Welcome to Beheld—a space for mothers to feel supported, connected, and seen through the many seasons of motherhood. We are so glad you are here.

Today, we are honored to share Cecily’s birth story with you.

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What did I just do? I wondered as a room full of strangers stared at me expectantly, the strangest of all laying on my chest seemingly waiting for our innate connection to settle. Who is this?

The swollen, bug-eyed baby had spent the last 39 weeks getting to know my voice, scent, diet, and habits. All I knew about her was the shape of her foot imprinted on my stomach. Months spent watching birth videos, mothers overcome with emotion at the sight of their scrunchy babes, could not prepare me for the blissful numbness of our first moment together. My labor and delivery were peaceful and easy. My baby was perfect and healthy. The day was not the romanticization of a storybook, but it was the start of a relationship. It was good.

My daughter is now my best friend. Two days shy of seven months, she brims with joy and thoughtfulness that I never knew such a fresh person could possess. She thinks everything I do is incredible, but she has no idea she outranks all of it.

**

Thursday afternoon, just an hour after my OB swept my membrane at my 39 week appointment, contractions began. Knowing they could last days even once they were regular, I didn’t tell my husband, Zac, until we got home from our errands.

12 minutes.

10 minutes.

6 minutes.

Zac downloaded an app to start keeping track. Around 7 pm, my contractions were 3 minutes apart and lasting between 45 seconds and 1 minute. This lasted for the next two hours as the app told us to rush to the hospital. According to the numbers, I knew we “should.” But the contractions were merely annoying, not painful. Hey, maybe I was just lucky.

We trusted the guidelines and drove to the hospital. As the triage nurse watched my regular contractions on the screen, she informed me with a sympathetic smile: only 3 centimeters dilated and 90% effaced. Still early labor, I could have been admitted to the labor and delivery unit, but I wanted to go to the birthing center, which allows mothers to essentially have unmedicated home births in a safe, hospital setting. The center requires laboring at home for as long as possible and only admits patients at 6 centimeters.

“Don’t worry,” the nurse said. “I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you again very soon. Probably the morning.”

Unfortunately, her estimation was off.

My contractions were around 6 minutes apart all day Friday, then Saturday, then Sunday. By Monday, I was over it. Between contractions and bathroom visits, I barely slept for days and could only find comfort when each limb was propped up with pillows. Today could be the day, I mused each morning. I walked miles around shopping malls, town squares, even the zoo, and spent hours on the birthing ball, trying to will my body into active labor.

I was finally beginning to understand why people have elective inductions or C-sections. I messaged my OB with the subject line “I’m so tired”:

Hello! I am obviously still pregnant and have been having consistent contractions since Thursday. I know that can happen, but I’m so tired. The contractions were 3 minutes apart and pretty uncomfortable all Thursday night and have been 5-8 minutes apart since then. I just want to sleep and for them to either ramp up or go AWAY. Again, I know you can’t do anything. I just wanted to complain about all that.

The actual message had many more details about my bloody show and discharge, subtly begging my OB to tell me it was time (as if any person could know that better than myself). By the time my doctor read the message, I was already admitted to the hospital.

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**

I stopped tossing in bed at 6 am on Tuesday. I had gotten into the habit of eating a snack in the morning and going back to sleep for an hour or two. After my muffin, I crawled back into bed only to be kept awake by 6 minute-apart contractions. Was I imagining it or were they finally increasing in intensity?

“Today’s the day,” I told Zac. “I’m manifesting. It has to be.”

By 7 o’clock, I knew my manifestation had worked. I broke out my TENS unit on the lowest setting to try to offset the strength of the contractions while I did my makeup. You can only make a first impression with your daughter once.

Still packed from our false alarm, we headed to the hospital––in the middle of rush hour. I abandoned all the pain management techniques I had prepared: I ignored the music, I never increased the TENS unit, and I did not play my hypnobirthing audios.

As we sat in traffic and Zac tried to cheer me up with a joke, I simply muttered: “Stop.”

The pressure was intensifying so rapidly, I was afraid the baby would arrive on the side of the road.

Checking into triage, the receptionist asked, “First baby? You’re doing amazing!”

How on earth would you know how I’m doing? I wondered grumpily but still expressed thanks.

The triage nurse had me change into a hospital gown and pee into a cup in the intake bathroom. After what felt like a half hour but was probably five minutes, the nurse returned to check my cervix.

“You’re definitely six centimeters! Great job, mama,” she congratulated. “Ready to go to the birthing center?”

The compounded exhaustion from four days of contractions and the unknown of how many more hours were ahead weighed on me. I looked at Zac.

“It’s your decision,” he told me.

“Actually, I think I want the epidural.” The mere decision helped my body relax.

**

Around 9 am, we settled into the labor and delivery room, and I met the nurse who would assist me throughout the day. When she asked about my birth plan and what I wanted from the day, I gave her my brief synopsis.

“The only thing I really care about is that you call me by my real name, not mama.”

My mom arrived shortly after. I had made her read Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth so she could be a support person in my unmedicated delivery. With the jettisoned plans, she was unsure how to be of assistance. I labored in the room for about 45 minutes while waiting on the anesthesiologist. Nine months of birthing books and podcasts did not inform me that I had to get a catheter with the epidural.

The sweetest anesthesiologist team, an older woman and younger man, placed my epidural and taught me how to temporarily increase the dosage or call them back to turn it up even more. I asked for the lowest level, knowing I could always go heavier if needed but wanting to stay as in touch with my body as possible.

Twenty minutes later, I was calm, happy, and resting with a peanut ball between my legs. I finally fell asleep. After almost five days of unmedicated contractions, that epidural nap was the best I had ever taken.

I awoke around noon, and my OB came in to check my progression.

“Alright! 9 centimeters and 95% effaced. I bet you dilated a whole centimeter once the epidural went in and you were able to relax,” she said. “Your water is bulging, and it seems the head can’t come any lower while the sac is in the way. Do you want me to go ahead and break your water?”

I told her to do whatever she would choose for herself, so she broke my water at 12:10. Immediately, I was 9.5 centimeters dilated.

Over the next two hours, my nurse helped me get into different positions with the peanut ball to help progress labor. I don’t remember anything else from this time, besides chatting with Zac and my mom and turning down any offers for sustenance (which could only be popsicles by this point).

My nurse told me it was about time to deliver around 2:30, and she notified my doctor. While we were waiting, she coached me through the process of pushing, explaining the muscles to engage and the timing of it.

“Let’s do some practice pushes,” she said. “Here comes a contraction.”

I was scared to push too hard on the practice, but she told me to go harder on the next try.

“That’s great! Yes, perfect,” she encouraged by the third time. “Okay. I’m going to close your legs now because that baby is coming, and your doctor should be here any second.”

Yeah, with the pressure of a fully baked baby and several days of feces weighing on my pelvis and the promise of relief so tangible, I was not down with waiting any more.

“I need to push,” I kept telling her until my OB finally arrived, bringing with her a large delivery team. I had on my birth preferences sheet that I wanted as few people in the room as possible. The spontaneous crowd felt odd and impersonal, but I figured they were there for a reason. I was just too distracted to figure out what those reasons were.

“Just so everyone is aware, I will be pooping on this table. I have to shit so bad, and I need it out,” I informed the room. People reassured me that it was totally okay if I did and that it wasn’t something to be embarrassed, which was beside my point. I wasn’t embarrassed at all; I was just trying to prepare the onlookers.

I pushed for twenty minutes total. In my memory, though, it couldn’t have been more than five.

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“Oh my goodness, that’s a lot of hair,” my doctor exclaimed as the head crowned. “Do you want to feel?”

“That’s alright, but thanks,” I replied, a little preoccupied. I know that feeling the head can motivate some mothers, but I was not about to let go of my legs. Everything I put on my birth preferences sheet, varied birthing positions and using a mirror, was forgotten.

Most things in my life have come easy. As terrible as it sounds, I’m used to being exceptional, and I subconsciously avoid situations where I can’t be. Surely, I thought, I would just push once or twice and get to meet my baby. I know most mothers push for a long time, especially with their first baby, but I knew I would be so good at pushing that I would be the exception. So, when I had pushed a few times and still not delivered, I felt defeated.

“I can’t do this,” I groaned, feeling that if it hadn’t happened yet it wouldn’t happen at all. I knew it wasn’t true, but it was how I felt.

“Yes, you can. You’re almost there,” a chorus of voices responded. “One more push!”

With that next push, the head was out, then the shoulders, then the body. A gush of fluid escaped behind the baby, waters that had been trapped as well as a stream of urine coming from my freshly birthed child.

They plopped the baby on my chest. I don’t think she even cried, but she was breathing and immediately sentient. She stared at me, then her eyes traveled over to her dad.

“Dad, do you want to cut the cord?” the OB asked. Speechless, Zac just shook his head no. “I wasn’t going to leave your side,” he told me later. We instead stared silently at the wonder of our vernix-coated babe, whose eyes continued to shift back and forth between us. In the center of the ruckus, the three of us were learning each other.

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**

The rest of the day was a daze of visitors, lactation consultants, and cookie cake. Motherhood did not sink in for me until a few days later, our first morning at home. I had a dream that I couldn’t get to my baby and had no way of knowing if she was safe. When I woke with a jolt and saw her sleeping peacefully in her bedside bassinet, I started shaking and did not stop crying for several minutes. I couldn’t even get out the words to tell Zac why I was upset.

Loving someone so deeply is terrifyingly vulnerable. But the joy of watching her learn and grow beats the fear. Though I felt little in the delivery room, the surge of pride I had anticipated now overwhelms my heart every time my daughter smiles.

Thank you for reading! We hope that Cecily’s honest and intimate story will encourage you in your own motherhood journey. More positive birth stories to follow.

From one mother to another,
Beheld.

Today, we are honored to share Amaris’s birth story with you.

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It’s been nine weeks since our second son was born. Somehow it feels like just yesterday, and at the same time, I can already feel it softening into a memory.

The day before he arrived was slow and simple. Random contractions, nothing steady. We took our oldest out for coffee and bagels, wandered through shops, and walked the park. I remember wanting to stay on my feet, but more than that, I remember knowing: this was our last day as three.

That night, I tucked my oldest into bed, one last time as an only child. I thought I was going to bed as well; instead, labor began.

From 8 p.m. to midnight, we moved through early labor at home. Breathing through contractions, my husband pacing, both of us caught somewhere between nerves and excitement while our favorite tv show buzzed in the background. By 2 a.m., contractions were close enough that we were told to make our way to the birthing center. We gathered our things and left the house, knowing everything was about to change.

The drive was intense. We live 35 minutes away, and I knew that meant at least five contractions I’d have to sit through instead of walking or moving through them. And of course, we had to stop for air in the tires. I remember gripping through each wave, counting, waiting, enduring.

At the birthing center, time blurred. My contractions were unpredictable. Close together, then far apart, with even moments where I couldn’t find relief between the waves. I felt a familiar fear creep in, the memory of my first long, stalled labor. But thank goodness for my midwives. They gave me space and trusted me to find my rhythm.

Eventually, I needed to know where I was. I asked to be checked, and praise the Lord, I was an 8. Instant relief. Seeing that progress made me trust myself, trust my baby, and finally find our rhythm.

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There came a point where everything shifted. Labor stopped being something I was managing and became something I was inside of. I moved between the shower, the floor, the bed. But the intensity built, and with it, doubt. I told my husband I was scared. He told me we were close.
I didn’t believe him. But he was right.

I couldn’t stay still. I sat on the edge of the bed, then the toilet, then back again. Shaking, gripping, surrendering. The pain was different now. Deeper. Purposeful. I began to feel the urge to bear down, though I wasn’t sure if I should.

No one told me what to do. And I understand now, it’s because only I could know.

The final moments feel like a dream. I remember making the most primal noises through contractions, feeling both completely in control of my body and entirely outside of it. Not entirely peaceful, but powerful. A full journey to heaven and back.

One of the final waves came with the ring of fire. I reached down, and there he was. Still in his waters. Voices around me, encouragement, but all I could hear was my husband whispering, “You are doing it.”

In one instinctive push, his head. In the next, he was here.

Relief and disbelief.

They passed him up to me between my legs, and I unwrapped the cord from around him and pulled him into my chest. All from instinct. All while standing. The room felt frozen in time. The sun just beginning to rise. My pride in my husband’s face overwhelmed me. Everything full.

Heaven was in the room.

A few hours later, my husband cut the cord. He held our son skin-to-skin while I rested and recovered. The midwives had drawn an herbal bath and nourished me with some porridge. By noon, we were dressed and ready to go and before 1 p.m. we were home.

That same day, I held my first son and introduced him to his brother. And then, just hours after becoming a family of four, we all fell asleep together in the same bed.

Thank you for reading! May this story inspire and uplift you as you navigate your own motherhood journey. More positive birth stories to follow.

From one mother to another,
Beheld.

Sharing a little note/poem that comes to mind now, every morning.
Highly suggest listening to this while reading.

Spilled Matcha

Every morning, another spilled matcha.
A ritual that somehow turns my whole day around.

Perhaps it’s the new bowl. It’s too big, the curves are wrong.
No, perhaps it’s me.

Moving so fast every morning as if there’s some race. As if I’m not going to be productive enough if I don’t get out the door. Is it the fear of running out of matcha, or time? 9AM is here, I'd better get the day going — but why?

As if time isn’t a gift and your mornings weren’t meant to be slowly enjoyed.
How did I become that person?

Rushing out the door when my biggest obligation is right at my feet.
Ansel wants to help, but I’ve rarely let him into my ritual.
For no reason other than time. Time, which I often rush away.

Barely 2 years old, and teaching me the biggest lessons.
The matcha bowl, too.

What if I pour it slowly? What if I whisk until the matcha particles are actually broken down? Maybe I can get that cafe-bought matcha taste after all.

What if slowing down every morning creates a morning routine I’ll want to go back to when I’m 80? One that serves my nervous system well.

Perhaps it’s not the bowl. It’s me.
Rushing. For no real reason.

Now, I let him whisk my matcha, and wonder — maybe it’s his favorite morning routine. One that will slowly shift and transform into one without me.

I pour it slowly, with no drips or drops.

Together, we save the spilled matcha.

—

Just a little reminder that time is such a gift, let’s not take it for granted or rush it away. I hope this resonates with you as you look at your daily routines in motherhood. Not all have to be shared, but where can we invite them in more?

From one mother to another.
xx, Kazmira

What Postpartum Healing Actually Asked of Me

I’m writing this just a few days shy of two years postpartum and six months pregnant with my second child. With a little more distance now, I can look back clearly on my first postpartum while gently preparing for my second. Two years ago, my world revolved around caring for a newborn as a first-time mom, breastfeeding around the clock, resting whenever I could, and recovering from a severe hemorrhage. I did my best to honor postpartum in a way that felt intentional, not rushed. The choices I made in those early weeks shaped my recovery, my energy, and my long-term health, and they gave me a deep trust in my body to do it all again, even with just a year and a half between pregnancies.

Before becoming a mother, I understood postpartum through my work as a Doctor of Traditional Chinese Medicine. I knew the theory behind rebuilding qi and blood, protecting warmth, and supporting the nervous system after birth. Living it added a layer of understanding that only experience can bring: The burning sensation each time you used the bathroom. Sitting on a pillow to ease the discomfort. A new depth of fatigue. Counting to ten every time your baby latched in those early days, just to move through the nipple pain. And alongside all of it, that unmatched feeling of peace and contentment that only motherhood has brought me. A sense of completeness that is hard to explain unless you have felt it yourself.

Postpartum was not something I moved through quickly. I still have days where I refer to myself as postpartum, and I know I will for years to come. I was born again in that season too.

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Please know that my birth was beautiful and quite magical. Overall, I feel very lucky to have such a smooth birth. This is just a deep, vulnerable reflection that I’m finally processing nearly two years later. A chapter of my birth with Ansel that I didn’t want to shine light on, but it’s part of how I got to where I am now.

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It was around 7:30pm on May 6th, and contractions just started to really get going. I was eating dinner, on the phone with my doula, who was helping me get a pulse check on everything. Planning for her to meet me at the hospital in just a few hours or early the next morning, we hung up, and I thought we had a plan.

Just my husband and I at home, preparing for our entire world to change. Giggling as my husband frantically kept changing his shirt. I was so ready to meet our baby, and for a quiet, peaceful, supported labor just us and our doula.

I get to the hospital and into my room around 11pm, and it’s still just us. I’m doing okay, things are still a bit exciting, but the fight or flight begins to kick in. It’s time to go inward. Quickly, I am locked into “labor land,” as they call it, and was essentially non-verbal (the main thing I will change next go-round). As I am squeezing the life out of my husband’s hand and a wooden comb, I remember wondering, surely there’s someone else to support me who’s done this before. Why is my doula not here?

Don’t get me wrong, birth progressed quite beautifully, and I was falling asleep between contractions in the tub (until I had to get out). I labored through the night, and around 5am the doctor came to check me. I finally got to active labor at 5cm, and I knew in my gut after her check that there was going to be no slowing down.

Keeping our doula updated on every move and decision I made, she was still waiting for our signal to come, as if 5cm and active labor weren’t enough. Feeling so alone and unsure of what’s to come and having no physical support or encouragement, I decided to get an epidural, although that wasn’t my initial plan. We updated our doula, and she said, “Okay, go ahead and take a nap, and I’ll join once she wakes.”

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Whenever I get back home from a trip, specifically Europe, I typically feel a bit sad, lost, and confused. It’s so easy for me to feel a little crazy when I feel so passionate about both lives I strive to live, and both versions of myself as a creative and a mother.

Why is it so easy to feel my best self when we’re traveling? Yet, also dream of the garden I’ll have this summer with Ansel running through it?

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This community has naturally unfolded so beautifully.

So naturally, as the connector I am, I went ahead and decided to just jump headfirst and figure the rest out later. Creating space for mothers to Beheld truly does fill up so much of my cup, and the opportunity to do so just got even bigger. The first month (last month), I had 22 letters go out, and I was absolutely blown away!

There were a lot of lessons learned, but getting the messages from the mothers around the world who received the letters made me emotional. This new adventure feels like the perfect bridge to the much larger project I’m working on for Beheld. More to come on that, but just know this is just the beginnging of a community that I believe will grow beyond my imagination.

What to Expect in Your Beheld Snail Mail:

Lets be clear, this snail mail club is way more than a letter. To me, it is you allowing me into a piece of your motherhood joruney, and I don’t take that lightly.

Here’s what you get every month for $8/month.

• First and foremost, a moment ot unwind and slow down. Time is so fast, we need the moments of disconnect as often as they come.

• A letter from me of course, sharing real + vulnerable thoughts (because what’s motherhood without that)

• A monthly reflection sheet — picture a practical take on journaling. I wish I was more of a consistent journaler, but I’m not. However, these monthly reflection sheets have helped me

• An affirmation card for you to collect and hang as each month goes on, paired with a curated playlist to guide you through the whole experience. They’re color coordinated too :’)

• Sometimes, I’ll throw in surprises like recipe cards, art, and whatever else feels inspiring that month.

Sign up by the 15th of every month to receive that month’s letter. If you sign up after the 15th, no worries, you’ll receive your first letter the following month.

• Example: Sign up February 10th and receive February’s letter OR sign up February 20th and receive March’s letter.

• JANUARY EXCEPTION: it’s the new year and i’m off to a slow start. Just sign up at any point before the 25th and you’ll get a letter this month!

Like I said, this is really just the new begining for Beheld and I’m so grateful I get to connect with each of you this way!

SIGN UP FOR SNAIL MAIL

During this process I also had a lot of mothers requesting to actually write to one another. I simply could not turn this down, I mean how cute. That being said, if you’re looking for a pen pal, you can now get matched with a Beheld Pen Pal.

All you have to do is sign up through the site, fill out the form with your preferences, and I’ll match you with another mother as your new pen pal within 5-7 business days.

It’s honestly the cutest community, and I can’t wait for it to grow!

SIGN UP FOR A PEN PAL

—

That’s all for now my friend. As I’m now starting to settle into the New Year, I am just so excited to share more consistently here on Substack, and get working on the big dream for Beheld!

Being a mom is so damn hard at times, but at the end of the day, it’s all just magic.

Sending all the love.
From one mother to another,
Kazmira

It’s always so beautiful how life can unfold in such unexpected ways. I was newly postpartum when I was DMing a handful of new moms separately, all talking about the same things. Breastfeeding, changing diapers, routines, sitz baths, 3AM window shopping, and all the ins and outs of figuring out what just happened.

A couple of weeks went on and then I asked them if I can just put all of us new moms in a group message, so we can all experience some solidarity. Little did I know that over the course of about 12 months, that group would grow into 70+ moms, without me paying much attention to it. My goal and thought process was always, as long as I was meeting one new mom at every event, I knew it was needed.

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The group of women in my circle have absolutely carried me through the best and hardest days of my postpartum journey. Over the last year I have been hosting free events including sound baths, workshops, moms night outs, walks, coffee meetups, and really everything in between. Honestly, it was because we all craved and deeply desired the authentic connection that comes from every event.

As those events continued on and the group of mothers grew to 100+ mothers near + far, I realized that Beheld is such a desired sacred space for healing and connection.

If you know me, you know I’m a big dreamer, and as the group continues to grow so do my dreams. As I was working on the website and pouring my heart into planning events and workshops, it clicked.

Beheld is so much more than a mom group, it’s a wellness membership designed to support mothers prenatal, postpartum, and beyond. A space for mothers to heal and rediscover themself through motherhood.

So, with all that being said, I give you the warmest welcome to Beheld. I believe in my bones that this space is going to become more than I can imagine, supporting mothers of all seasons along the way.

The mothers of this group are so loyal, open, and absolute magic.

What you need to know:

I have curated 3 different membership options plus a remote membership, with accessibility in mind. Starting at just $20 you can become a member of Beheld.

Here’s a quick breakdown of what’s included:

• Access to Beheld Circle WhatsApp, featuring categorized chats and access to our expert Q+As (lactation, pelvic floor, etc)

• 1 event a month (virtual or IRL) or unlimited access, you choose.

• 2 weeks free at Bloom Within — a space for breath work, meditation, womb healing and more. Plus, we are working to move all of that healing/educational content directly into your membership at Beheld, stay tuned!

• Perks to local wellness practitioners around Nashville (+ growing)

• Discounts to our brand partners such as Mate the Label, Wildbird, Hiro Diapers, and more.

• Weekly journal prompts right to your phone

• Quarterly community events featuring brands we love + goodie bags for you!

• Lifelong friends to go through your motherhood journey with

• + soooooo much more!

BECOME A MEMBER

I can’t wait to see how this journey unfolds, and the beautiful group of mothers that evolve together.

Please email me at beheldwellness@gmail.com or reach out on IG if you have any questions. I am a one woman show, and am continuing to update the website and streamline everything for you!

From one mother to another, xx
Kazmira

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In these pieces and images, I hope you feel held and the solidarity that comes with motherhood.

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These days, I only have small pockets of time to myself. Deciding what to do in these rare moments of solitude can sometimes be numbing. By the time I finally land on a decision, I am needed elsewhere. There are too many choices with varying levels of priority. Basic hygiene is high on the list, as are nourishment and rest. Creative endeavors, on the other hand, are not so high. That was, until I realized just how healing it can be for me to express my feelings in this way. To open a window and pour out my bubbling thoughts onto a neat little page, making room for those other things that us moms need to worry about.

These entries were written in true postpartum style: in a nightgown well past morning, a nest of hair clipped on the top of my head like a crown, lukewarm coffee in one hand and the baby monitor in the other. I’m given just enough time to jot down a quick thought, notion, poem, etc. The dishes can wait. Vignettes, I shall call them—real, raw, and written from the heart of a new mother.

Deep Breath

I check the clock. 6:08 am. I groan, close my eyes, nudge my husband. “Can you take him for a little bit? I just need, like, 30 more minutes.” I plead. My baby is still latched on my left side. We’ve been dozing in and out together, sleeping and nursing since 4 am since I took him out of his bedside bassinet. He is four months old now. Right when I thought we were out of the newborn fog, catching glimpses of what it felt like to finally get 4, sometimes 6 hours of glorious, uninterrupted sleep, we are back to the waking-every-hour cluster feeds that feel far too familiar.

My husband takes the baby and I roll over, bring the covers up to my face, and he closes the door. I feel guilty for wanting this—this holy aloneness, this moment of nothing and no one attached to me, needing me, feeding off of me. It feels selfish to even confess this. I drift back into the depths of sleep.

It feels as if not even a minute has passed, and I am woken up.

It is time for my husband to go to work, so he brings the baby back to bed and kisses both of us goodbye. I drowsily nuzzle my baby close to me and we drift off together. This time, I take a deep breath. I soak in his sweet, milky smell that is indescribably delicious. My baby, close enough to kiss, eyelids fluttering in a dream, tucked into the curve of my chest, hearing the familiar drum beat of my heart that lulled him to sleep not so long ago. We doze off like this together, our breathing a rhythmic, familiar harmony. Yes, I am so tired, but I will never tire of this.

North Star

I ran into a friend at the pediatrician’s office who has a newborn. I asked her how she was feeling, healing, and adjusting to new motherhood. She mentioned that she was so tired, but not in a way that she has felt before. Tired, yes. But drowsy? No. Before having their baby, a long drive after a sleepless night would make her eyelids heavy and cloud her senses. Now, she gets less sleep than she ever has, yet she is sharper than ever. She is not dozing off, quite the opposite in fact. She is tuned in and alert. I nod dramatically in agreement, knowing exactly what she means. We aren’t drained, we are in fact brimming with new life and purpose. We are operating at our highest capacity out of necessity and survival. Every waking thought is focused on our new mission. Ensuring our child’s wellbeing, safety, health, and comfort is our north star. Everything else, the worries and fears we had prior, fall off of us like scales, settling with the dust of our past selves. We have entered the pool of parenthood and things will never go back to the way they were before. And you know what? The water feels quite alright.

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Stretch Marks

I turn off the shower.
Dry myself off and hang up the towel.
Into the mirror I gaze
And notice my stretch marks are beginning to fade.
Lower belly, hips, chest, thighs;
Where deep violet etchings once traced my frame,
Now faded, smooth, pale pink markings remain.
I am surprised
That this makes me sad.
Not because I liked the look of them, necessarily,
But because it is proof of the passing of time
Since my baby was born.
The fourth trimester left just as fast as it came.
It was brutal and shocking, but beautiful all the same.

A sacred time of getting to know my baby—

His pure, innocent soul.

And meeting this new woman in the mirror
Who’s nearly thirty years old.
Caring for her as tenderly as one would a friend.
But it has been nearly five months,
And newbornhood has come to an end.
Hitting milestones and sleep regressions,
Teething remedies and endless questions.

We have an infant now.

How can that be?

Just yesterday he was not but a dream.

A shape in the clouds,
My proudest work of art.

Now I understand
The stretch marks must have moved to my heart.

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Motherhood is so sacred. I am so glad you are pausing for just a moment to be here. Tarah and I are both sending so much love to you.

From one mother to another,
Kazmira

The physical pain, the completely new identity, the door you walked in with no real knowing, the new mental load, an entirely new perspective — a lifelong shift.

So, I put together a list of ways your companions, partners, and family can support you during your postpartum journey (or even simply as a mother). Just share this post with them — and if you’re that person, keep on reading. Also, I’m hoping this takes out the guilt, shame, and “feeling bad” emotions that can come along with asking for help because no, it’s not about holding the baby.

Ways to support a postpartum mother, and what to say:

• Fill up her cup of water, with a side of electrolytes in case she wants to add in.

• Ask what needs to be cleaned before you ask to hold the baby.

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That being said, I didn’t do much prep work before having my son, and honestly, I found it to be okay. Would having prepped snacks have helped? Definitely. However, my husband was able to prepare intentional meals for me the first month or so of my postpartum journey, and it was such a beautiful way to connect.

Here are some recipes that look healing and delicious!

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Detox Lentil Soup

I ate a lot of lentil soup, so it only feels right to start with this.

Baked Ziti

A wonderful way to carb load for the late nights.

Kitchari

Kitchari is a staple in an Ayruvedic postpartum care, and it tastes like a warm hug.

Nepali Rice Pudding

This isn’t something I personally had, but it seems like a great addition to the list of coyz postpartum recipes.

Coconut Dal with Spinach

Soups, soups, and more soups. Trust me.

Tropical Vegan Congee

When I think of the First 40 Days, I think of Congee.

For me, my biggest priotiy was warm, easy to digest, milk boosting, whole food, and nourishing meals. I’d love to be able to freeze these and prep them, but I do find it special to be able to slow down and receive a fresh, homemade meal.

I hope this helps! Comment your favorite postpartum recipe below and I’ll compile them into a list.

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From one mother to another,
Kazmira

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Now, time for a positive birth story from a creative, friend, and mother, Jessica Manning.

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At the end of pregnancy, nights of insomnia or a constant need to pee were common, so being up at night was very familiar to me. Early on Friday morning, November 15th, I woke up with cramps in my stomach. The difference this time was I was also feeling it in my back. I paid attention just enough to notice if there was a pattern while drifting back to sleep where I could. At 5:45 I woke up again and decided to start timing these cramps. I then noticed they were happening consistently, every 15 minutes or so.

About an hour later, I woke Zach and told him I thought labor might be starting. I timed these waves in bed a while longer before getting up to see if they’d subside with some water, etc. Instead, they kept coming consistently and becoming much closer together over the course of a few hours. They were soon at 7 minutes apart, then 5 minutes not long after that. Then they jumped to 2-3 minutes. It was all a bit of a whirlwind as things seemed to be progressing really quickly.

My entire pregnancy I felt really certain that this baby would come early, and at 38 weeks and 5 days she was proving my intuition right. My goal all along was to labor at home as long as possible and go to the hospital only to push out my baby. I wanted to avoid all medications and interventions if possible. That being said, I was also very open and willing to surrender to whatever needed to happen to get our baby earth-side safely. I had no idea what to anticipate pain-wise, what my tolerance would be, or if things would progress naturally.

Throughout the morning while riding the waves, Zach stayed in touch with our doula, updating her on timing and how I was coping. She was encouraged with how things were progressing which encouraged us as well. We moved around the house, laboring in different rooms as we practiced. I found that leaning over my birthing ball or a piece of furniture was the most comfortable for me. With Zach giving me deep counter pressure on my lower back with each wave. He kept updating our doula as things became more intense, and soon I began vomiting frequently.

This was the only point I remember feeling like I might not be able to do this the way I had planned. I was frustrated because I was trying to keep my body hydrated and nourished and just continued to throw it all up. Then, around 10:30 I decided to get in the shower for a bit, and wow - this was incredibly helpful. “Liquid epidural” they say. It was such relief on my back and incredibly healing and relaxing for my mind. I felt like I was able to get back in the right headspace.

My contractions had been consistently 2-3 minutes apart since about 9:30am and lasted for 45 seconds - 1 min. They were definitely getting much more intense and to the point where I was not able to talk through them anymore. I found myself going to another place with each wave, surprised by the sounds coming out of my own mouth. It was pretty incredible. We kept our doula informed, and at about 11:30 we asked for support and she was on her way to us. A bit after 12, she arrived and she jumped right in, giving Zach some relief and help with counter pressure.

Things picked up quickly and I asked to try the Tens Unit, an electrical nerve stimulation machine that can help ease back pain. Our doula went to her car to get it as I was riding some more waves, this time in our bedroom and it was getting quite intense. I was really starting to feel like the baby was moving down and I was getting the strong feeling that I had to “poop” which is a sure sign that things are happening. For a split second, we talked about getting the bath filled to get some relief from the warm water. Zach started running the bath, and in that moment I had this gut feeling that we should start heading to the hospital.

The thing I had felt most nervous about was the car ride to the hospital. It was only about 12 minutes away, but knowing how close my contractions were, I knew I’d have to manage a few in the car on my own. I didn’t end up using the Tens Unit or getting in the bath. Instead, we headed to the hospital. The rest was a blur.

Zach packed up the car, I laid down in the front seat, closed my eyes and went inward. The only thing I remember when pulling up at the hospital was seeing the ground, being put in a wheelchair and then seeing the tile floor in the lobby. I think we arrived at about 1:20, they had us in a waiting room for a minute before Zach told them to hurry up because this baby is coming! Lol. I had a very loud and intense contraction in the waiting room with one poor couple awkwardly trying to ignore me while looking at their phones.

They finally moved us back to a triage room, I quickly stripped down, got in a gown and they did a cervical check. 9.5 cm dilated. They were all very shocked and I said I felt like I really needed to push. They quickly got me into a birthing room. My OB arrived minutes after and threw her gear on.

What felt like moments later, I was ready to push. I did one push and made good progress, then with the second push, I felt my body start to panic, breathing really quickly and beginning to lose my rhythm. The incredible team around me brought me back to myself and helped me center mentally for one final push.

So with 3 big pushes, maybe 5-10 minutes - our sweet Nina Mae was born at 2pm on the dot. My eyes had been closed this entire time as a coping tool, but right as she was coming out my whole team said, “open your eyes, you’re going to miss it!”

I looked down and up came our baby, the little human I’d been growing all year. Just like that, no longer a part of me but her own little vessel. Placed on my chest and looking at me face to face. I can’t even begin to describe how surreal this moment felt. I’ll never forget it.

The feeling of transition and pushing her out was the most intense thing I’ve ever experienced, hands down. I could not believe the primal sounds coming out of my mouth. It’s truly so amazing what our bodies are capable of. I feel deeply deeply grateful to have had the birth experience I did. I know that so many “birth plans” go out the window because of a variety of circumstances. But I wish for every birthing parent to have an experience they feel proud of. Whether it went exactly to plan or pivots had to be made.

We should all take deep pride in all that it took to bring our babies home.

Thank you so much for tuning in. I hope this story is a piece of encouragement for you to take into your birth and motherhood journey. I will be sharing more positive birth stories of all forms like this, so be sure to subscribe.

From one mother to another,
Kazmira.

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we dance at midnight,

our body returns to one.

like waves that form endlessly,

our love keeps growing deeper.

your head on my chest,

your fuzz tickling my nose,

holding on so tight because the moment

we are in, feels like it already ended.

these sweet nights in nothing but the moon light.

time is fleeting, but it’s the greatest gift to share with you.

I hope this little love note resonates with you. From one mother to the next, all the love.

xx

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As you walk around the room, staring at those same 4 walls, there’s space to find a little glimmer — the weight of your baby breathing up and down, the silence at the end of the night, the time and days you two have lived to get you to this exact moment, and everything in between.

It’s like you’re in a time warp, in a dark room, heightened senses, your back may be hurting, your feet may be sore, you may feel like you have nothing left to give, the kitchen sink full, and you might not of even eaten dinner. A time so hard yet so rewarding, and in that dark room — just you and your baby — you continue to show up for yourself, the mother you want to become, and your sweet baby.

I’ve once read this quote, “To the world you’re a mother, to your baby you’re the world.” It’s a good reminder that stops you right in your tracks. Their little brains, hearts, and souls are morphing into a beautiful and evolving human by watching you lead the way.

If you really think about, it’s probably one of the greatest privileges and opportunities you may have in this lifetime.

Sometimes the pace back and forth can be frustrating, maybe it’s sweet. Either way, we must cherish the moments and realize how lucky we really are.

Don’t forget to play.

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May 7, 2024 at 8:59AM, Ansel joined us earthside.

You may have heard people say, “It’s the best thing in the world” or “Having my baby was the best day ever.” I can now attest that it truly is the best thing ever, but it’s not like anything you can ever picture. It’s the most surreal magical experience, and it really does feel like we were all reborn as a family. In my opinion, there is nothing you can do to mentally prepare for the experience of birth and meeting your baby until you go through it.

I found it helpful to read positive birth stories during pregnancy, especially when it comes to an unmedicated hospital birth, which were harder to come by, in my opinion.

Backstory: The night of the 6th, I was facetiming my family and told them that I felt like the baby got into position and that I thought I was going to go into labor the next day. That morning and afternoon I was just hanging out, worked until about 4:30PM, and we even took photos to renew our passports. That means my passport photo for the next 10 years will be from the day I went into labor, kind of iconic to be honest.

Now, here’s our story:

5:48PM: I was feeling some new form of “cramps” which *spoiler* ended up being contractions. Evan had a work call, so I figured what better way to pass the time than a trip to the ponies. At the time, I wasn’t 100% sure it was a contraction, but my intuition said it was happening. So naturally, I walked to the farm in between the rainstorms and got to soak up all the horse energy. The farm was still a sea of yellow flowers, and the birds were playing in the puddles I walked past. At this point, I began to time my contractions, which were about 5 minutes apart, but I could still talk through them.

I walked back home in the rain with my umbrella, and honestly it made my giggle. It was pretty magical in my opinion. It was raining and sunny, the light was flickering through the trees, and shortly after we had a beautiful sunset.

6:46PM: The contractions were starting to pick up, so I decided to take a bath to make sure it was the real deal. People say taking a bath while in labor can help determine if it’s false labor or not. I heard the rain hitting the window, Evan was playing cozy music, the lights were off, and it was the perfect moment to soak in the last of pregnancy.

7:39PM: At this rate, we’re like “okay, it’s actually happening, we’re about to have a human.” This is something I’m still trying to wrap my head around. The sunset was a soft blue and vibrant orange, with a touch of pink. The smell of rain was still strong, and our world felt calm. At this point, Evan had begun pacing and he changed his shirt 3 times as I was bouncing on my yoga ball. The contractions were sometimes just 3-4 minutes apart and we began to wonder when we should make our way to the hospital. My birth goal was to go unmedicated, so we decided to wait it out a bit longer. I scarfed down some dinner in between contractions and really settled into birth.

8:40PM: I could tell things were shifting but like we still had some time ahead of us. I ended up spending the next hour in the bathroom. Swaying, sitting on the toilet, leaning over the sink, and just trusting my body. Evan had played my birth peace playlist and lit a candle for me. It was just me, Evan, Forrest, and Ellie soaking in the candlelight. I remember learning that sitting backward on the toilet can really help your birth progress, so I spent a lot of time doing that.

Around 9:30PM I started thinking that we should soon make our way to the hospital because the contractions were becoming more intense and harder to talk through. I was really hoping to have a sign that my intuition was right, and that my decision to go to the hospital was made at the perfect time. Evan finishes packing the car, grabs the last-minute things, and I start waddling my way to the car. I briefly said goodbye to the dogs, told them they weren’t the only babies anymore, and mentally said “Let’s do this thing!” We are equal parts scared and excited, and the adrenaline has definitely started to kick in.

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On the way to the car, I got the sign I needed — my water broke in our driveway. Then, I waddled back into the house to put on a pad, got in the car, and we made our way to the hospital! My water didn’t stream out like it does in the movies, but I knew it was definitely my water that broke.

I sat in the front seat, on my knees, facing the back of the car, and holding on to the headrest as we made our way to the hospital. Evan took a video of us driving to the hospital, and I could barely make out that I said, “We’re about to be a mom and dad.” *cries*

10:08PM: We checked into the hospital. Evan was the MVP dad and grabbed everything we packed, which to be honest wasn’t a lot, but was a lot for just him to carry in. It was making us giggle. We took one last selfie as we got checked in and then got admitted. I wanted to be able to utilize the hospital’s birthing suite that has a tub, but after checking we were notified that it may be up to 40 minutes before we could get into the birthing suite. I decided it was worth the wait because it was something I always envisioned myself utilizing in labor.

I never really had a birth plan, I decided to just be open to the experience and trust my body and baby. The tub is just something I had envisioned often.

In the meantime, I continued to lose my water and was consistently contracting. I was relieved that transferring from the comfort of our home to the hospital didn’t delay or stall any part of my labor. Upon checking in I also got a cervix check, and it was 2cm and 80% effaced, which I had been close to for about a week!

11PM (ish): We got into our birthing suite and had the most incredible nurse. The thing I loved about the hospital we chose was that the nurses gave you your space. It was honestly just Evan and I the whole time, and looking back now it was so sweet to be just us. Once we got into the room Evan put out my flickering candles, turned on the diffuser, took out his 4 cameras (lol), updated our family, and let me squeeze the life out of his hand during each contraction.

Once we got settled in I also got another cervix check and I was still 2cm, which was a little disappointing. Mentally though, I knew it was still going to happen so I didn’t think much of it. It’s so wild looking back, but I am so proud of how much I trusted my body. Subconsciously, I feel like I set a goal to get myself into active labor and then assess my surges and what kind of support I needed.

We initially tried to put me on a wireless monitor so I could easily go in and out of the tub and move all around the room. However, that wasn’t working for us. We then switched to a portable monitor, where I wore a little machine crossbody and had a band across my belly. I couldn’t move into the tub until they had a good reading on the baby though, and it kept moving from side to side of my belly, which delayed going into the tub. At this point, contractions were intense, and I was CONFIDENT I was dilating. I was white-knuckling my wooden comb (and Evans's hand) and stood leaning over on the bed, laboring for the next few hours. I tried using a few different tools/balls to get into a different position, but standing up is what felt best.

The nurse offered me to go into the shower, but mentally I couldn’t really make a decision for myself or think about walking somewhere else, so I stayed bedside. Looking back, I’m curious how the shower would have been. I continued to labor, threw up (I think my body wanted to be empty), and waited for the baby to make its arrival.

4:20AM: Fast forward a few hours of me standing bedside, and it was finally time for me to try out the tub. The flickering candles were along the perimeter, and it felt magical. However, the baby thought otherwise. I got into the tub for the first time, and the heart rate monitor on the baby stopped working, and the baby’s heart rate dropped, so I had to get out. Sometime later, I got back into the tub with a new monitor on, and the baby still didn’t love the tub. I think the way I was sitting/leaning back in the tub was putting too much pressure on the baby because it was so low, and it caused his heart rate to drop.

I was so tired at this point I was literally dreaming in between contractions and head bobbing. Evan and the nurse tried to keep me awake in between each contraction. I felt like I was in the tub for MAYBE 3 contractions, but turns out it was nearly an hour…labor is such a time warp.

5:01AM: Once the baby’s heart rate dropped for the second time, the nurse decided I had to get out. I wasn’t sad about it, I was just glad I got to try it out! At this rate, the pain was pretty intense, and I had been laboring since 9PM. I knewthat once I got out of the tub I was going to need something more, so I requested the laughing gas. The nurse had that prepped for me, and I was going to see if I could just use that for the remainder of birth. It was helpful for the little bit I used it but it didn’t quite take as much of the edge off as I hoped for. I was breathing it in with nearly every inhale, and shortly after the on-call doctor came in to check on me!

5:45AM: At this point, I hadn’t seen our doctor yet, and hadn’t had a cervical check since around 11PM. My body was working so hard and I was hopeful that I had dilated more. Good news, the doctor checked me and I was 5cm and 80% effaced, which means I got myself into active labor. I felt really proud of myself now, and the doctor was so encouraging and “impressed.”

The doctor informed me that my forebag didn’t yet break, which is a small pocket of amniotic fluid that forms in response to cervical dilation. She suggested she break that to keep my labor progressing, and I decided to go ahead and have her do so! I was still unmedicated, minus the laughing gas, and decided to see how things picked up now that my forebag broke. At this point, the epidural crossed my mind because the one rule I gave myself was to try and not have a traumatizing birth experience. Things took a turn and progressed QUICKLY, which means the contractions got just as intense. Over the next 15ish minutes, I was going back and forth on getting an epidural and thought it was now or never if I wanted it to kick in in time.

6AM: I requested an epidural, and am glad I did because it kicked in *right* in time. Since I was in the birthing suite, I had to move floors, which meant packing everything up and getting fluids all before I could get one.

I remember getting rolled down the hall and a nurse cheering me on. I can only imagine my face. Then, we finally made it to our birthing room. We got settled, Evan set up the diffuser again, and they started me on my fluids. No more laughing gas, just me, my breath, a primal state of mind, and my comb.

6:40AM: After an IV of fluids, the epidural was placed. Shout out to the guy who did that! I was originally nervous about getting the epidural because the thought of not being able to feel the birth or the baby’s head coming out was sad to me. Also, the idea of not being able to move my bottom half was very scary to me. I’m happy to share that neither of those things happened, and it didn’t hurt to get it placed either! It took a bit longer than usual for the epidural to kick in, and I even got an extra dose of the medicine. I was just letting my body do its thing, and I was still having to focus on breathing through the contractions. Honestly, I feel like I felt the baby’s head move down the birth canal, and it was creating more of a hot spot on the left side of my lower abdomen.

Now, it was a waiting game, but we didn’t have to wait very long.

7:28AM: I’m so glad I called for the epidural when I did because it was just enough to take the edge off. I could still feel my legs and wiggle my toes but needed some support in changing positions. If I had waited any longer, I still could’ve gotten it, but I don’t think it would have kicked in on time. Then again, I think the epidural helped my body relax just enough to finish dilating.

I got one last cervical check to test if the epidural was working and to see if I had progressed in dilation. Turns out I was 9.5cm and nearly 100% effaced. It feel like this happened SO fast, but I knew my body was doing the work. At this point, the nurses called my doctor back for delivery, and I couldn’t believe it was happening. We were about to meet our baby!

8:09AM: I had done a push practice in pelvic floor therapy and knew that pushing on my side worked the best. Even with the epidural, they let me push on my side, which in the moment, wasn’t the best for me. Leading up to labor, I couldn’t comprehend the idea of pushing on my back because it didn’t make sense, but funny enough that was the position I pushed the best in!

We were still waiting for our on-call doctor to arrive, so we didn’t move into full-blown pushing for another 15ish minutes. At 8:28AM I was still on my side testing out how that works for me. Shortly after, I moved back onto my back, and continued to be encouraged to do “small pushes.” Meanwhile, the doctor was on her way but still not at the hospital. The intention of the small pushes were to slowly stretch my perineum to help with tearing. For each contraction, I pushed 3 times, for 10 seconds. I made it through (I think) two rounds of contractions doing “small pushes” and really gaining control of my breath and muscles for effective pushing.

The nurse pulled out olive oil and a warm compress for my perineum as well, which I didn’t even ask for (although it was on my birth plan sheet). I still had this hot spot sensation on my left side, until they started to see his head, then it became more relieving with each push. I will never forget the nurses saying “it has blonde hair!”

I asked the nurse to tell me when I could feel its head but I was using my arms to hold my legs. The nurse offered me a mirror, which I forgot about as an option, and I decided to get a mirror (best choice ever).

Since the doctor was still not there, the nurses told me to just breathe through a round of contractions and try not to push. The nurse then decided to call the doctors on call at the hospital so someone would be there to catch the baby. They quickly arrived, I think there were 3 of them, and I remember saying something like, “Hey, I don’t know which of you are doctors, but whoever can catch the baby, I’m about to push it out.”

I’m not sure if my body was pushing for me or if I was just starting to feel the relief people talk about when it comes to pushing. Either way, the doctors made it right in time and the next contraction, and in pretty much one push, I watched the head come out, with the body and placenta immediately following. His head was like a pop, the biggest relief ever, and a sensation I would relive over and over again. I will never forget seeing his head sticking out, covered in vernix, with his little eyes sealed shut as he entered the world.

He was immediately brought on my chest, crying out to the world, and a few moments later, Evan cut the umbilical cord. I didn’t get as much of a delayed cord clamping as I planned, but I truly believe everything worked out perfectly. He was on my chest for probably 30 seconds, and I realized we didn't even know the gender. I said, “Wait, is it a boy to a girl?” and the doctors held the baby up and said, “Dad, what is it?!” and Evan said, “It’s a boy,” and we all cried more.

He had to get taken to the warmer pretty quickly after birth to get his airways cleared out a bit more, then he was back on my chest, and it was a daydream that I wish I could relive.

In the meantime, my doctor made it just in time to stitch me and say happy birthday hah! I had a small second-degree tear, and I think 2 stitches, I’m honestly not sure. I had so many people on my side in that labor room, it was so amazing to work with the nurses at the hospital during delivery and get a new perspective of what hospital care can look like.

8:59AM: Ansel was here.

Having him has cracked my heart right open. Being a mother is a type of love that hurts, that you honestly can’t even comprehend, and definitely can’t put into words. He feels like my heart and soul are in my hands, and that nothing else matters other than loving and caring for him. Thinking of our future adventures makes me so excited, and seeing how much he’s grown in the last 2 weeks makes my heart ache.

I 100% couldn’t have gone through the labor and delivery process without Evan by my side. He was updating our family, taking photos and documenting the birth, and there for me in every contraction — squeezing my hand, giving me words of encouragement, and being my advocate. Rereading the messages he sent to our friends and family makes me weep. Watching him become a father, loving our boy, and taking care of me, has made my love for him grow even stronger. Evan & Ansel are my whole world.

Spending time as a family for the next 24 hours in the postpartum room was so sweet. My nurse there was so sweet and was pregnant with her first. That was a wild thing to experience as well — being a new mom giving advice to a pregnant mom, even though I was just pregnant a day before. Wild.

We could see our family arrive from our window, and we got to experience our family meeting our son for the first time, which was so surreal. Then, shortly after a few close friends. So many emotions. For me, that late afternoon was kind of a mental whirlwind as I started my healing process, but it was the sweetest night just us 3. A night I will never forget.

We left the hospital the evening of the 8th, came home to a decorated house that made me ugly cry, and got to share his first week of life with our immediate family that was in town. Since then, we’ve been in our blissful newborn bubble, taking endless photos, staring at him, saying “We have a human,” and slowly started to venture out.

Ansel is everything to us.

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reliving the best day of my life with me. I’m definitely still processing the magic that unfolded, but writing this story with my baby sleeping on my chest is so surreal.

Sending all the love — Kazmira, Evan + Ansel

Welcome to Beheld —

Holding space for you to [beheld].
Community, healing, learning.
Cultivating raw, authentic connection and meeting you exactly where you are to support your motherhood journey.

Nourish your body, mind, and soul through the seasons of prenatal and postpartum.

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Hi friend, it’s Kazmira, the Founder of Beheld. Also, just another mom behind her computer trying to make something magical and healing for new and seasoned moms. Motherhood is the most magical, expansive, and transformative time of my life yet. Some days are hard, and most are really sweet, but I’m not sure how I would have gotten through those early days without my mom community.

Beheld has come about in the most authentic way possible, with community at the core. In the early days of postpartum, I had connected with a handful of moms who also had just had their first baby. Together, we were in the unsure bliss of the newborn bubble.

The first month or two after having my son Ansel, I was messaging 3-5 moms who were all craving the same thing — truth, solidarity, love, and community. As a new mom myself who was very much figuring it out (and still am), I decided to put all of us in a group chat. Friends would add friends, expecting moms and seasoned moms, and the community quickly grew. There are now 70+ moms in the Beheld community all around the world.

The last 5ish months, I have been hosting meet-ups and gatherings around Nashville to continue to create a safe space for moms to show up exactly as they are. It has been nothing short of magic. In fact, it brings me to tears. In my opinion, you can’t really comprehend how sacred a season of life is until you’re in it. I am so grateful for these 70+ women I’ve gotten to know over the last few months, who are constantly holding space for one another.

Typically, everyone thinks only about the babies, and although they are the top priority, the mothers need just as much nourishment and care. You deserve to be seen and held, whether you just found out you are pregnant, had a miscarriage, just had your first baby, or are adding more magical beings to your family. Motherhood isn’t meant to be a solo journey.

Creating a safe space for the women of Beheld is what lights up my soul. The tears, the hugs, the celebrations — it’s what life is all about.

The last nearly year *crying,* I have become a new human entirely, soaking up every magical detail life has to offer. Beheld was naturally curated along the way, and I’m so grateful you are here.

Here, you can expect a very sacred and safe space to learn from prenatal and postpartum experts, hear positive birth stories, get a raw look into motherhood, connect with other mothers in your city (even outside of Nashville), and experience the true meaning of community through weekly newsletters.

Welcome to Beheld.

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