“You and the girls are fine...” voiced the rising echo from my belly. Not “you and the girls will be fine”, but “you are.”

After nine months of battling strange unnamed illnesses which left me perpetually dizzy, exhausted and nauseous with fluctuating heart-rates and temporary amnesia, the body-message which violently shook me from my incoherence was that I could no longer form words. Right there, in the middle of a conversation with family friends enjoying a late Sunday afternoon springtime braai (South African for barbeque), I formed words with my mouth but there was no accompanying sound. In that instant, the many months worth of un-wellness crystallised into this knowing: “I'm having a breakdown”.

At my GP the next morning I confessed a secret I'd held for months, like a rough stone in a deep pocket where fingers needing something tangible to hold onto, would rub and roll the hidden distraction: I needed to leave my marriage of 19 years which had produced three incredibly beautiful and powerful gifts in the form of daughters. One gentle, cautious and wise, the second fearlessly impulsive and strong-willed, and the third, who from conception held the promise of something new.

A deeply religious woman who had stayed home with her children over the 19 years, homeschooled them (little did they know how much she learned from them) and loved every ...well most … moment. It was like stepping into a second childhood filled with freedom and life and I cherished this gift my children brought me.
In this freedom and joyful life, I learned to love myself again. I learned to trust that inner voice which had become so diluted with fear and judgment, criticism and loathing.

He did not enjoy this becoming. He feared it and went to many lengths attempting to shut it down. But the rise of feminine power was undeniable. She wouldn't … couldn't be silenced. More than anything she needed to run barefoot in the rain, wet long skirts wrapping shamelessly around full curves and arcs carved by woman- and motherhood. She wanted, needed, desired to experience love without inhibition, without shame. Love in abundance is what she had to give. Oh how she would love to receive this too, this feminine divine!

After my doctor's room confession, I spent ten silent days in a beautiful garden, alone with my thoughts, desires, dreams and a journal. After many hours of reflection, I knew I had to leave. Staying meant a house, food, being taken care of, no shame of divorce and children who had both parents in their lives. Staying would be safe. But I was done being safe. Staying meant dying a slow death; leaving meant life. Good grief, I had so much life to live!
So without a job, without a home, without any sure plans for survival, my girls and I left our family home with just our dearest belongings and these inner words of assurance: “you and the girls are fine”.

Three years later we are. So fine.

Today I'm a doula (a birth and labour companion) trained in shiatsu massage, specialising in treating pregnant women. You'll find me on FaceBook as Doula Joy - Holding Your Birth Space.

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When I'm not attending births or massaging mothers, I buy, sell and educate a