I do not share your experience, but your words held me rapt. As Katrina said below, I could barely breathe while I read this. And as Alexandra said, this feels sacred. So many layers here - grief and longing, connection and surrender, and the magic of all this and more. Thank you for sharing your experience and your beautiful words.
Thank you for inviting us in to your deepest grief. To sit beside you and look up at the trees with you. There are so many of us lost in that forest with you.
“…lost in that forest with you.” What a gift of imagery to me. Isn’t that the bittersweet part of sharing our pain and discoveries? Knowing others are in that same forest but also knowing that keeping one another company makes it survivable. 🫶 Thank you.
Absolutely. In my worst pain, it wasn’t the people who tried to help me, or hold me that were most comforting. It was knowing that there were other people in the same forest with me. But I would never know you were here, unless you shared so thank you. 🌳
I lost a baby at 12 weeks. My doctor thought I wouldn't want to go to an abortion clinic (I wouldn't have cared) so I had a d&c in her office without anesthesia. All I remember was that it took a long time and I was very cold. Then I had to sit in the waiting room, to make sure I didn't hemorrhage, with her pregnant patients waiting for their ob appointments. That was in 2009, and I still feel completely disconnected from it. I never allowed myself to feel anything about it. When my husband died my first instinct was to keep moving. It took me more than a year to start grieving, but much longer to accept that I am not the same person I was. Amanda, your story will help so many grieving people who feel lost and alone. Thank you for sharing so vulnerably. Your words are a balm for the brokenhearted.
Amy, I cannot even imagine what you went through. Thank you for sharing with us in the comments about your experience. All I can think is there is no shortage of medical brutality in how pregnant patients are treated. Such disregard for pain, how the body absorbs (or dissociates from!) the pain and the critical missing element of autonomy and informed consent to endure a painful procedure. I lost track of the times in regular OB checks and fertility treatments that there was simply no discussion about the pain involved in the procedure — no choice to ask for pain prevention. I’m so so sorry to hear this. You deserved better. 🫶
I’m so captivated by the phrase you used to describe this: the “in between worlds.” I do often feel suspended between realities. This phrasing is a gift of clarity to me. Thank you for being here. 🧡
Weeks into having lost my fur baby, I still sometimes feel a roar rise in my chest. I feel it clearly so much so that I can hear it as it vibrates through my limbs to my spine- a clear loud distress roar of a tigress. I have also dreamed about it many times since.
I think in grief a great many veils of this seemingly separate reality dissolves into a space where all our prayers are truly heard by the natural world, which explains the spaciousness that you felt. It was a door of transcendence opened by grief. I feel so tender sitting with your words Amanda. Thank you for letting us know you in your vulnerability.
Thank you, friend. I know the “ache of too much tenderness” from my beloved dog Georgia in the mix of these places where the veil is thinnest. I know we are communing somehow even now, from our own pockets of the world. Thank you for that. 🫶
I have known this grief and this loss, three times. And that vision of the bear howling out its pain, your pain, my pain.... it brought me to tears. Thank you for sharing your hardest moments with us. I see you.
Thank you Amanda for sharing your heart with us. What a gift to be so deeply connected to our more-than-human allies and to live the realm of the energies where anything and everything exists. This is the gift grief brings us: deepened presence in which we can experience so much more of our humanness and our spiritual essence. I'm grateful for you.
Thank you, Priscilla! That message came to me in fits and starts several years ago. Publishing it today was the perfect opportunity to polish and get down to the essence. I’m so glad it resonated with you. 🧡
Oh, Amanda...My heart 💛 . Thank you for this opportunity to witness your journey in such a meaningful way. Every touchpoint along this path speaks deeply to me. I am filled with such tenderness for you and great admiration of your strength of spirit and mastery of your craft. I am grateful to have found you here.
As I mop my face I am both saddened you experienced this and also grateful that there are mothers who understand the depth of loss. My daughter's name was Amanda, and the forest saved me, too. Thank you for answering the call to write your sacred journey. It is a force of healing. Peace to you. ✨️💞
I have birthed a dead baby too, so I feel this deeply in my body. I have also turned from the Christian faith towards the woods, so your story resonates in so many ways. Thank you. ♥️
I do not share your experience, but your words held me rapt. As Katrina said below, I could barely breathe while I read this. And as Alexandra said, this feels sacred. So many layers here - grief and longing, connection and surrender, and the magic of all this and more. Thank you for sharing your experience and your beautiful words.
That word exactly - rapt - held my attention as if I dare not move a muscle, lest I miss the miracle that was unfolding before me.
Thank you for inviting us in to your deepest grief. To sit beside you and look up at the trees with you. There are so many of us lost in that forest with you.
“…lost in that forest with you.” What a gift of imagery to me. Isn’t that the bittersweet part of sharing our pain and discoveries? Knowing others are in that same forest but also knowing that keeping one another company makes it survivable. 🫶 Thank you.
Absolutely. In my worst pain, it wasn’t the people who tried to help me, or hold me that were most comforting. It was knowing that there were other people in the same forest with me. But I would never know you were here, unless you shared so thank you. 🌳
I lost a baby at 12 weeks. My doctor thought I wouldn't want to go to an abortion clinic (I wouldn't have cared) so I had a d&c in her office without anesthesia. All I remember was that it took a long time and I was very cold. Then I had to sit in the waiting room, to make sure I didn't hemorrhage, with her pregnant patients waiting for their ob appointments. That was in 2009, and I still feel completely disconnected from it. I never allowed myself to feel anything about it. When my husband died my first instinct was to keep moving. It took me more than a year to start grieving, but much longer to accept that I am not the same person I was. Amanda, your story will help so many grieving people who feel lost and alone. Thank you for sharing so vulnerably. Your words are a balm for the brokenhearted.
Amy, I cannot even imagine what you went through. Thank you for sharing with us in the comments about your experience. All I can think is there is no shortage of medical brutality in how pregnant patients are treated. Such disregard for pain, how the body absorbs (or dissociates from!) the pain and the critical missing element of autonomy and informed consent to endure a painful procedure. I lost track of the times in regular OB checks and fertility treatments that there was simply no discussion about the pain involved in the procedure — no choice to ask for pain prevention. I’m so so sorry to hear this. You deserved better. 🫶
Your ability to capture the stunningness of the in-between worlds is a gift. Thank you.
I’m so captivated by the phrase you used to describe this: the “in between worlds.” I do often feel suspended between realities. This phrasing is a gift of clarity to me. Thank you for being here. 🧡
I have decided to stay in-between worlds as long as I am allowed and let the experience alchemize me. Glad to be here with with a fellow thresholder.
This feels like a sacred piece of writing. Thank you *so much* for writing and sharing it. 💕💕
Thank you for reading in my new newsletter space and sharing this with me. It means a lot!
So beautiful and such a gift to share in all its vulnerability. I cried , for you and the babies I have lost, before successful pregnancy. X
I could barely breathe while I read this. Thank you. XO
Thank you, Katrina! Let’s breathe together!! 🫶
Yes❤️
Weeks into having lost my fur baby, I still sometimes feel a roar rise in my chest. I feel it clearly so much so that I can hear it as it vibrates through my limbs to my spine- a clear loud distress roar of a tigress. I have also dreamed about it many times since.
I think in grief a great many veils of this seemingly separate reality dissolves into a space where all our prayers are truly heard by the natural world, which explains the spaciousness that you felt. It was a door of transcendence opened by grief. I feel so tender sitting with your words Amanda. Thank you for letting us know you in your vulnerability.
Thank you, friend. I know the “ache of too much tenderness” from my beloved dog Georgia in the mix of these places where the veil is thinnest. I know we are communing somehow even now, from our own pockets of the world. Thank you for that. 🫶
Beautifully put my friend. Much peace and presence to you as you touch these safely guarded tenderness within you. 💜
Beautifully put my friend. Much peace and presence to you as you touch these safely guarded tenderness within you. 💜
This is so beautiful, Amanda. I am in awe of your ability to translate such grief and all that comes with it into words and meaning and hope. 🫶
Thank you, Christin. 🧡
I felt this in my core, in my soul, in my bones. I hope writing and sharing this has soothed you a little and I’m so sorry for your loss.
I have known this grief and this loss, three times. And that vision of the bear howling out its pain, your pain, my pain.... it brought me to tears. Thank you for sharing your hardest moments with us. I see you.
Thank you Amanda for sharing your heart with us. What a gift to be so deeply connected to our more-than-human allies and to live the realm of the energies where anything and everything exists. This is the gift grief brings us: deepened presence in which we can experience so much more of our humanness and our spiritual essence. I'm grateful for you.
Oh, Amanda, this is so beautiful. In so many ways: “everything about faith is a collaboration.
there’s nothing here to believe.
there’s only following.”
Thank you for writing this story. ❤️🩵💚❤️
Thank you, Priscilla! That message came to me in fits and starts several years ago. Publishing it today was the perfect opportunity to polish and get down to the essence. I’m so glad it resonated with you. 🧡
Oh, Amanda...My heart 💛 . Thank you for this opportunity to witness your journey in such a meaningful way. Every touchpoint along this path speaks deeply to me. I am filled with such tenderness for you and great admiration of your strength of spirit and mastery of your craft. I am grateful to have found you here.
Thank you for the gift of your words and attention. They mean so much! 🧡
As I mop my face I am both saddened you experienced this and also grateful that there are mothers who understand the depth of loss. My daughter's name was Amanda, and the forest saved me, too. Thank you for answering the call to write your sacred journey. It is a force of healing. Peace to you. ✨️💞
I have birthed a dead baby too, so I feel this deeply in my body. I have also turned from the Christian faith towards the woods, so your story resonates in so many ways. Thank you. ♥️