I never imagined that watching a birth—let alone a Caesarean section—would be something a young girl could witness, not in Germany, not then, not now, not ever. The idea of standing at the edge of such a moment feels almost impossible, and yet, there you were, eyes wide, absorbing every layer of what it means to bring life into the world.
It’s striking how that experience exists in contradiction to the deeply entrenched Christian upbringing you describe—the one that sought to control, to dictate, to yoke. And yet, there you were, witnessing something raw, powerful, undeniable. No sermon, no scripture, just the reality of a body opening, of life emerging.
I’m looking forward to where you take us next—your stories expand the world, and I’m here for the adventure.
Thank you, Jay! I've been thinking so much about this- the purity culture that I was raised in right up against this- this raw, unfiltered nakedness. I think my mom was pushing back against it even then, and this was her rebellion, taking me into those rooms. I'm not sure if this could be done now, bringing a child into an operating room. Back then, in the 90's, it was definitely unusual, but permitted (honestly, I may have been the only kid to do this even at the time...). My mom asked permission with the mothers in private, without me there, and gave full permission to deny my entry. Both women were excited to have me there. Maybe it felt like a revolution for them as well- I won't ever know. But I think the experience definitely changed me. 💙
That pushback—your mom’s quiet rebellion—shaped more than just that moment. Even if you were the only child to witness a birth like that, it happened, and it stayed with you. Not just as contrast to purity culture, but as something more raw, more real. A different kind of truth, one that couldn’t be sermonized or stripped down to doctrine.
Maybe it was a revolution for those women, too. Maybe, in that room, something shifted for all of you. And maybe that’s the kind of change that doesn’t need to be named to be known.
No words. Truly. I’m gobsmacked into silence reading your words. A silence founded in the reverence you transmit through these chapters.
And even down to the shapes: a womb, a whale, a potato. All round and fertile and feminine. For you then to rise to their call, feeling the warmth within and answer—
“There. Movement. Deep inside. Not a baby, no. Something closer to lava. Heat, desire. Longing.
I did not know it then, but this heat would soon light my whole life on fire.”
This makes me so happy! “a womb, a whale, a potato. All round and fertile and feminine.” Yes, yes, yes. The experience of writing this one was really ephemeral, I’ll be honest. I started writing and then erased everything when the memory of the c-section kept harassing me (it was very insistent) and I finally relented and decided to trust that it would know where to take me. The whole thing felt like steppingstones revealing themselves one at a time over a big chasm. Womb, whale, potato. Thank you, Kimberly, for reading with such attention. ❤❤❤
To know that you had the same feelings I did and also escaped the “happiest days” warms me despite how sad and lonely the feeling of being in a place not meant for us is.
Reading your stories gives me great hope and fortitude in my existence as a woman who has been deemed too wild to live indoors and without adventure (by myself and many others).
Oh, I love it when we see ourselves reflected in other’s words- thank you, Erin. It’s hard to live as a wild woman in a world that values conformity. I see you! So glad that you found your way here. xo
Such extraordinary witnessing of life and death, the comparison of which we so very rarely group as one and yet here in the magic of your exquisitely narrated experiences Kendall, somehow they blend into something I can only describe as a beautiful song, one of belonging and compassion, of love and kindness, an understanding unsurpassed, the notes of which linger in the air long after the words fade out….
Your life, the way you write of it with such profound intensity leaves me sighing for more.
Oh my goodness, Susie, thank you! I want to pore over this comment. I will, in fact, read it again and again. "...somehow they blend into something I can only describe as a beautiful song, one of belonging and compassion, of love and kindness, an understanding unsurpassed, the notes of which linger in the air long after the words fade out….". Whew. Wow. That you felt this is so humbling. Writing this one did feel lyrical and a bit otherworldly- I didn't quite know where it was going until, or why I was writing about any of it until the very end. This is the magic, really, and it feels as much a mystery to me as it does intimate and familiar. Thank you for taking the time to share this with me- I'll carry your words for a quite while! xoxo
your words ~ riches beyond my worthiness to witness. I am ever grateful for the poetry of your powerful imagery, for the skill with which you capture and knit us so tightly into shared visceral and cosmic experience, for your keen observation and remarkable insight into being human in a more-than-human world. Brava.
Your first piece reminded me that I, too, did not want to ever give birth when I was young. At twelve, certainly, and what's strange is that I never saw anything remotely close to childbirth--nor heard anyone discuss it--so it must have been something I absorbed from a more subtle, sinister implication.
Your prose is so stark, raw, and real. I am so grateful you are opening up landscapes for women's bodies and women's stories. I have been working on some pieces for May with the thematic elements of the body, and I've honestly wondered if maybe I shouldn't be writing about my uterus--about my cesarean and then about my hysterectomy.
But after reading your essay today, I think I might. Thank you.
Oh, please do, Jeannie! I'd love to read about your experiences with childbirth and with your hysterectomy. I've been a part of a women's circle for over a year now, and we dive deep into the themes of our cycles and our wombs, and it's been a profound opening for me. One of the women, Dr. Jenna Rayachoti, a dear friend, just started a Substack over here called The Wild Womb Connection that is just wonderful, if you want to check it out. https://substack.com/@jennarayachoti. And thank you so much for the lovely comment. 💙
So grateful cosmic and planetary Kendall are in my orbit. Your narratives remind me that we each contain these multitudes within. Never was there a time where I feel the absolute need to be reminded of this again and again, lest I have temporary amnesia. My gratitude.
Your dear mom, rocking it as she has and no doubt still does. We hit the jackpot 🎰 with our mothers. Mine still teaching me from beyond this very thin veil. Give your mom an extra tight heart hug from an admirer of you both. Lovingly and with warm aloha. 💞
Ah, thank you, Joanie! We did hit the jackpot- and I will certainly give my mom a hug and send one to yours as well. We contain multitudes, indeed! Love you and aloha!
I just loved every word. I’m a goofball, a person who laughs, yet I find myself holding steady not to cry at 6am, coffee in hand, before I start the day and wake up kids and feed the dog and on and on. Your descriptions bring me to the moment you experienced. I want to touch a whale and look into a whale’s eyes (eye?) Thank you for sharing your life❤️
Thank you, Lindsay! I always have to resist the urge to apologize for making people cry, or fight back tears, but I won't, because that is why we read and write, I think. To draw people in, and to make them feel something universal, to find yourself "holding steady" as you say. That's such a gift, and I thank you for it. 💕
Ohmygosh. I had to stop after the whale. I needed to sit with her sacredness for a little bit.
This, "Her words stitched me back into my body, even as the mother’s was cleaved open.
and this, "Why did girls need to be reminded that we could be anything we wanted to be?
How had we forgotten? We were planets, teeming with life."
and this, "I wanted to cover her in seaweed and cockle shells, to lay hands on her and bless her beautiful life. I didn’t want to be a scientist right then. I wanted to be a high priestess."
I love how you are braiding these together.
This, "I remembered. The whales came to me in my dreams, and I swore I could hear snapping shrimp, and the keening cries of shearwaters and ancient, throaty spouts laced into the high alpine soundscape upon waking."
And this, "I breathed into my body. You are a planet, my love."
Thank you, thank you. I love that you had to take a minute after the whale. I so desperately wanted to write her in a way that honored her life over and above the absurdity and gruesomeness of the moment. That you felt this means more than I can say. And as always, you pull the lines that also pulled at me- the ones that just rose up, that surprised me. I don't think I will ever tire of how magical that feels. Thank you for being the very best mirror, my friend. xoxo
I never imagined that watching a birth—let alone a Caesarean section—would be something a young girl could witness, not in Germany, not then, not now, not ever. The idea of standing at the edge of such a moment feels almost impossible, and yet, there you were, eyes wide, absorbing every layer of what it means to bring life into the world.
It’s striking how that experience exists in contradiction to the deeply entrenched Christian upbringing you describe—the one that sought to control, to dictate, to yoke. And yet, there you were, witnessing something raw, powerful, undeniable. No sermon, no scripture, just the reality of a body opening, of life emerging.
I’m looking forward to where you take us next—your stories expand the world, and I’m here for the adventure.
I’m rendered speechless by this piece- stunned by the rawness of it. And the truth buried and unburied over and over again.
Thank you for every single word. And for reminding me to live.
Love you ❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥
Oh, friend, thank you. That means the world to me. 😭💕
I felt the same way, Mesa! Speechless. Breathless.
Kendall,
I never imagined that watching a birth—let alone a Caesarean section—would be something a young girl could witness, not in Germany, not then, not now, not ever. The idea of standing at the edge of such a moment feels almost impossible, and yet, there you were, eyes wide, absorbing every layer of what it means to bring life into the world.
It’s striking how that experience exists in contradiction to the deeply entrenched Christian upbringing you describe—the one that sought to control, to dictate, to yoke. And yet, there you were, witnessing something raw, powerful, undeniable. No sermon, no scripture, just the reality of a body opening, of life emerging.
I’m looking forward to where you take us next—your stories expand the world, and I’m here for the adventure.
– Jay
Thank you, Jay! I've been thinking so much about this- the purity culture that I was raised in right up against this- this raw, unfiltered nakedness. I think my mom was pushing back against it even then, and this was her rebellion, taking me into those rooms. I'm not sure if this could be done now, bringing a child into an operating room. Back then, in the 90's, it was definitely unusual, but permitted (honestly, I may have been the only kid to do this even at the time...). My mom asked permission with the mothers in private, without me there, and gave full permission to deny my entry. Both women were excited to have me there. Maybe it felt like a revolution for them as well- I won't ever know. But I think the experience definitely changed me. 💙
Kendall,
That pushback—your mom’s quiet rebellion—shaped more than just that moment. Even if you were the only child to witness a birth like that, it happened, and it stayed with you. Not just as contrast to purity culture, but as something more raw, more real. A different kind of truth, one that couldn’t be sermonized or stripped down to doctrine.
Maybe it was a revolution for those women, too. Maybe, in that room, something shifted for all of you. And maybe that’s the kind of change that doesn’t need to be named to be known.
The lines of that got me this time: “
How had we forgotten?
We were planets, teeming with life.
No words. Truly. I’m gobsmacked into silence reading your words. A silence founded in the reverence you transmit through these chapters.
And even down to the shapes: a womb, a whale, a potato. All round and fertile and feminine. For you then to rise to their call, feeling the warmth within and answer—
“There. Movement. Deep inside. Not a baby, no. Something closer to lava. Heat, desire. Longing.
I did not know it then, but this heat would soon light my whole life on fire.”
STUNNING KENDALL!!!!
This makes me so happy! “a womb, a whale, a potato. All round and fertile and feminine.” Yes, yes, yes. The experience of writing this one was really ephemeral, I’ll be honest. I started writing and then erased everything when the memory of the c-section kept harassing me (it was very insistent) and I finally relented and decided to trust that it would know where to take me. The whole thing felt like steppingstones revealing themselves one at a time over a big chasm. Womb, whale, potato. Thank you, Kimberly, for reading with such attention. ❤❤❤
To know that you had the same feelings I did and also escaped the “happiest days” warms me despite how sad and lonely the feeling of being in a place not meant for us is.
Reading your stories gives me great hope and fortitude in my existence as a woman who has been deemed too wild to live indoors and without adventure (by myself and many others).
Oh, I love it when we see ourselves reflected in other’s words- thank you, Erin. It’s hard to live as a wild woman in a world that values conformity. I see you! So glad that you found your way here. xo
Such extraordinary witnessing of life and death, the comparison of which we so very rarely group as one and yet here in the magic of your exquisitely narrated experiences Kendall, somehow they blend into something I can only describe as a beautiful song, one of belonging and compassion, of love and kindness, an understanding unsurpassed, the notes of which linger in the air long after the words fade out….
Your life, the way you write of it with such profound intensity leaves me sighing for more.
I loved every word - thank you 🙏🏽 X
Oh my goodness, Susie, thank you! I want to pore over this comment. I will, in fact, read it again and again. "...somehow they blend into something I can only describe as a beautiful song, one of belonging and compassion, of love and kindness, an understanding unsurpassed, the notes of which linger in the air long after the words fade out….". Whew. Wow. That you felt this is so humbling. Writing this one did feel lyrical and a bit otherworldly- I didn't quite know where it was going until, or why I was writing about any of it until the very end. This is the magic, really, and it feels as much a mystery to me as it does intimate and familiar. Thank you for taking the time to share this with me- I'll carry your words for a quite while! xoxo
your words ~ riches beyond my worthiness to witness. I am ever grateful for the poetry of your powerful imagery, for the skill with which you capture and knit us so tightly into shared visceral and cosmic experience, for your keen observation and remarkable insight into being human in a more-than-human world. Brava.
Thank you, Cynthia, for such kind words! And you are absolutely worthy, now and forever. “Being a human in a more-than-human world” is just beautiful!
…to give credit, “more-than-human world” was borrowed from James Bridle’s brilliant and urgent work “Ways of Being”
https://www.audible.com/pd/Ways-of-Being-Audiobook/B09GGXRDVF?
I'm just so moved by your telling of these stories, and the ways you wield language to do it. This one's a stunner, Kendall. 🤍
Wow, Michelle, thank you so much! I'm so glad you're here. :) xo
Wow. Honestly just wow to this entire piece. Stunning, masterfully written, just beautiful Kendall.
WOW!
Thank you, Emily! Truly, I'm so glad that our paths have crossed here. xoxo
Me too Kendall 💛✨
Wow. Incredible. So powerful, Kendall. Thank you again for sharing your story. I look forward to reading it each week!
Thank you, Janine! This makes me so happy. xo
What a beautiful telling…
Thank you, Kathy. 🧡
Kendall,
Your first piece reminded me that I, too, did not want to ever give birth when I was young. At twelve, certainly, and what's strange is that I never saw anything remotely close to childbirth--nor heard anyone discuss it--so it must have been something I absorbed from a more subtle, sinister implication.
Your prose is so stark, raw, and real. I am so grateful you are opening up landscapes for women's bodies and women's stories. I have been working on some pieces for May with the thematic elements of the body, and I've honestly wondered if maybe I shouldn't be writing about my uterus--about my cesarean and then about my hysterectomy.
But after reading your essay today, I think I might. Thank you.
Oh, please do, Jeannie! I'd love to read about your experiences with childbirth and with your hysterectomy. I've been a part of a women's circle for over a year now, and we dive deep into the themes of our cycles and our wombs, and it's been a profound opening for me. One of the women, Dr. Jenna Rayachoti, a dear friend, just started a Substack over here called The Wild Womb Connection that is just wonderful, if you want to check it out. https://substack.com/@jennarayachoti. And thank you so much for the lovely comment. 💙
Wow, I would love to check it out. This sounds lovely. Thank you for mentioning it!
So grateful cosmic and planetary Kendall are in my orbit. Your narratives remind me that we each contain these multitudes within. Never was there a time where I feel the absolute need to be reminded of this again and again, lest I have temporary amnesia. My gratitude.
Your dear mom, rocking it as she has and no doubt still does. We hit the jackpot 🎰 with our mothers. Mine still teaching me from beyond this very thin veil. Give your mom an extra tight heart hug from an admirer of you both. Lovingly and with warm aloha. 💞
Ah, thank you, Joanie! We did hit the jackpot- and I will certainly give my mom a hug and send one to yours as well. We contain multitudes, indeed! Love you and aloha!
I just loved every word. I’m a goofball, a person who laughs, yet I find myself holding steady not to cry at 6am, coffee in hand, before I start the day and wake up kids and feed the dog and on and on. Your descriptions bring me to the moment you experienced. I want to touch a whale and look into a whale’s eyes (eye?) Thank you for sharing your life❤️
Thank you, Lindsay! I always have to resist the urge to apologize for making people cry, or fight back tears, but I won't, because that is why we read and write, I think. To draw people in, and to make them feel something universal, to find yourself "holding steady" as you say. That's such a gift, and I thank you for it. 💕
Ohmygosh. I had to stop after the whale. I needed to sit with her sacredness for a little bit.
This, "Her words stitched me back into my body, even as the mother’s was cleaved open.
and this, "Why did girls need to be reminded that we could be anything we wanted to be?
How had we forgotten? We were planets, teeming with life."
and this, "I wanted to cover her in seaweed and cockle shells, to lay hands on her and bless her beautiful life. I didn’t want to be a scientist right then. I wanted to be a high priestess."
I love how you are braiding these together.
This, "I remembered. The whales came to me in my dreams, and I swore I could hear snapping shrimp, and the keening cries of shearwaters and ancient, throaty spouts laced into the high alpine soundscape upon waking."
And this, "I breathed into my body. You are a planet, my love."
Just gorgeous, Kendall. xoxox
Oh, hello, now I'm all aflutter over here.
Thank you, thank you. I love that you had to take a minute after the whale. I so desperately wanted to write her in a way that honored her life over and above the absurdity and gruesomeness of the moment. That you felt this means more than I can say. And as always, you pull the lines that also pulled at me- the ones that just rose up, that surprised me. I don't think I will ever tire of how magical that feels. Thank you for being the very best mirror, my friend. xoxo
Kendall,
I never imagined that watching a birth—let alone a Caesarean section—would be something a young girl could witness, not in Germany, not then, not now, not ever. The idea of standing at the edge of such a moment feels almost impossible, and yet, there you were, eyes wide, absorbing every layer of what it means to bring life into the world.
It’s striking how that experience exists in contradiction to the deeply entrenched Christian upbringing you describe—the one that sought to control, to dictate, to yoke. And yet, there you were, witnessing something raw, powerful, undeniable. No sermon, no scripture, just the reality of a body opening, of life emerging.
I’m looking forward to where you take us next—your stories expand the world, and I’m here for the adventure.
– Jay