Bodhi Owen: A new awakening

I know everyone has been waiting to hear about our home birth story, and I’m so excited to finally share it with you. Bodhi (pronounced Bow-dee, and called Bo for short) is laying in front of me, sleeping soundly. Every time I look at him I get an overwhelming sense of lightness, like anything that’s been weighing me down absolutely does not matter. Nothing that scared me before he was born matters anymore.

My “due date” was November 29th. My midwife was set to arrive from Georgia November 19th. And we were all sure that I wouldn’t make it to my due date for so many reasons, 6th pregnancy, only being 8 months postpartum from Sky before I got pregnant with Bo, my newly diagnosed UC (which inhibits my body from getting enough nutrients), having gone through four rounds of IVF and some other minor health issues. I gained a total of 10lbs through my pregnancy and I was terrified that my baby wouldn’t be healthy.

My due date came, and my due date went, and though I know better than most that due dates mean nothing, I was anxious. My midwife (Jen) was staying with us, so far from her family. The longer I was pregnant, the longer I would be on maternity leave (and the longer I wouldn’t be able to bring money home). Every morning I woke up and was met with “you still haven’t had that baby?” “Just try XYZ!” and so many other things that Y’ALL HAVE TO STOP SAYING TO PREGNANT PEOPLE! Anyway, my anxiety was at an all time high, and I knew it was preventing me from going into labor. I tried everything I could think of; writing out my feelings, having a good cry, relaxing baths with fear release, meditation.

At 3am on December 3rd I woke up having to use the bathroom, and a little wet. I shrugged it off because I REALLY had to pee and I wasn’t having any contractions. Curtis shot up on bed and asked if I was okay, I told him to go back to bed. A couple hours later at 5am, the same thing happened, Curtis told me my water had to be broken, but when I sat on the toilet I didn’t continue to leak. I was convinced that the baby had moved into a bad position and was pushing on my bladder, but no way was my water broke. Around 10am, after breakfast and coffee my midwife and I went into the bedroom to do a test swab and see if my water was broken. I told her “it’s a 70/30 chance in my mind” but with a complete absence of contractions, I was sure it wasn’t. Low and behold, the swab was positive, my water was broken.

Throughout the day I did things to try to prepare for labor and to start contractions. Exercises with an emphasis on fetal positioning, cleaning my birth space, snuggling and napping with Curtis, candle lit bath, and lots of tea/whole foods. Finally at midnight, nothing had changed and I went to bed nervous and disappointed.

I slept on and off all night with no contractions. In the morning I sat down with my midwife and we made our plans. Tinctures and herbs were going to be taken to try to encourage contractions, pumping and more exercises. If nothing changed, we would talk castor oil at the 36 hour mark. We had been trying to avoid that as there is almost no research on how it effect those with UC.

Alas, at 3pm there were still no contractions. While walking and lunging the stairs I had a few of what I called “tightenings” but they didn’t hurt and I wouldn’t call them contractions based on my previous experiences. Through out all of this, we were doing regular check-ins. My temperature, baby’s heart rate, blood pressure, and everything remained fine and normal. My amniotic fluid was still leaking and clean, but we had no concerns about mine or baby’s health. I took two doses of castor oil, and started to talk about what a hospital transfer would look like. I was starting to feel devastated. How dare 2020 take every single thing from me, including this. I continued to experience what I called “tightenings” and ignored them. Around 7pm, Curtis, my midwife and I sat down to check on baby again. I told them about the tightenings and as I had one I pointed to my stomach. “Ummm Chelsea, that is not a Braxton hicks” Jen told me, “Can we time a couple of them?” *shrug* Sure, why not. After a few, she smiled at me “I’m glad they don’t hurt, but they’re exactly 4 minutes apart and lasting 60/90 seconds. You’re in labor.”

“Nope.” I completely blew her off because I couldn’t believe her, and a small part of my brain didn’t want to believe it. As much as I didn’t want to go to the hospital, and I was ready to not be pregnant anymore, I was more terrified to physically hold my baby. After such a hard pregnancy mentally, and my physical complications, I wasn’t confident that my baby would be healthy or that I would love him. My heart hurt thinking about the disassociation I had experienced. Sometime around here, I pulled my late grandmothers robe from the closet, I felt like I needed her love and her prayers close to me.

I started to concentrate on my contractions, breathing down and melting into them, but still refusing to call them anything but “tightenings”. I did a small candle lighting ceremony, with a candle I carved mine and Bodhis name into along with some protection rocks Brooke had bought me during my last labor to symbolize the older 5 babes. At 10pm I asked for a cervical check. 7cm, 90% effaced and baby was at -1 station. I could no longer deny I was in labor and that my baby would be here soon. I wasn’t struggling with the contractions, but the bowel movements (BM) from the castor oil were intense, and while sitting on the toilet, I felt like I was baring down. I texted my doula at 9:45pm and updated her but said I was fine and still didn’t need support. 10 minutes later Curtis texted her and asked her to come. He’s seen me have 5 babies and knew my body in the moment better than I did. She arrived at 10:30.

This is where things start to get a little foggy. I know we met Rachael in the living room and gave her updates. I know I labored for some time sitting backwards on the toilet while she squeezed my hips and rubbed my back. I know I got back up and labored in front of the mirror where I read the affirmations I had stuck there. And I know I spent some alone time in the bathroom, starting to feel pushy. I opened the bathroom door and told Curtis to fill the tub.

I got in and laid my head on the side, but I only remember having a couple of contractions here before it made me mad and I remember saying “I don’t like it”. I was so uncomfortable, and I was sure I was close to my cervical lip drama that I have had every delivery. I hopped out and went back to the bathroom. I think maybe I said something or Rachael could see I was scared of this so she suggested hands and knees on the bed. Hindsight, I was in transition. But like I said, exactly when things happened is blurry. I think I after a little bit of hands and knees on the bed I got up and walked around the bathroom again? But ended up back on the bed on hands and knees. I really felt pushy at this point. I remember Jen asking me if I could feel my baby’s head, I reached down and checked myself but only felt swelling and not a head so I said “I don’t know, I don’t think so.” Then my body told me to move and I felt like I was going to poop. With Rachael behind me pushing on my sacrum, I did not want that! So I turned from the middle of the bed, and went to go somewhere else.

With one leg on the ground and my knee still on the bed everyone asked “where do you want to have your baby?” I looked at the floor, and that’s as far as my brain got. “NOOOOOOO” was literally all I could say, and my body started pushing. We call this the Fetal Ejection Reflex (FER), not everyone experiences it, mostly because they’re interrupted. When left alone, birth happens in the most amazing ways.

I can only describe FER, like when you are sick and throwing up, the heaving and vomiting that you have no control over, your body is just doing what it needs to do. That’s FER. No control, just your body doing it’s thing.

When I yelled, Curtis got on the floor to try to hold my leg, and Jen said “oh, okay” and laid behind me so she had access to what she needed to. “Crowning at 1:15am. Curtis do you want to catch your baby?” “Nope, that is not my thing.” “Okay no problem.” Someone told me to breath, I yelled that I couldn’t breath or stop pushing.

I heard my baby cry. “Oop, let me move the cord.” He had a nucal hand (hand up by his face) with the cord wrapped twice, as Jen moved it Curtis said “Good boy”. Because he had already cried, I thought I was done, but he was only out to his hips and Jen told me to push one more time, this is the only push I controlled. “Time of birth 1:16am.” I literally only pushed for one minute.

I rolled over and my placenta released almost immediately which means there was a small gush of blood. Jen was looking for a chux pad to put under me so my mattress didn’t get ruined and so I didn’t put my foot in it. “I don’t give a fuck, give me my baby!” I was maybe a little anxious, and in those first moments without them on your chest, seconds feel like days.

“Yes ma’am.”

I checked everything as fast as I could and when I was satisfied, I held him as tight as I could. I’m pretty sure all I could say was “holy fuck, that was wild.” I don’t remember what else I said. I nursed him right away, no problems with my placenta. For the very first time, after the placenta was already delivered, I cut the umbilical cord.

Everyone get everything cleaned up (the mattress wasn’t ruined thanks to my mattress protector), and we settled into bed with our baby. We did our newborn exam, slightly shocked at how little he was (only 7lbs 6oz compared to my other giant babies), and all was healthy and perfect.

Part of me wanted to wake up the house,
but a bigger part needed sleep,
the world could wait until morning.

Bodhi is a word that I learned while studying Buddhism. The Bodhi tree is where the first Buddha sat and found true enlightenment. Bodhi means awakening. When I thought of the name, it hit me fast and hard. I bawled. I needed an awakening. I needed some enlightenment. I needed to find meaning in a world that makes no sense.

Grief for what could have been; A pregnant doula during Covid

At 32 weeks pregnant, I’ve been holding onto this for a long time it seems. As someone who is very open about my private life (especially during pregnancy), a lot of my friends have asked multiple times about blog posts. I just haven’t been able to find the words to go along with how I’m feeling, until now. So here it is, my pregnancy story thus far with little K4.

Those of you who know me already know, that I was so very young when I had my older children. Still a baby myself at 15, 17 and 20 respectively when they were born.  I had very little support or knowledge. With my boys I was in Germany and Alabama and had few friends and no family. I never heard congratulations on my pregnancies, I never felt celebrated or even loved. They’re very hard times to look back on, and I have almost no fond memories of my pregnancies.

2019 was a year of healing for me and my family. I was pregnant with a surrogate baby, I went to therapy, I realized who my true friends were, I set boundaries, and I learned a lot about myself. I also walked away from a long career in the culinary field to pursue my next grand adventure and long awaited dream of being a full time Doula. I put in the hard work, I learned the things, I took the trainings, I met the people, and I said ‘yes’ to myself more.

My husband also embarked on his own grand career adventure. Walking away from the career he had always known, and embracing something that he had dreamed of since he was a young, live events.

We found a home to raise our kids in, and finally move out of our tiny apartment. We found so much joy celebrating 12 years of marriage, and 14 years together. We looked back during our anniversary dinner at how far we’d come from a couple on kids in the housing projects of New York, with not a dime to our names. Back at the days of being babies trying to raise babies and rejoicing in how amazing our kids are turning out to be. We looked back at just a few years ago when we were damn near homeless after my husbands spinal surgery. It felt like we had maybe, just maybe, figured it all out. And we started dreaming about one more baby to make our lives complete.

We moved into what we hoped would be our forever home February 1st 2020. We talked more and more about that baby. We all were just starting to get the swing of our new routines. In the beginning of March I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease and told it would make it harder to get pregnant until after I was in remission. This, with the knowledge that 4 rounds of IVF (which I did as a surrogate) made me and my husband wonder if a baby was possible. On March 13th, Texas went into lockdown over Covid-19. On March 19th, I got a positive test that I was shocked over. Right away, I felt a deep since of sadness instead of joy, and knew that I was not going to get what we had been dreaming of, but instead would experience something similar to my previous pregnancies.

Over the next couple months my husband would lose his job, taking our insurance with it. My kids would experience isolation, helplessness and hopelessness. I would seclude myself more than just the lockdown. I stopped calling my friends, I stopped answering texts.

When the protests started I felt spite for my unborn child. I should be out there, getting arrested and fighting for human rights. Instead I was crying, bedridden for days at a time and sinking into a horrible depression. Instead I was pretending that I was fine, and happy about my baby, but waking up every single morning asking myself “Is today the day I finally call someone about getting an abortion?” And it sunk me deeper. The baby I didn’t even know if I could get pregnant with, that I wanted so badly, and all I could think about was getting an abortion. It tore me apart. My husband didn’t know for a long time, I refused to talk about it. I didn’t tell my friends. I didn’t tell my mother. I suffered with my feelings, alone and in silence.

I still dreamed of my baby, of baby showers, of belly rubs from friends, or excited talks at coffee shops about my birth plans. I dreamed of appointments with my midwife where my older kids would help find the baby’s heartbeat, of strolling through stores, picking out the perfect first outfit for K4. Then I would wake-up, with low funds in the bank, a new death toll and an ever looming cloud over my head and heart.

When I hit 19 weeks, I knew my decision was final, I would be keeping my baby, but asked myself what cost had I decided on? Bringing a baby into this world, taking away from my older 3 that I’ve fought so fucking hard for. I still couldn’t bare it. So I did the next best thing I could think of, and I dove into my work. At one point being on call for three weeks straight. One 12 hour birth, one 8 hour birth, one 26 hour birth. Placenta after placenta, meetings every single day. Filling in the gaps with what I called “administrative work” that was just busy work I didn’t need to be doing. Pushing maternity leave back farther and farther and at one point wondering if I really needed to take it at all.

And then came the day that I snapped at my husband. This isn’t a normal thing in my home. After almost 15 years together, we’re very good at communicating and there is very little fighting, let alone being mean or angry with one another without immediately talking about the real problem and moving forward together. But this time I said “everything is your fault! You don’t do enough! I can’t do this anymore!” He took my hands, that beautiful loving man, and said “What is really going on here?”

And I finally let out everything and then some. See the thing is, is that once you let go, you let out more than you knew was there. I don’t hate my baby. I don’t hate my husband. I’m grieving so very deeply. I’m grieving for all the hopes and dreams that we had. I’m grieving what we worked so hard for. I’m grieving everything, and the world just isn’t fair. I mean, I know it’s not, and I’ve always known that but for some reason I wasn’t letting myself sit with it and try to move on from it. So many of us need some kind of control and I am no exception. I needed some small form of control and I had no idea how to get it.

I’m 32 weeks pregnant now, and I’ll be honest, I still don’t know how to find control, or to let go of it. There are still so many unknowns and sometimes it feels like it gets worse everyday instead of better. I’ve let myself love my baby, and I’m excited to meet him. Even after all the things I’ve already done and been through, I question if my love is enough for him. I question if I’m a good mom or have any idea what I’m doing. It’s insane really. My entire job is to help and educate birthing people and new parents, I know all the things, my clients love and trust me and that’s because I’m good at my job. But I’m human. And even I, the expert, wonder if I am enough for my baby.

I’ve started trying to talk to my friends more. It’s hard because I know I have a lot of heavy things on my heart and don’t want to burden them with it, but I also know that they love me and want me to talk to them.

My mini baby shower was this past Saturday. I threw it for myself, it was basically me and a table in my garage with cupcakes melting in the sun. Shortly before my first guest showed up I had a complete meltdown in my bathroom. It’s not supposed to be like this. We’re supposed to hug, and eat, and play games, and laugh and celebrate. I know I’m not the only one feeling this way, out of the 26 people I invited, 8 people came. It’s not about the gifts. Gifts are great and fun and we do need the essentials, but I miss my friends. I miss being extroverted and working a room and dancing and laughing with other people. I had my meltdown in the bathroom, and then I went out and loved on those who came as much as I could. I tried not to cry as they showed up. Then I tried again not to cry as I closed the garage door when it was over.

What happens now? After all of that? I still don’t know. I’m slowly trying to plan maternity leave, even though I’m terrified of not having my income to take care of my family in such uncertain times, even though I’m terrified of what it will mean for this brand new career I’m busting my ass to succeed in. I’m slowly trying to plan my birth, even though I’ve had minimal prenatal care and I know I’m not in the right mind frame yet to welcome my baby at home. I’m slowly making my postpartum plans and telling myself to do all the things I preach up and down to my clients. I’m slowly connecting to my baby, singing to him and longing for him even through all the pain.

And I’m slowly, sharing my story with all of you. Because those of you who are also pregnant right now, I see you. There is no handbook for this. No one we know has been pregnant during a pandemic. There is no right way to feel right now. The only thing I do know, is that none of us will get through this alone, we need each other.

What is a Full-Spectrum Doula?

What is a Full-Spectrum Doula?

Let’s talk about Doulas. What exactly is a Doula, and then take it a step further and talk about what a Full-Spectrum doula is.

Here is what google says the definition of Doula is:

noun: doula; plural noun: doulas

  1. a woman, typically without formal obstetric training, who is employed to provide guidance and support to a pregnant woman during labor.
    1. a woman employed to provide guidance and support to the mother of a newborn baby.

I actually am not a fan of either of those definitions. So let’s dig a little deeper. A Doula is (normally) a person who is both formally and informally trained in childbirth and/or the immediate postpartum period. Most Doula trainings focus on Birth, Postpartum or breastfeeding. The informal training I speak of is normally just life experience.

Birth Doulas focus on preparing you for your delivery, forming a relationship and trust, along with answer your questions on the birth process without bias. They support birthing people in all settings; planned cesarean section, planned induction, natural hospital birth, birthing center birth and home birth. They spend great amounts of time and energy making resource lists for all of your needs. Invest emotional labor to helping you feel your best about your big day. And get quite the workout during your labor, using comfort measures and helping you have your best birth. Normally after the birth of your baby, they attend one postpartum visit to work through any feelings you may have about your birth and answer any feeding questions you may have.

A postpartum doula usually takes it from there. After a prenatal appointment (or two, depending on the doula) they’ll have a good idea of what you feel like you need from them. Learning how to take care of your new baby, feeding troubleshooting, light house work, light cooking, and sometimes overnight care so you can get some much needed rest. Each postpartum doula varies just a little. As I have a background as a Chef, most of my postpartum time is used cooking and freezing meals for new parents.

But what about all the other stuff? The other things that birthing people go through? Maybe the things that other people don’t want to talk about.


This is a Full-spectrum doula. Understanding that your journey to parenthood isn’t always cookie cutter. That we live in a complicated world, and meeting you, where ever you are on your journey.

Abortions can be scary, and you may have a lot of questions or complicated feelings about it. This is where a Full-Spectrum Doula can step in and help. Trained on all four procedures, how the clinic experience is, and ready to help you work through any emotions you may have.

Bereavement is something that no parent hopes they’ll have to deal with, but it is a reality of life, and would be a huge disservice to forget about those who don’t get to bring their baby home. Doulas trained in Bereavement can help you through labor (at any point in your pregnancy, between 4 weeks and 42 weeks). They are trained on helping you to preserve moments of joy during loss, and incorporate special wishes for your baby. Providing physical, emotional and informational support in any way possible.

Fertility is another subject that goes largely untalked about. Whether it’s optimizing fertility or a struggle with infertility, a trained Fertility Doula can help. Between navigating this world, giving information on studies, practices and physiological norms and giving recommendations on fertility specialist in the area to continue our care, your Fertility Doula will have your back.

A Full-Spectrum Doula is there for you through all of your needs. To hold your hand and witness both your joys and your sorrows. Because birthing people have sat in silence alone for too long.

If you have any questions about what I do as a Full-Spectrum Doula, please feel free to reach out to me at any time!

Inclusive Birth worker Highlight: Your Best Birth Class

I initially went into writing this thinking I would be highlighting just this (amazing) childbirth education class. But what I ended up with is so much more than that.

Barbara Davis is the founder of “Birth Fort Worth”. A small collective of Doulas who support people all over the DFW metroplex. Voted best birth doula in 2017, 2018 and 2019 as well as the best childbirth class in Fort Worth in 2019 by Fort Worth Child Magazine. Her entire group is also part of The Inclusive Birth Workers of DFW. They offer labor support, placenta encapsulation and breastfeeding support on top of their childbirth education class.

Walking into the Fort Worth Birthing and Wellness Center always feels like home to me. Today was a little different, as the center looks like a whole new space! Beautiful new floors, fresh coats of paint and a modern furniture update. The space is stunning. Barb has all of her teaching tools laid out for the class to see. Bright colorful crocheted boobs (of every size), a baby doll, cloth placenta, pelvic model, & real tools used in the delivery room.

As we get started Barbs smile is absolutely infectious and it’s easy to see why she’s been voted the best doula three years in a row. Barb jumps right into talking about how birth is normal and profound. Everything seems to be going smooth.

We’re getting ready to watch a video and for some reason, the internet connection won’t work. There is  banging upstairs in one of the birthing suits as it’s under construction and it may or may not be interfering with the WIFI. Not a problem, Barb jumps on a hotspot to connect and keep the class rolling.

After talking about the anatomy of birth and some pre-labor tools we take a bathroom break. Barb confides that she has a horrible migraine and I’m in awe of her. She never skipped a beat or gave any indication of this to her class, and the show went on.

The class used all inclusive language and talked on evidence based care, free from fear. Heidi (one of the doulas on her team) was upstairs with a client. She came down to speak to Barb, as their client needed to be transferred to the local hospital, and an ambulance had been called. What a morning.

At around noon (this is only two hours into the six hour class) we break for lunch and Barb tries to lay down for a minute to help with her migraine, but ultimately the third of their trio (Rachael) is called and asked to come finish the class. It seemed as though anything that could go wrong, did.

When Rachael arrived, it was a smooth and easy transition. These ladies have taught this class enough to be able to pick right up where the other left off. And just like that it was business as usual. Pain management, interventions, packing your bag, birth plans, labor stages and comfort measures are all covered.

We retreat to one of the birthing suits upstairs and practice some comfort measures with partners. Everyone is laughing and having a good time. Racheal is flawless in asking for consent before touching anyone, and being hands on in teaching.

At the end of the class, she asks if anyone has questions, and it comes as no surprise to me that not one hand raises. The class has covered everything, and all three couples are going into their birth feeling empowered and confident.

Maybe it was the full moon the night before. Maybe it was residual “bad luck” from the day before (Friday the 13th). Whatever it was, these women took it in strides, professionalism and outstanding teamwork. I can only imagine what a “normal” day looks like for their team. Maybe this is exactly what it always looks like, a smooth rotation of knowledgeable women. No matter the case, I couldn’t think of a single thing they missed in their class.

It really was, for “Your Best Birth”.

You can find out more about Barb and her team HERE.
Follow them on facebook
Or follow them on instagram

After: The Sun Sets

“Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don’t resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.”
-Lao Tzu

Normally my “after” blogs chronicle more of my life after baby goes home. But to be honest there’s nothing new to say. They went home, I had an adjustment period without a belly and dealing with my milk coming in. Hormones suck.

I want to talk about a postpartum reality I hear talked about very little. Bare with me.

During pregnancy I LOVE my body (of course this may be different for others). I feel powerful and beautiful. I snapped this photo days before Sky was born so I could always remember my body as a home for another life, especially since I don’t know if I’ll ever have another baby.

Stretch marks, bags under my eyes, swollen feet. Reality.

After baby was born my photographer (BLESS HER) made sure to grab some reality photos. I am actually really very grateful for these pictures because I never see anything like them online. Watching blood loss, fundal massage, the painful realities of the first hours after birth.

Shout out to Melissa who actually has very strong, yet soft hands that touch with grace and understanding! Nurses are amazing. Also my husband who through five births, has never once left my side after delivery, even back when they were his children, he understands the hardships of postpartum and is the picture of support.

Two days postpartum I photographed my body again:

My sons would poke my belly and ask about how soft it was, ask about my uterus size and caringly ask if I was in pain. I was. My hips trying to shift back into place, along with my organs. Milk coming in with no baby to feed but pumping regularly to help my uterus heal. Good news is I was sleeping 7-10 hours a night with no baby to wake up with.

At two weeks postpartum I photographed again:

Back to my pre-pregnancy weight and clothes. Really feeling myself…

Can you spot the lie? I’ll let you in on a secret. Pregnancy is when I am at my healthiest. I eat well (if I’m not sick), I drink the recommended amount of water. I take care of my body as I’m sharing it with someone who needs me.

Post-partum anorexia is a real thing. When people say to me “Holy crap! Look how tiny you are! So lucky! You look great!” I smile and say “genetics” as I shrug my shoulders. I’m not totally lying, my mother passed her anorexia and hate for her body on to me at a very young age. This is my reality. I am obsessed with a number on the scale. Other peoples comments on my body feed me instead of food. I thrive on the compliments of a thin body. This is my generational trauma.

The daily struggle to NEVER talk about my body in front of my children makes it worse. I internalize my feelings so much so that unless close friends or my husband ask me the last time I’ve eaten, it’s not even a thought in my mind. But I recognize it, I acknowledge it, and I strive to do better everyday. Every time I see the scale in the corner of the bathroom, I fight the urge to step on it. I want to be as healthy as I am when I’m pregnant. I want to love my body everyday, in every form. And more than anything, I want to break the cycle and not pass my illness to my daughter.

This of course, is not everyones reality of postpartum. But it is my truth, and if there is one thing that this journey has taught me, it’s that there is power in speaking your truth.

My relationship with food, and my own body are so complicated. As a Chef (when I’m not doing my Doula thing), I LOVE food. I love to cook and cut and play and taste. I love to try new ways of cooking, new ways of plating. I love trying different combinations of flavors especially if it doesn’t sound like something I would normally eat. When I invite you to my table, we’re family. If I cook for you, I love you. Food is my love language.

And yet I can go days without having any food. I cook for my family, and my friends, hell I get paid to cook. Yet it seems I almost feel that I don’t deserve that love and careful preparation of nourishment for myself. I have no idea where or when this idea was placed in my brain. I’m not sure who put that thought there or why I continue to let it linger. My own instagram is filled with beautiful (if I do say so myself) food that I lovingly cooked and plated, all well thought out before stepping into the kitchen.

Changing the narrative in my own brain around food is going to be a very long journey. But 2019 has been a year of healing, release, understanding and growth. I’m ready to take on this very personal challenge and can almost breath a sign of relief for finally saying it out loud (figuratively).

Speak your truth. Share your pain. You’re not alone, I know I’m not.

You can read my other stories here: