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Untold Stories With Fae

The Circle

My mother was the first to know. Something told her before my words. When her eyes met the ripening of my abdomen, she whispered to the baby in songs she’d sung to me.
The djembe was played for my wedding day. I danced with my mother whilst my unborn kicked in rhythms. She remembers the drum is synchronous with a heartbeat.
My mother’s death is a severance of threads cradling me. Where her songs used to be, there is silence. It stretches into darkness where I am enfolded, where the baby is quiet, where I cannot sleep.
I have two hearts that hurt, four lungs to breathe, and one cavity in the ground. It is filled with the body, the spirit is gone. After we have covered my mother, we sing her song.
My mother wore a circle made from the grains of her own mother’s death place. It hollows in the middle. I took it from the coroner for my daughter.
The circle shows her the continuum of life. The space in the middle is the beginning, the space in the middle is the end.
My daughter is the tangible curve I hold. My mother, the hollow.

Important Personal Practices for Fae

My own mother taught me that natural birth was possible without visiting a hospital. She had six children, and only the first was born in a maternity unit. It is from her, and the lineage of women that trail behind me, that I felt empowered to listen to my own body whilst being pregnant. The Western medical system is founded on white male power and science. Within that system I experience a lack of empowerment and belief that women can give birth. To reconnect with my own feminine power, I leaned into indigenous birthing practices where women stand, stretch, walk, and move during labour. A major part of my journey was to recover the wisdom of those before me, to acknowledge the strength of my ancestors, and to look beyond the Western medical model.

The most important things for me during pregnancy and birth were:

Ethnicity: Mixed Black African and White British

Born: Portugal