Thankslisting 2013

Man, looking back at last year's list of thanks, I remember how depressed I was, pregnant and suddenly faced with planning a divorce.  That depression, though, was kind of like a metal spring being pressed down in order for it to bounce up into the air and fulfill its purpose as a spring (by definition a resilient device.)  Now it's Thanksgiving 2013, and I am one high-flying spring.  This year I AM SO THANKFUL FOR...


1.  Betty's birth.  Best birth I could possibly imagine.  Melanie, Pam, Guina, Anjli.  And Betty herself!  What a kid.  I am thankful for every moment with this sweet baby.

2.  My mom & dad.  Without hesitation, they welcomed me and my three kids into their home, clearing out space and creating sanctuary during my biggest hour of need.

3.  These words from a county Superior Court judge: "I shall restore to you your name, Jenny Ruth Belk."  And from the ensuing documents "...held and considered as separate and distinct persons altogether unconnected by any nuptial union or civil contract whatsoever."  Then came the dancing in the driveway, and Beyonce's words: "You must not know about me..."

4.  My amazingly fantastic magical curious wise joyful loving growing brave and confident kids.  They are more than okay; they are living arrows that fly.  (Also very thankful for their school teachers.)

5.  Rachel.  My BFF.  A constant support with a Yes-To-Life attitude.  Kayaking, rock climbing, tennis, fires, kites, Can you come out to play?

6.  Sacred Women's Circle and Authentic Intuitive Movement.

7.  Valerie.  New York City--so nice, I went there twice.  Sit & Wonder.  Everything Will Be Okay.  Sometimes there are no rules.

8.  Favorite haircut ever.

9.  David Sacks.  This dear friend died way too young.  So thankful for his life, so thankful I knew him.

10.  Road trip to San Antonio with my kids, my dad, and my sister, Amy.  Played Yahtzee with my 92-year-old grandma, took Rosie to get her ears pierced (I, too, got my ears pierced when I was 6-years-old in Texas with my aunt), hung out on the roof, ate tacos for breakfast, sipped on Brown coffee, saw the old family sites and heard the old family stories, reclaimed Belk roots.  Texas forever!

11. The increasing ability to recognize bullshit and call it what it is.  (Remember that song I wrote, "I will find my voice?"  I did.)

12.  Kennesaw State University.  The time came to pursue my nursing dream after all these years; I began classes in August.  I love, love, love being a student again.

13.  Kayla.  Lucky '13.  An unlikely meeting and unexpected love.


Happy Thanksgiving, dear ones!  I hope you get an extra dollop of whipped cream on your pumpkin pie.  If you're into whipped cream.  Maybe you'd rather have an extra pat of butter for your roll, or gravy for your taters.  Whatever you love, I wish you bounteous amounts.

The Kids

On Children

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, 'Speak to us of Children.' 
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

~Khalil Gibran

My kids are not mine.  They belong to no one but themselves.  They are individuals with their own thoughts and their own souls.  I get the privilege of nurturing them and witnessing their lives.  These thoughts are helpful to me as I've let go of some time/involvement/influence with them this past year. How are the kids through all this?  The kids are living arrows that fly, and we have so much gladness between us.

Joy is a Flame

My, oh my, this was not the year for blogging.  This was the year for getting my act together...my Act II.  I don't know what will become of this blog, but I know what will become of me.  Increasing joy,  always.  Here's what Sara Teasdale says about joy:

The Answer

When I go back to earth
And all my joyous body
Puts off the red and white
That once had been so proud,
If men should pass above
With false and feeble pity,
My dust will find a voice
To answer them aloud:

"Be still, I am content,
Take back your poor compassion--
Joy was a flame in me
Too steady to destroy.
Lithe as a bending reed
Loving the storm that sways her--
I found more joy in sorrow
Than you could find in joy."


Damn straight, joy is a flame in me.  While all our feelings lead us on our way, joy is my favorite guide.  Favorite and faithful.  My way right now, my so-called second act, includes college, learning more and more about motherhood, letting go of old shit, leaning in to new love.  I am so much more than content.

Divo: First Month

Having a baby, moving, and getting a divorce sure put a blog on the back burner.  Need some tending, blog dear?  A stir?  A dash of salt?

I've officially been divorced for over a month.  I have an ex-husband now--how grown up of me.  It was a transformative moment when the judge pronounced, "I shall restore to you your name."  I got my name back, and you bet your sweet bippy I got my Self back.  Stifled for so long!  Undervalued and uncared for.  This is Act II.  I get to create--from the pain, disappointment, and anger--something new, authentic, and joyful.  I have created a living space that fits that description.  I'm gaining my strength back, physically and in other ways.  Running again.  Journaling as usual.  I've been feeling what I feel, noting what I feel, and starting to heal.  I'm using my divorce as a spiritual journey.  The feelings and circumstances surrounding it are here to REAWAKEN me.  The process I'm going through is a holy one, divinely inspired to bring about a positive change in my life.  My pain is a sacred emotion, allowing me to discover who I really am and go places I would not go on my own!  If not for this divorce, I would not be able to go where I'm going, on this spiritual journey to a nourishing life. 

I borrowed those last phrases from Spiritual Divorce by Debbie Ford.  I picked it up randomly from the library, and I totally dig it.  It's a challenge though, full of "healing actions."  The first step on my journey is to actively deal & heal.  I'm no good to my self, my kids, or anyone else if I skip this step.  Of course I'll be dealing & healing in different ways my whole life, but for now it's the primary focus.  Step two?  Get on an airplane?  There are so many steps to look forward to, but I won't get tripped up on those now.  One by one to feel five by five.

We Meet Challenges

"The wild nature teaches that we meet challenges as they occur. When wolves are badgered, they don't say, "Oh no! Not again!" They bound, pounce, run, dive, scramble, play dead, go for the throat, whatever needs to be done. So we cannot be shocked that there is entropy, deterioration, hard times. Let us understand that the issues that entrap women's joy will always shift and shape-change, but in our own essential natures we find the absolute stamina, the necessary libido for all necessary acts of heart."

~Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run With the Wolves

Steps to Deconversion

I drafted this post six months ago, just before all the personal revelations and anger.   The subject came up again, so I decided to publish it now. 

..........................

After a recent conversation with someone struggling with her faith, I realized there are a lot of Christians out there who are not quite sure they are Christians anymore.  If you have followed my blog for a few years, you know that at the beginning of 2009 I confessed that I no longer believed the things I grew up believing.  I let go of the Christianity I so passionately followed for almost thirty years and began a journey guided by inner wisdom.  Four years later, I can say that I feel more peace and joy now than I ever did.  My life does not look a lot different on the outside, but I feel transformed.  I thought it might be helpful for some if I posted a short guide to deconversion--some advice, from my experience, for people whose long-held faith no longer rings true.

If you are happy in your Christian faith, I respect your commitment.  There is no need for you to read this post, as it is not intended for you.  If you feel compelled to read on, I ask that you respect my beliefs as I do yours.

What do I call this list...Jenny's 10 Steps to Deconversion?  Things to Keep in Mind during your Faith Crisis?  Notes from the Dark Side (which is Refreshingly Bright!)?  Something like that.  You get the idea.  Again, I stress that this comes from my experience.  Take what is helpful; leave the rest. 

1.  Tell the truth, tell the truth, tell the truth.  You might be tempted to deny what you are thinking, to bury your doubts and hope they go away.  But they keep coming back.  There is no benefit in lying to yourself.  Admit to yourself what you are thinking and feeling.  This processing phase is difficult and can be kept private.  Write in a journal, talk to a therapist, or dialogue with yourself while driving.  Just tell the truth.

2.  Be curious and gentle with your thoughts.  Your true thoughts might scare you and cause you confusion and guilt.  Try to be curious with these thoughts.  Acknowledge what you are thinking and feeling without judgment.

3.  Embrace uncertainty.  You may feel uncomfortable without a defined faith or like-minded community.  Uncertainty is natural.  Mystery is a given.  You are on a journey and you don't need all the answers all at once.  You will know what you need to know when you need to know it.

4.  Relax.  This is a benevolent process.  You are discovering your authentic beliefs and uncovering what is already inside you, desperate for you to acknowledge.  That is a good thing.

5.  Relax.  Be gentle with yourself if you feel guilty or scared.  You don't believe in hell anymore, remember?

6.  Relax.  You do not have to announce your thoughts to the world.  You do not have to tell every Christian you've ever met that you are no longer a Christian. 

7.  If/when you do share your change of beliefs with people, be ready for mixed reactions: some sadness, some judgment, some prayer for you, some kindness, some openness, and some surprising agreement.  Respect people like you want to be respected.  Golden Rule still applies!

8.  Grieve your loss of creed and community.  This is a difficult transition.  There is loss.

9.  Find what truly resonates.  Glean from what you are reading and experiencing.  When something rings true, you feel it.  When something is bullshit, you know it.  Hold on to what resonates within, whether it is from the Bible or an episode of Buffy.  There is truth everywhere.

10.  Enjoy the peace and joy that come from acknowledging and honoring what you truly believe.  Enjoy being your authentic self!

I have come to find some powerful wisdom and authentic spirituality in my post-Christian life, which I am happy to share if you're interested.  And if you're interested, here is a list of books that helped me during my transformation:

The Dance of the Dissident Daughter, Sue Monk Kidd
Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert
Steering by Starlight, Martha Beck
Women Who Run with the Wolves, Clarissa Pinkola Estes
Leaving the Saints, Martha Beck
Kitchen Table Wisdom, Rachel Naomi Remen


Again, take what is helpful; leave the rest.  I'll conclude with the words of Martha Beck: "Don't worry about losing your way. If you do, pain will remind you to find your path again. Joy will let you know when you are back on it."  Much love, seekers.

The Other Story

Thanks for reading my birth story!  It was fun to write and relive that sacred night.

The other story is not as fun to write, and I certainly don't ever want to relive it.  Besides preparing for birth and having a baby, I have spent the last six months in disbelief, anger, and insomnia, preparing for a divorce.  The final court hearing is just a couple of days away.

I want to write about it, but I'm not sure what I want to say right now.  I'll include all the sordid details in the memoir I'm writing.  In 2009, a difficult year, Joel and I sang "This is not the end" along with Laura Gibson in a poignant moment at The Earl.  For fifteen years we claimed we were made for each other.  Laura was right at that time, but this is the end, and if we were ever truly MFEO, we are no longer. I grieve this, and honestly, at this point I celebrate it. 

Last month I moved in with my parents, who have been heroically helpful and an inspiring example of genuine love.  My whole family and dear circle of friends have been holding my hand through this fiery tunnel of hell, supporting me every step of the way.  Even as my marriage is ending, I see what true love looks like and feel it deeply.

What now?  Now I get to practice some radical self-care, create a whole new life, and love my three babies like nobody's business.  This is the beginning of my best story yet.

Betty's Birth Story

Below is the sacred story of my third daughter's birth. This is a precious and personal story, and I trust you will read it with respect for me and for her. This story took place during the most difficult time in my life, having discovered in my second trimester that my husband was cheating on me (yet again). Despite his cruel abandonment, with the love and support of family and friends, I was given the gift of this tremendous birth experience. Painful as childbirth was, it was a respite during that terrible season of my life.

*****

Betty Magnolia was born on January 14th at 6:58 a.m.  Her birth was one of the most amazing, powerful experiences of my life.  The most, actually.  My first two births brought out my babies, but they were not ideal (the second, in fact, was a traumatic C-Section).  This birth, the charming third time, was ideal.

In the weeks leading up to my due date (January 5th), my belly measured smaller instead of bigger.  That happened in my first pregnancy, too, which prompted an early induction.  But thankfully, this time around I was under the care of providers who trust in birth and believe in women, so even when it was a week past my due date and my fluid level was decreasing, they did not intervene.  They monitored, asked me what my intuition told me, and advised me simply to take a bath and talk with my baby.  I felt that my baby was safe and strong.

I did a lot of walking, a good bit of living room dancing, and even squats.  I ate Scalini's famous Eggplant Parmesan.  I felt things stirring, felt my body getting ready.  On Sunday, January 13th, I tucked my daughters into bed and lay on the couch to watch Tina & Amy host the Golden Globe Awards.  I was having contractions somewhat regularly.  Suddenly I heard Stella, my 9-year-old, in the bathroom, and I rushed upstairs to help her as she began to throw up.  To think I was in labor while tending to my vomiting child--motherhood's multitasking!  My contractions became stronger and more regular.  Around 11:30 p.m., I called my sister Melanie, my birth partner, and told her I wanted her with me.  She came posthaste and helped me time contractions.  Just after midnight, standing in my bedroom, my water broke.  Oh glorious gush of water!  I knew this was true labor, and I couldn't help but laugh.  Over the next hour my contractions grew more intense, and I told Melanie it was time to go to the hospital.  She called our two doula friends, Pam and Guina, and our midwife friend, all of whom planned to attend the birth.  Anjli, the midwife, was not even on call that night, but she met us at the hospital, literally at the door to the labor & delivery ward, and walked me to my room.

Pam and Guina arrived and got right to work setting the mood.  They hung string lights, arranged battery-powered candles around the room, displayed the quilt from my Blessingway, and wafted lemon essential oil through the air.  Melanie got the iPod going.  I sported my orange tank top and Blessingway necklace for power and support.  Anjli determined that my cervix was 4 centimeters dilated.  And so, I labored.  The hospital staff, including nurses, barely showed their faces, as I was in the presence and care of some of Atlanta's most heroic birth professionals.  Melanie Nasmyth, along with being my beloved sister and birth warrior times four, is a certified doula and active member of the birth community.  Pam Roe and Guina Bixler, dear friends, are two of the most experienced doulas and birth teachers in the Metro area.  Since Anjli was not on call, she stayed in the room through the entire process.  Heroes, I tell you!  I contracted; they held me, held space for me.  Guina guided my breathing: Breathe in, down around Betty, and out.  The guided breathing was out-of-this-world helpful for getting through those intense contractions.  Melanie and I tried a little dancing and singing.  I labored in the shower for a long time.  I started getting nervous about having to push at some point in the near future.  There was no escape!  And then I knew it was time to fill up the tub.

My legs were so tired from standing most of the night.  Sitting in the pool of warm water brought relief, and I actually fell asleep for some of those 30 second breaks between contractions.  Even thirty seconds of rest eases the process!  Soon my body knew to get up onto my hands and knees. Throughout that night, through those hours of labor, it did not feel like a hospital or a medical event.  Anjli never checked my cervix again.  My noises showed my progress.  My body led the process.  On my hands and knees, I knew it was nearing time to push.  Melanie and Guina were in front of me, looking me in the eyes and offering encouragement.  Pam was behind me giving counter-pressure (SO helpful.)  Anjli was next to Pam observing, encouraging, and letting me know Betty's head was coming down.

Back story... A month or two earlier, as I was reading Women Who Run With the Wolves, I thought, "Wouldn't it be cool if there was a wolf at my birth?"  As soon as I thought it, I knew, in the way that we know things, that there would be a wolf present.  Not literally, but the energy, the spirit, the archetype.  I pictured a wolf in the hospital room, supporting me and Betty.  I texted my sisters saying there would be a wolf at my birth, and they responded, "Huh?"

In the birthing pool, on my hands and knees, I felt the pressure of my baby's head.  It was time to push, and I was afraid of the pain.  I started growling.  And as I pushed through every contraction from then on, I growled a low, primal growl unlike any noise I have ever made.  I just growled and growled through the pain until Anjli said, "Reach down and catch your baby!" 

I was the wolf.

I reached down and caught Betty, bringing her up out of the water and into my arms.  I could not believe I did it.  She was here!  With all this dark hair!  Safe and strong.  No interventions, but the all-natural, normal process of birth.  Mother and baby working together, surrounded by a group of loving, supportive women.  I cried and I laughed, and I said to Betty, "Welcome to the tribe."  I sat in the pool for a long time, holding her in wonder.

She weighed 6 pounds, 13 1/2 ounces and measured 19 1/2 inches long.  She never had jaundice, which I was expecting since the other girls had it.  She has gained weight like a champion, nursing instinctively from the start.  At night, she nurses and falls back to sleep.  Now she is six weeks old, more alert each day, and starting to melt my heart with her smiles.  Betty Magnolia, Betty Boop, Betty Blue Eyes, Little Bette...my charming third.

*If you notice something (someone) missing from this story, well, that is another birth story, still in process.  Death and rebirth, really.  It hurts like hell, but I am surrounded by a loving, supportive tribe, and now I know from experience that I am strong and capable.  As in labor, so in life.