I first met Jenny when we were in graduate school together, and over the years have come to admire her from a hundred different angles. As a therapist, party-lover, yoga instructor, magic-maker. This is a woman on a quest to be as fully alive and true as a woman can be. In her own words: “It is my life’s work to come home to myself and my body, and to guide other women into the disruptive and healing work of trusting the stories of the body. Our birthright is to feel fully safe, fully alive, and fully empowered.” I asked her to share with us what it has been like to be pregnant right now during this crisis, and whether you are having a baby or not I hope you’ll hear her wisdom and welcome your experience in your body today. You can also read more about her on her website Haven Yoga and Counseling. - Rachel Lund, Self Space Founder

By Jenny Wade: Therapist & Yoga Instructor

I’ve been waiting my whole life to get pregnant. The first thing I wanted to be when I grew up was a mom. In all my years of dreaming, never in any of my wildest fantasies did I expect to be growing and birthing my child in the midst of a global pandemic. Because I’ve longed to be a mom for so long, I’ve been gathering stories and resources for years about how to best prepare for the newborn months. The chorus I heard over and over again from all of the moms was the same: find your community. “Find other moms to gather and commiserate with.”, “Take pre-natal yoga classes to meet new mom friends!”, and “Whatever you do, make sure to join a PEPS group!”.

I was home bound during my first trimester because I was so ill, around the clock, with ‘morning’ sickness. I did a 200 hour teacher training through my second trimester, which took up my weekends for three months. The Monday after my last weekend of teacher training ended, I began sheltering in place due to COVID. All of the freedom I had been looking forward to in the last months of my pregnancy was swiftly taken away, and for the past two months I’ve been adjusting to the new normal of working from home and keeping my exposure to the outside world to a bare minimum.

Fetus in ultrasound image — Jenny’s baby

All this to say, I’m lonely. Even though my husband is a profoundly supportive friend and partner, he cannot fulfill my needs to be close to my mom, my family, my girlfriends, and my teachers. I feel the ache of my lonely in my chest, it’s like a hollow throbbing behind my heart. The rhythmic pulsation of an unmet need. In the last few months I’ve allowed the tidal wave of my sadness to rise up and fill my being with its mournful reminder of my need for closeness.

None of us are ok right now. For me, grief is the appropriate emotional response to a global pandemic that separates us from our basic needs. I’ve allowed myself to be depressed, I’ve taken days off of work to tend to my own mental health, I’ve cried, and felt the helplessness of all my plans crumbling around me. I’ve needed to stay in bed all day, and I have disappointed the people in my life in order to prioritize care for myself.

“Right now, for some of us, to allow ourselves to be not ok is a sign of emotional health. ”

Right now, for some of us, to allow ourselves to be not ok is a sign of emotional health. When we refuse to grieve, we only have access to a vast emptiness inside, and we might find ourselves floating above our bodies with the aid of endless scrolling, Netflix-ing, and work-aholism.

I’m re-learning in this season of life how in surrendering to our grief, we can make space for even more profound joy and contentment. I’ve been re-reading Kahlil Gibran’s The Prophet and he writes,

“The deeper that your sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain…When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful look again in your heart and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”

When we open ourselves up to the waves of sensation (and sometimes lack of sensation) that accompanies our sorrow, we carve grooves within ourselves that can be filled up with joy on the other side of the tidal wave of grief. The bigger the sorrow, the larger the potential for joy. It’s a strange, unexpected truth that continues to reveal itself through all the phases of my life.

In allowing myself to fully engage my grief, I watch it pass through me, like a transient thunderstorm within. On the other side of the storm I have the space to shift my awareness towards what is truly lovely about this season of life. In slowing down the pace of my days, I’m able to tune into and respect the rhythms of life flowing through my body. As my belly grows, my energy slows down, and I’m blessedly able to take as many naps as I need and to intentionally shift my focus inward. I’m feeling drawn towards the simple fulfillment that comes with cultivating my domestic life. I’m cooking, cleaning, and tending my home and garden like never before. I’m meditating and bathing and watching the tree branches sway outside of my windows. I’m savoring the boring everyday moments of living life with my husband, knowing that things will never be the same once our son is earth side.

“In grieving the death of my plans, a new story is being birthed. ”

Maybe my carefully constructed plan of what would be best for me, isn’t actually what is best for me. In grieving the death of my plans, a new story is being birthed. One I never could have expected, but is full to the brim with beauty to enjoy, lessons about myself to learn, and new ways of being to practice.

By accepting what is, in all its pain, beauty, or boredom - we release into the stream of life and allow it to carry us to our next destination. When our minds grasp onto our need to control the moment, our body respond by clenching and tightening - which winds us up like a rubber band and makes it more likely we will snap at ourselves and towards the people around us.

Feeling it all is no small feat. It can feel like death, like poison, like our insides are burning up or numbing out. We may fear that we may never be okay ever again if we allow ourselves to surrender to the truth of what is inside. This fear is normal. This voice inside of all of us was formed when we were younger as a way to cope with our environment – where it was likely not safe to allow ourselves to feel what was real. In my adulthood, what I’ve learned is that it is through getting brutally honest with myself about what is real moment to moment, that I can actually begin to free myself from the big emotions that threaten to capsize. By honoring and surrendering to the uncomfortable sensations of our body experiencing unmet needs, we are able to find more life, energy, and creative flow on the other side of the wave of emotion.

In this uncharted season of life, may we find the courage to grieve the death of our old dreams, and to open to the possibility of new life we couldn’t have possibly imagined.

Pregnancy During a Pandemic