94. bear woman

Nine years ago, when I was pregnant with Tanner, my best friend Maya held a blessingway ceremony for my entrance into motherhood. It was a beautiful small circle of close friends, amidst a larger gathering of loved ones, in which the group shared tokens, totems, well-wishes and prayers to support me through the labor and birth process. 

During this blessingway, one of the greatest gifts I was given was a song, a rhythmic and steady chant which had been given to my dear friend. I don’t remember anything of it, except soul-soothing syllabic intonations, followed by the phrase: “I am as strong as a bear.”

The song was more than a nice moment, it was an invocation, but I didn’t know that until I was six hours deep in labor and approaching transition. Standing in the hot shower at the birth center, my womb and back gripped by strong contractions, I found myself repeating to myself “I am as strong as a bear” in between long ‘OMs’ which became more guttural and grunty as the hours progressed. 

Suddenly, a contraction hit me stronger than any before, and what I thought would emerge from my lips as an “aum” instead became something louder, wider, deeper, and more powerful than any sound I’d ever made. 

The vibration and resonance of it seemed to pull me outside of myself in a way - or perhaps more deeply inward? I’m not sure, but it was not a cry, nor a scream, nor a hum or any kind - it was a massive human ROAR. 

Within moments, the midwife tending me (her name was Susan) came cheerfully into the room, and with a sing-song voice, gleefully said, “Sounds like somebody’s in transition!”

To which I did NOT reply, because I was now no longer Amelia. 

I was Bear.

The roar which came through me marked a threshold in my labor process in which my normal waking consciousness, day-to-day ego functions of the brain seemingly went offline, and my wild animal brain awakened. 

When I was today years old, researching this on the google for the purpose of this storytelling, I found that indeed, during childbirth, the limbic system is active as the labor process is regulated by ancient hormones guiding emotion and instinct. Our mammalian intelligence peaks, and our animal nature speaks, as the “dominance of the limbic system enables the body to undergo the full physiological adaptation required for birth.”

So what I’m saying is, I really did become Bear. Or rather, I became Bear-Woman, a limbically awakened human, whose instincts, intuition, and animal awareness were at an all time high. 

Bear-Woman is the one who carried me through the last hours of birth, and when I slid into the tub of hot water and felt the soft-boiled-egg sensation of my first-born’s head crowning, it was Bear-Woman-knowing that told me something was wrong - that he needed to come out immediately. It was Bear-Woman-power that pushed him out in three pushes, as the midwifes, my husband and doula all told me to slow down.

And it was Bear-Woman-consciousness that stood tall, firm, clear and protective in the realm beyond the veil, rooted as the matriarch-in-training of her lineage, and commanded God that the child would live. (Back in the ‘real world,’ the babe had arrived with a tightly wound umbilical cord around his body and neck, cutting off his supply of essential oxygen. There was some panic and fear as the helpers unwrapped the cord and gave the baby oxygen.)

“You will NOT take this child,” Bear told God with an air of absolute finality, "they will breathe NOW, and they will live". The threads of the tapestry of Creation shifted and rewove according to Her words, and of course, the child did. 

Anyway, this wasn’t actually going to be a story about childbirth or bears, but a commiseration-type post with all my ambivert-hermit kin who spend months at a time hiding from everyone and then come back into the 'regular world' and expect things to just be chill, but people make it weird. Do you know what I'm talking about?

Anyway, illustrating the point above may provide some context when I say that part of me, in becoming Bear, may have actually become a Bear. 

Or perhaps it simply awakened that dormant mammalian intelligence, that limbic knowing about when it is time to rest, and when it is time to wake. Spring is here in Portugal, and I’m outside, at the skatepark, in the world, and everywhere I go, I run into people who say, “Hey! Wow! It’s good to see you! Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in months.”

A tiny bit of shame kicks in, because I have some strange conditioned response that seems to think I owe people my social presence. But then I just smile and say, “Yes, I was hibernating. But spring is here, and here I am!”

I started saying it as a joke, but I’ve realized that I think it’s actually true for me. Every year, around November 1 (and fully by mid-December), I feel the pull to go inward, and I stop accepting social engagements. When I’m not at work, you’ll certainly find me in the cozy quiet spaces of my own home, sitting by the fireplace cuddled up with a book, or tending a simple spell on my altar (which happens to be an old Portuguese bread oven, fantastic for cooking up magic). 

This past week, I also found myself clearing up communications that I had ignored, forgotten about, or frankly, procrastinated… since last fall. But instead of beating myself up for not being responsive in the way people think I am, I’ve decided to just start owning the fact that I am genuinely a hibernator. From November to April, I’ll be hard to find, but keep your eyes peeled for me when you see the first poppies of spring - that’s when I emerge from my den, rested and reconnected to the realm beyond this one, and make my way into the spring sunshine.

So, if you’ve tried to reach me while I was hibernating, just know, it’s not you, it’s me - and we’ve got seven beautiful months ahead before I head back into my seasonal solitude. Feel welcome to connect, and know that if you’re like me, a hibernator - in whatever season - and you just need to disappear for a while, I won’t make it weird when you get back.