struggling for joy
by stephanie thomas berry

After laboring for thirty-two hours towards opening my body, I gave birth to my first baby—Denali. Lying back on the bed that was a tangle of hospital equipment and sheets and thighs, I held my newborn son and breathed deeply.

“It’s over,” I said with deep thanks, for I was truly exhausted and glad to be done with the work of birthing. What happened next shocked me. Every woman in that room turned to me and said, almost in unison, “Oh, no, honey, it’s not over. It’s only just begun.”

I lay naked and jubilant on a bed soaked with my blood and my sweat and the amniotic fluid that was the sea of life for Denali’s first journey into human-ness. I laid there with this sweet miracle cradled in my arms, morning light streaming through the window, and I wondered why these women—one of whom was my beloved midwife—would take this glorious moment, this tremendous achievement—and instead of honoring me and the work I had accomplished over nine months and thirty-two hours—they cast their shadow of struggle across the room. It was as if I had been initiated into the Women’s League of Struggle and Sacrifice instead of the Sacred Circle of Mothers.

But it WAS over, and I knew it regardless of what they said. Yes, of course my life had changed dramatically with Denali’s first breath, but nine months of a pregnant body certainly ready one for the changes that come with birth. I was not only ready for that change, I was done with contractions. I was completely blissed out by the love I had for this tiny boy whom I had once held in my belly but now held in my arms to adore and caress and cast my gaze of love upon. And as my journey as a mother continues, I know that no matter how many diapers I have changed or noses I have wiped or relentless screaming tantrums I have endured, there is still that incredible bliss of being a mother. It is a journey into love, not some journey into endless toil.

I think about those remarks made in the delivery room sometimes, because I know they point to something very real in our human belief system—that deep and verifiable belief that Life is Struggle. There are dues to pay and battles to be fought and children to raise and laundry to wash and meals to cook and floors to sweep and bills to pay and on and on. I know all that. Believe me, I have experienced the struggle of being alive. But there is always an even deeper thought that sings a higher note for me, in my heart, and I know this to be true, too—life is joy, pure and sweet. How can these both be true? Life cannot be a struggle and a joy at the same time! How can I reconcile my deep heart-belief with the irrefutable evidence of experience?

Well, I don’t just have one boy child. I have five kids, and my husband and I are self-employed. And we homeschool. When the day is done, there is always work left undone. So yes, I know all about and participate fully in the Women’s League of Struggle and Sacrifice. But I have also come to the understanding that all of my struggle is self-created and knowing this, I’ve been bush-whacking through the forest of motherhood, off the well-worn, indeed the deeply rutted path of the Women’s League, for another path—my path of joy.

breathe deep that invisible love stuff
that Creation is.
To see then this grand swell of the ocean Universe
knowing that I am a mere krill-thing
does not make me infinite
simalit means I am Ocean made holy small
forever and always a voice in our
complex harmony our
Creation song our
salt swim sun cloud storm dance—
tomorrow I may be a whale
but today I am singing love for our ocean Universe
today I am singing my krill songmy love for my
part in the symphony
today I am singing
today I am singing!

The first act of joyful living isn’t really an act at all, it’s an awareness. When I remember that Joy is not something that comes from doing, but comes simply from Being, a holy laughter bubbles from within. I am alive, and graced with so much love and beauty it runs over. That awareness is not always easy to hold, but remembering that Being is the fountain from which Joy springs is often enough for me to take five minutes here and twenty minutes there to cultivate Joyfulness from within. Meanwhile, I’ll check the algebra homework and wipe that nose and load up some laundry. I might forget about the view from Pluto for awhile, but I’ll remember it soon enough, and return to my true state: Joyfulness.

As an artist, writer, and homeschooling mother of five, Stephanie Thomas Berry is a juggler of the sacred fires of hearth and creativity.  Though sometimes a little burnt, she lives happily in Yancey County, North Carolina, cooling herself off in the Toe River as needed.