser, and a better person. The fact that you have come through all of this without bitterness and with compassion shows that you are stronger and you have learnt what you needed to learn. You are such an amazing example of someone who just berms and shines light. I would never have imagined that you have been through so much, and I pray that you will go on to conceive and have a great, happy, healthy pregnancy in the future.

    • Chloe Shlosberg
      30 December 2018

      The most beautiful people we know are those that have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.

      Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

      This is you.
      Your beauty and light shine from the inside out.

      The wound is the place where the light enters.

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