Fake it til we make it

You know, this work doesn't stop.
It spirals. Unlinear and intimately evolving.
Reflection is the ultimate power.
To see ones actions without the emotional charge, to be able to be objective with 'self' pushes boundaries and gently slaughters older versions of self, kissing her on the forhead and moving forward.
I think a lot about context. To speak of violence against women one must have context, compassion. To tell a story, to locate oneself, context is everything.
But context is relative to the teller.
One cannot speak of women without speaking of where they are.
That hospital which is running 735% over its capacity. That entire hospital is running on an annual budget of $500,000 including the salaries of everyone that works there (maternity ward, antenatal clinic, surgery ward, TB ward, isolation ward, etc ), is only marginally more disorganized than some of the New York City hospitals where one administrators salary alone might come close to 500k.
Everything is relative and context is everything.

I have fallen right back into my midwifery here. Seeing clients, attending births, answering the phone in the middle of the night to assuade discharge fears. And there is violence here. A friend of a friends baby died at an NYC hospital the other day. Her water broke at 22 weeks. Instead of hooking her up to fluids and trying to wait a couple of weeks for a viable fetus, the hospital induced. Telling here there was no other option. She did not question authority. Does the hospital truly have respect for a single black woman on medicaid? What is the value of her babies life? If this had been some rich white senator would the outcome have been the same?
Without becoming cynical, the questions must be asked. Contextualized. Brought into voice.

No matter where we are, birth is managed from a technocratic model. The story of the cells over the story of the woman. A white mans model. The two overlap and intermix, the story of the woman informing the management of the molecular tale. It is these moments of joining that fascinate me, inspire me to move forward with this work, to remain hopeful that the stories can evolve, if we give them voice.

In a world that promotes and seems to thrive on scandal, fear and violence, how do we keep hope alive and continue to walk with faith?

I always talk about 'faking it until you make it'- that positive affirmations, even if you are feeling down, can lead to actual manifestations. We believe our own bullshit, why not believe our own positives?

I have always been involved in women's work. Gatherings, ceremonies, ritual, comfort, laughter- the bonding that takes place to heal 'wounds' that just being a woman in this world invokes. It seems I was born into a generation and community of women who are given the space to do this.

Medicalized birth is managed from a mans perspective. The war that men create affects the way that women give birth, the care they receive. The research methods developed by men carve paths that women jump into, but rarely have voice enough to change. Men plant seeds, literally. Women negotiate that garden.

So where is the space for mens work? For positive evolution? Who is doing this work?

Women's work can only go so far without the men.

In all of the madness in the world right now, it seems particularly necessary for men to have a space to process and communicate with honesty, creativity and even vulnerability.

I want to invite the men in my life to question their own roles as partners, fathers, healers, teachers, leaders, and participants in the world.

You may not all jump to join into groups and bond with eachother, but keep the questions alive and active.

I also want to invite the women in my life to get behind every man you know who is open to the idea of activating this process.

Let's fake it will we make it people.

What are you fighting for?