A Letter to My Readers
It's with sweetness and a little wistfulness
that I share with you my new platform—
bird & babe: on loss, love, and motherhood.
I loved my previous site
where I wrote about
everyday living, spirituality, and embodiment.
And I loved my logo of a
robin-like stork
carrying a bundle of precious cargo.
But things have changed and gestated
over the years—
and I'd love to take a little time now
to connect the old to the new,
share the journey from there to here,
and reveal a little bit of where I have been.
(As well as the new logo I created,
while playing with my son!)
x
As some of you know,
Bird & Babe originally started out as a portfolio site
for the work my husband and I did
while we finished up graduate work.
The name was a moniker of
one of our favourite pubs in England:
'the bird & baby'.
I loved our site, that work,
and working together:
I designed and made things beautiful,
and he made it happen with his
technical knowledge and heavy lifting.
We were also newly weds
and as our marriage changed
with the years,
so did our place of home
and the ways in which we spent our days:
no longer were we living in Oxfordshire—
we had made the move to San Francisco;
and he was now a full-time software developer,
while I pivoted into dance, contemplation, and quietness.
In this broader life context,
I recreated Bird & Babe to be a nest for
my reflections on embodied life and daily living.
And it was there—
in the quietness and courage
that I became more of a child—
because I trusted and I took risk
in finding my identity in
the Source and Breath of Life
rather than in the created workplace
or in the lens of disgrace that
sometimes people chose to see me through.
New worlds of knowing began to open up
from dancing,
from praying to You,
and from the creation of space.
And I began to see more,
hear more,
and understand more.
I was 'becoming',
one could say...
Meanwhile, our marriage was beautiful,
and beginning to experience
"second, third, and fourth years"—
and with that, deeper awarenesses of
who we really were.
Love has a way of revealing truth
if we have the courage to hear
and believe.
Being wounded and blind to our ways,
we wounded the other,
and our own wounds wounded ourselves.
(And this was after years of therapy.)
And in that, we started to experience deeper loss:
miscarriage after early miscarriage.
Around this time, my blogging and writing
dwindled from twice per week
to a couple of times per season.
I had so loved my seasonal themes
that I was writing from,
but I could no longer keep up,
and I chose not to force myself to.
And soon,
our wounded marriage could
no longer handle our pain.
We separated in the summer of 2015
at the courageous advice of a dear friend
to both of us—
and I moved back to live with my parents
in the cornfields of Illinois
(rather than to a room I was ready to rent
in the countryside of France!)
and he stayed in our micro-apartment,
continuing on with work and life in San Francisco.
We chose to separate out of hope
that our marriage would
live on,
if only it could die first.
\ \
Hope does not disappoint.
We would later embark on a
redemptive reunion that
still very much continues
to this day.
Through the Badlands
and the plains.
The mountains
and the valleys.
As I chose to live from
—a new heart of hope—
I was enabled to choose
a different path:
one of love—
which first looks at herself
and her issues
so that she can then love her neighbour
as herself.
And love empregnated me—
and enabled me to truly carry
life in me rather than just conceive it—
and I gave birth to a son
two years ago today.
There is so much to say
about how I understand
my wounded heart,
the emotional life,
and the connection between
the hand, heart, and womb—
but for now,
I simply share that
there are deep, integrated,
embodied
relationships between all three,
and that our words and wounds
matter.
Life is in the unseen.
From my own experiences with loss,
I understand the innate connection
and interconnection the body holds
and offers.
As a wife,
and even more so, as a mother,
I understand how a wounded heart
—and a healing heart—
can radically transform a newly budding heart.
All those years of solitude in San Francisco
were part of the fertile soil
where I grew more and became more
and where what I re-searched in life
would become my budding (PhD) research in life:
loss, love, and motherhood
through the body.
Vignettes from my everyday life are still found here
along with relevant doctoral inspiration.
I hope the creations here
bring life to your spirit,
beauty to your soul,
and courage to your heart.
Welcome to the rehatched
Bird & Babe—
a life from hope on
loss, love, and motherhood.
(And if you think a friend may appreciate,
please do share.)
x
Jessie
P.S.
From my days living in Oxford,
I've always admired Tara Jones's calligraphy.
I am grateful she was able to squeeze
me into her full schedule.
And now, since living in Vancouver, BC,
I've adored Alana Couch's photography.
My husband and I treated ourselves
to a three-part session soon after our son was born—
and we recently enjoyed our last family session.
I'm delighted to share some of these here.