Your Baby Hears Every Thought You Think

The issues surrounding birthing in the US today are many and confounding. I want to begin peacefully. I want to be kind. I just want everyone in the world to hear of these stories. These real life stories that I have either gained firsthand through my interactions with the community or from stories passed to me from others.

In order to demonstrate the fact that your unborn baby hears and understands your every thought is to begin by telling a story about myself and the birth of my second baby; Avi Raphael.

I don’t know if I mentioned that I am the mother of 2 grown sons. My youngest son is rounding the corner to his 20th birthday. I was 21 when he was born. I was also involved in a mentally abusive relationship. I cannot post the affectionate name my son’s biological father had for me but it started with:”You Stupid F—- B—” I met him the day after I turned eighteen on a greyhound bus to California from the East Coast.

I didn’t realize until I had been the single working mother of 2 for several years that I was actually considered a runaway. My father in retrospect says now that he should have broken both of my legs before letting me get on that bus. As if he had a choice.

Back to my thoughts; it was 1986, the end of the year. I had a 22 month old son whom I adored, a partner who was meaner than a rabid dog with a thorn in it’s eye, and I bet you can guess, NO MONEY. I was on welfare, I had no vehicle, I managed to eat fairly well and gained alot of weight with my pregnancy. I was tired. We had moved so many times, sometimes in order to evade landlords and rent,often looking for cheaper housing in the times of no money and the partners drug and alcohol binges.

I escaped into my life with my first son; I did not drink, smoke, or even drink a soda pop. I believe in healthy babies. My birth with son 1 was fairly simple, I was 19. He was born in less than 2 hours, drug free. I remained upright, pacing throughout the labor and refused to let anyone take my baby out of my view in the hospital. I went everywhere he did as they weighed him and measured him.

There I was, a few months less than 2 years after the birth of my first son, getting ready to give birth to the second. I really went into a tailspin. I was lonely, depressed and poor (those things usually go together). This was my inner mantra:How would I ever love another baby as much as I love this one? Is there enough room in my heart to love another child? How am I ever going to get out of this vicious relationship with this man who I really have to say, I hate. Scream and yell and fight, scream and yell and fight. Never the make- up dance, never. I would visit my midwives weekly. I had low blood pressure, it was 72/40, I also had a history of precipitous (fast) births and I was obviously depressed. I was set up to hemorrhage, which I seemed to know at the time and my midwife was concerned, but I didn’t think there was anything to worry about. I had a very numbed out attitude about almost everything due to the mental stress I was living with at the time.

What I didn’t realize at first, was the fact that my unborn baby was experiencing some heavy thoughts of his own in relation to my thoughts and feelings. My due date passed, no baby. Another week passed; now I was really beginning to worry the midwives. At 42 weeks (normal gestation is 40 weeks/ 280 days or 10 lunar months), the midwives started asking me all kinds of questions, if maybe my dates were wrong, was I sure I hadn't forgotten my last cycle, etc.

I need to backtrack a bit here from going post dates.

Because I was living such a stressful life full of moving, homelessness and nursing my baby during my second pregnancy, when I was 5 months pregnant I started having some pretty strong contractions.
I feared a miscarriage. I was counseled by a different set of midwives(moving and changing) to get more rest, increase my calcium intake in order to relax my nervous system and basically settle down so that I may keep the baby to full term.
I also had to wean Wiley, my firstborn son from my breast. I did all of those things and in my fifth month I gained alot of weight. I hardly gained any weight prior to that. Now, the baby that was threatening to come too soon-
was three weeks late!

Every night I would go to bed and the contractions would begin. I would think this was it, this was the night. I would wake up the next morning still pregnant and even more depressed. It’s hard to be pregnant in the last month, I remember that.

Midwives began threatening me with a sonogram, which I don’t believe in. They gave me papers on a Friday morning and told me that if I was still pregnant by the following Wednesday, I would have to have the sono. or they wouldn’t assist me in the birth. I wasn’t happy about those words either. Friday night: contractions then sleep. Saturday morning sad and tired. Saturday night: contractions and sleep. Sunday morning, sad. Somewhere in this week I had drank a few bottles of castor oil, contractions, no labor. So I went to bed on Sunday night. I listened to my little son sleeping, sweetly beside me.

I closed my eyes and I allowed myself to imagine the image of a new born baby in it’s little sleeper. To me, that is the sweetest image on Earth. I allowed myself to feel how strongly I loved the baby sleeping next to me AND the baby living inside of me. I said to him, “I love you little baby, I am ready to love you.” I didn’t have to say these words out loud, he heard me.

I stood up to go to the bathroom, it was almost midnight. As soon as I stood up, I collapsed onto the floor with an Earth shattering contraction. I told the man person to go call Carol, my midwife. He ran to a pay phone (we didn’t have a phone and this was in the days before the cell phone, really there was a time before the cell phone). He told her he would call me a cab. She told him to DRIVE ME TO THE HOSPITAL, NOW! He dropped me off at the door (so supportive) of the labor room. It was a few minutes after midnight in a very rural hospital. There was only one night nurse on duty, the space was very quiet and all mine. I began to chant OM, OM, OM, loud enough to vibrate the walls. There was a wall hanging in the room of a tree over lain with several concentric circles. I focused on this image and allowed my cervix to dilate what felt like 1 centimeter per contraction. I couldn’t hold this one back if I tried.

The night nurse would enter the room, “Can I check you ? ” she would say. I would continue with the OM and hold up a finger to indicate, “after this contraction.” But they were coming back to back, only a quick breath in between. She never got a chance to check me. She would go back out of the room and as the door swung shut, it allowed a small amount of my OM to roll out into the nurses station. I could hear a little laughter, I didn’t really care how weird they thought I was. This baby had waited long enough and now that he finally heard me tell him I was ready to love him, he was ready to let me.
He was going to be born. He would not give up either. After nearly a half an hour of this standing, OM-ing, and dance with the nurse who never got to touch me, my midwife, Carol Cunninham, walked in. Carol was an older woman, older than say, 50 something. She had her gray hair in a bun, she was cool and I loved having a mellow granny midwife attend me. This stuff is ancient.
Carol was putting on her gloves, her back was to me as she set up her birthing kit.

I was OM-ING. . . !!! I remember leaning back on the edge of the little hospital bed, placing one foot on a step stool. I saw the classic dive (that’s what I always call it). It’s when you see the baby rotate and make the final decent into the birth canal. It’s amazing to see that. “He’s coming out!” I said in a groan to Carol whose back was still turned towards me.

“That’s what they’re supposed to do” She said.(isn't she hilarious!)

“I mean NOW!” And he was. I didn’t ever push, not once. Carol turned around just in time to catch his head as he slid from my body. She put him in my hands and I finally laid back and held him to me. He was born in 50 minutes. His face was bruised from the force and strength he exuded in order to be born. He was perfect and I figured out how to love another baby and still love the first one as well.

There is no way I will ever doubt the power of those three little words, I LOVE YOU.

If my baby didn’t hear them I believe he would have chosen not to live. After 20+ years with my second son, I know this, I wouldn’t want to live without him.

Maternal Mortality Increase with Rise in Cesarean Rate

Is this news? I am behind in my personal life today, so I will pass this message along. Robin Elise; about pregnancy.com


Pregnancy / BirthFrom Robin Elise Weiss, LCCE,
Your Guide to Pregnancy / Birth.



A recent study that shows the rate of death from cesareans is triple that of women who give birth vaginally. What this new study really shows is that the deaths were not from pre-existing conditions. In fact , these deaths, mostly from infection, blood clots and complications with their anesthesia. These deaths occurred no matter when the cesarean was performed - before or after labor had begun. While the maternal death rate in the US is still relatively low, about 1 in 3,500, this study shows that as the number of cesarean births increase, many that are elective or not medically necessary, we will see an increase in the number of maternal deaths.As the cesarean rate rises you may wonder what control you have over how you give birth. While not all cesareans can be avoided, many can. You do have the ability to influence whether or not you give birth vaginally or by cesarean. So what can you do when you want to avoid surgery?

These Women Knew About This?

These comments have been copied from an article in aboutbirth.com:

My mom’s friend died after she gave birth actually. She was cesareaned because she can’t have a normal delivery. After a few weeks she died. We thought that she died because of infections or perhaps blood clots from her operation. But no, she actually died because a pair of scissors were discovered inside her stomach . I think it was left there during her operation. So it was more on a medical malpractice rather than infection from her cesarean.Comment by ced17 — September 1, 2006 @ 10:57 pm

I developed a massive abscess under my c-section incision and have been on antibiotics for 3 weeks. It had to be re-opened, drained and packed and it still is red and hot to the touch. I am scared of losing my fertility/uterus or of getting worse. This was a c-section after an attempted trial of vbac. My first child was an emergency section due to eclampsia. This time my water broke and I had 17 hours of labor with progress to only 1 cm and the doctor pushed me to a c-section. This doctor was hell-bent on sectioning me ever since she saw me in the office 3 days prior to my water breaking and said it didn’t look like I’d ever go into labor on my own (cervix high, not ripe)and she wanted me to schedule a section.
Then even when I did go into labor, she was a bit insistent on me getting an epidural when I was still only 1 cm dilated because the anesthesiologist was there and asking her if he could just do my epidural since he was already in the LDR area. I know it’s not a good idea prior to 3-4 cm dilation.
I even said that I’ve read an epidural can interfere with the progress of labor if you’re not dilated enough. She said that was just a myth. I should have said no, but I was already in pain, tired (8 hours of labor at that point), and she told me they would start Pitocin whether I took the epidural or not and the pain would only get worse. After accepting the epidural, the contractions got further apart despite the Pitocin and I never got into a regular pattern again. I should never have been pressured into doing something I know I didn’t want to do but sometimes the doctors get you when you’re tired and hurting and try to medicate your labor to speed things up to fit their schedules it seems. Anyway, they called me a “failure to progress” and the doctor got her wish to section me. Now I have a nasty infection. So I would say, don’t have a section on purpose because it is major surgery, it entails a painful recovery (infection or not), if you have other children it is hard to care for them (no driving for 3 weeks, no lifting anything heavier than your baby for 3 weeks, etc), and the risk of infection is higher than with a vaginal birth. Also, it is more difficult to breastfeed.

Administrator’s note. Failure to progress is the most common reason to send a laboring woman into surgery to have a C-section. The term means that the cervix does not dilate more than 2 cms. for more than 2 hours. Dilation is complete when the cervix is open 10 cms.
The greatest inhibitor of labor is fear. When a woman is afraid, of the pain, the hospital surroundings and staff, she enters into a flight or fight reaction. The central organs, the womb, shut down and all metabolic strength is sent to the appendages for running and fighting. The doctors do not have all day to baby sit this woman and they do not have the ability to council and empower her. They need their money and they do not want to hear a laboring woman scream and cry. They give her an epidural of synthetic opiates. She and the baby become numb and sluggish. They give her Pitocin (synthetic hormones) or better yet, Cytotec, an off label use drug given to stimulate labors.I could go on for a really long time about this Cytotec and the fact that it is to blame for fetal and maternal deaths, uterine ruptures and has a picture of a pregnant lady with an X mark on the bottle because it is extremely dangerous to give to pregnant ladies, but you can Google it yourself and you will then know. Then maybe you will teach your friends and family about this “wonder drug” before they go into a hospital to have a baby. Maybe. But I must move on.
This synthetic labor stimulant causes abnormally strong contractions. The woman freaks out, she cannot take it anymore, more opiates.
“Oh no” the nurses exclaim as they run for the doctor.
“The babies’ heart tones are dipping, there is oxygen deprivation, meconium, the baby is going into Fetal Distress.”
They rush her to the ER, she is given a general anesthetic. She is knocked out. Her baby is too. They cut her muscles, lift her bladder out of her abdominal cavity to get it out of the way. The uterus is cut open, there is alot of blood and fluid everywhere.
The surgeon reaches into the womb to grab the baby and pull it into the world; apart from it’s mother.
The baby is freaking out, for lack of a better term. This is a death; this is the stuff Post traumatic Stress Disorder comes from.
The baby knows nothing about what is going on except for the fact that this is not how it is supposed to be born. It is very afraid.
Babies know how to navigate through the birth canal. Their breathing and hearts are stimulated to function properly on the outside as air breathers. Excess fluid is expressed from their lungs as they journey through the birth canal.
Babies know how to be born.
I want to say this again, emergency procedures are for medical emergencies. Birthing is a normal, healthy, natural, physiological function.

We Are Not Alone

(This from previous year post)

I was just checking the effectiveness of this site description by typing “Take back the birth” into a Google search.

There are several people out there on this soap box. HOORAY! Check out this article in Midwifery Today, 2003Take Birth Back, Midwifery Today

Every Thought Counts

multiples.about.com/b/a/257132.htm

Getting back to the theme of prenatal adaptation to maternal environment; internal and external, I would like to tell a little story about I woman I know. It’s a true story. A well educated healthy young woman friend was pregnant for the first time. Upon seeing the growth of her belly I said, “Hey, you’re pregnant!That’s great!”

“No it isn’t she said, it’s twins” She was practically crying, absolutely maudlin.

“Wow, twins, so cool. . . I always wanted twins.” I said.

“Not me, I couldn’t stop crying when I found out. I don’t want twins.”

Oh boy, I remember thinking to myself that this woman should be careful what she asks for and tells her babies, and that she should be jumping for joy. Two babies, so precious.

Months went by, I would see her in passing, she was getting quite round in the belly like most pregnant women do. We had a little visit when she was 35 weeks pregnant. She said she hadn’t felt much if any fetal movement in the last few days.

“Didn’t your doctor tell you, you are supposed to call or go in immediately if you don’t feel any movement in 24 hours?” She had the twin expert as her OB in the teaching hospital in the city. She had already told me that this doctor hardly ever spoke to her and had told her nothing of the sort.

When she was walking away, I tapped her on her shoulder and said, “Go call your doctor, now!” She said she would.

Two weeks later, I saw her again. She was walking with her husband and her baby, singular. One of the twins had died. She told me she called the expert doctor at the hospital after we last spoke 2 weeks ago; it was a Friday. She said the doctor told her to wait until Monday to come on in to be seen. She waited. On Monday it was determined that the one twin was dead. She had an emergency C-Section. The one twin survived and it was determined that the other had been dead since the Thursday prior. There was no determinable cause of death for this baby. The mother wanted to sue the doctor, it was his fault right?

No medical cause, no deformation, no short cord, no determinable cause. The mother’s mantra from the moment she found out she was pregnant with twins:”I don’t want twins, I am not happy about this at all.”

What do you think that baby knew? YOUR BABY IS CONNECTED TO YOUR THOUGHTS, FEELINGS And EMOTIONS as it is adapting to it’s physical environment. Your baby knows if it is wanted and loved or not. Your baby will adapt accordingly and make it’s own choices dependent upon your thoughts, feelings and words. Your baby hears every thought you think!

So Quiet You Could Hear A Tear Drop/ Michelle O'Neil

Michelle O'Neil sent this birth story in when I started this site last year. Her story is power-full and her voice is mighty.

Thank you Michelle, for everything. I will send you a bumper sticker if you email me your mailing address. FULL SOUL AHEAD, MIchelle O'Neil Writes.blogspot.com/So Quiet you Could Hear a Tear Drop

Birth of Marina Grace King

Thank you Alicia for sending your story. Your bumper sticker is in the mail!

Birth of Marina Grace King

Alicia King
www.wellroundedmoms.com www.wellroundedbirthcenter.com

After 10 months of processing, I feel as though I have gained perspective
on my birth last July. I have searched deep within my soul. Something to
explain why, with all of my experience, with all of my confidence in VBAC
and unassisted birth, with all of my knowledge…how could I have ended up
with a cesarean? I have had so many thoughts go through my mind. So many
questions. I went into pregnancy believing that I would have a VBAC. Why
am I so happy that I didn’t? Am I overcompensating, trying to repress
some sadness that I have not gotten in touch with? I have actually tried
to make myself sad just because I feel as though I should be. But I am
overcome with happiness. I have 6 daughters to love! My days are filled
with beautiful, amazing children. My heart is content. I am so proud of
these girls that I can barely stand myself sometimes! But shouldn’t I be
sad?

I was no victim. My choices were my own. I have come to realize that in
this journey of life, it’s not always about making perfect decisions but
how loved you are along the way. Though I began my pregnancy with
confidence, there was a shadow of uncertainty. While I fully support
unassisted birth, I personally wanted an understanding, experienced woman
to lean on. It’s amazing how much insecurities, self doubt and fears can
affect something that seems so simple to those who are not experiencing
it. My birth and my entire life’s story is colored by the fear of not
being loved. My extreme confidence in the ability of a woman’s body was
undermined by raging fears of being alone. Of not being good enough for
anyone to truly care about. In the end, whether or not it was a fake
gesture didn’t matter. I knew that by choosing a cesarean, I had a staff
of nurses who respected my wishes and a physician who seemed to be
supportive. That choice appeared so much safer than the unknown
possibilities that formed themselves as questions in my mind daily.

My circle of friends is filled with birth professionals. What if my
friends end up being more concerned about validating their knowledge than
being there for me? What if I am overlooked, confirming my belief that I
am not worthy of being cared about? While her intentions were good, one
friend told me that she would be there for me "if" I didn’t have a group
of people there or "if" I gave her a specific job to do. Other midwives
have stated that "if" you follow this diet, or take these vitamins. "If"
you have this blood work done or read that book. Or "if" you fill out
these papers or take this class or if, if, if, if you do what I say…I
will love you. If you meet my needs first, I will love you. I will not
simply love you. Those people want me to sign a contract so they can be
there for me at the most vulnerable point in my life. So that I can trust
them to go with me to the ends of the earth to have the birth experience
that I want. They want me to do what they want and then I am worthy to be
cared for.

There's a saying that I love... "That which nourishes me, destroys me".
The people that I love are my lifeline and yet any of them could break my
heart in the blink of an eye and crush me. My defenses growing tighter
and against my better judgment, I thought perhaps a hospital birth would
be the answer.

I could have a VBAC by standing my ground against people
that I didn’t know, therefore not risking relationships with my friends.
Though I knew it would be more difficult to birth in the hospital, I
considered not allowing vaginal exams and locking myself in the bathroom.

I had no idea the mental torture that would come along with even
considering a hospital birth, much less following through. From one
physician interview to the next, I continued to hear horror stories about
women like me. Never mind the horror stories that might explain why our
state has so many hospital birth injuries that there is actually a birth
injury fund for families affected by their negligence and abuse. Never
mind the soaring rate of cesareans or the number of infants and mothers
who are injured and/or die due to hospital interventions.

Their misinformed version was simplified into a compact package that it was all
due to women like me. I even had one physician tell me that if I had ever
seen a dead baby, I would rethink my choices. I informed him that I had,
in fact seen a dead baby. My own. My son who was born in a hospital and
may have lived had I chosen a midwife. Nevertheless, though I knew they
were statistically and morally wrong, their powerful view weighed heavily
on my mind and created yet a new fear. What if I'm wrong?

I continued my search for a supportive system, even going through a
hospital staff meeting where they informed me that they would not respect
my wishes if I showed up on their doorsteps. They even gave it to me in
writing! I am still considering legal action but am somewhat at a loss at
the lack of concern from lawyers and their inability to care. I continued
the quest for a VBAC but wavered and somewhat lost hope.

In retrospect,
it was somewhere in that midpoint of pregnancy that my diet went out of
control. On a subconscious level, I was upping the sugar intake in an
attempt to grow a big baby so that I would have an excuse to have a
cesarean. I was very successful. She came out 10 pounds 7 ounces! Now I
am questioning whether my current weight is due to some underlying fear
of acceptance.

There were many occasions that I considered just scheduling a cesarean
and being done with the entire torture of being pregnant. Yet, there were
so many things that I loved about being pregnant. The wonder of the
little person kicking me from inside. The mystery of the bond that was so
great without ever having so much as exchanged a glance. The amazing way
my body adjusted and provided what my baby needed, so similar to the way
that a woman's body provides what she needs during labor. But it
magnified my need for security. My emotional scars felt as though they
were freshly cut and I had no physical way to heal them. The fear of a
cesarean felt so mild in comparison.

I would occasionally dabble a little, to see who was there for me and who
was not. There was one midwife, who I deeply love and knew that she would
be there for me but our relationship was as though she was my daughter.
The thought of leaning on her made me uncomfortable. (Which is an
entirely new discovery that deserves processing). I had another close
friend who was willing to be there for me as long as it was not during
the small window of time that she had a mandatory meeting every week at
work. While that was beyond her control, I panicked at the thought of
being vulnerable and needing her but not being able to reach her.

I went into early, early labor on a Friday. I could sleep through most of
the contractions at night, only awakening every now and again but they
were consistently coming every 5-10 minutes. I knew that I was in labor
but somewhere in the depths of my heart, knew that I wasn’t going to
allow it to go anywhere. I enjoyed the next couple of days and held onto
the experience for as long as I could before my blood pressure began to
rise. I had mild fear about the possibility of transition being intense
but more than the fear, I wanted to experience and be a part of it. Many
people don’t believe that you can emotionally control your body with your
mind but I fully believe that I held my baby into a bad position. I toyed
with the idea of letting myself go but even as I was doing positional
exercises to get her to move, I knew that I wasn’t truly letting go. How
could I?

The last time that I let go, my baby died.

The last time that I
let go, I had one of the worst losses of my life and no one was there for
me. My baby was sick, having test after test, day after day to detect any
possible brain activity. Any glimmer of hope at life. But day after day,
no one was there to comfort me. No one was there to hold my hand. I was a
child myself and no one seemed to care but rather, took advantage of my
vulnerability.

So I continued to labor. I was waiting for a hero. Someone to look me in
the eye and say I am here for you unconditionally. Regardless of your
choices, I will not fail you. Regardless of your actions, I will not
leave you. I will be by your side for as long as it takes. Whether that
is 2 hours, 2 days or 2 weeks. Someone to love me without judgment or
condition. An irrational expectation, especially since I had built walls
so high that it would have been difficult for anyone to recognize that
need from the other side. And in the end, with all of the health risks
involved, the physical cut from a knife seemed so much safer than making
myself vulnerable to the possibility of deepening old wounds.

After 5 days of labor, including one trip to a local hospital for a
vaginal exam, where I was happy to walk out when they threatened me with
a cesarean (which was under their terms), I decided to go in to my
hospital of choice. The hospital where my dear friend worked. The
hospital where a physician that I have known for years was respectful. He
told me early in pregnancy that he could not verbally support VBAC due to
malpractice insurance and while I don’t support his willingness to accept
a dysfunctional health-care system, I appreciated his openness. When he
came to my room in the hospital, he even asked if I was sure that I
wanted a cesarean. Instead of taking the usual wheelchair route, I walked
to the OR and be-bopped onto the operating table. As off the wall as that
may seem, it felt like I was in control. I was respected. My husband
by my side.

My friend came through.
As the epidural was being placed, she
stood in front of me and looked me in the eyes, supporting me physically
and emotionally, showing true concern for how I was feeling. She was
there for me even though I was not having the home birth that so many were
looking forward to. She was there for me, even though she had worked a
long day and her family was at home waiting for her. She was there for me
unconditionally. No strings attached.

Another fear that taunted me day and night was the fear of having my baby
taken from me and being helpless to protect her. I’m certain a lingering
element from my first birth where I awakened from surgery to find that my
baby was sick and in a hospital an hour away. I was thrilled that without
resistance from staff, my beautiful baby girl stayed in my arms from the
OR until I went home 36 hours later (aside from a few brief moments in
her bassinet for diaper changes and an occasional peek from the doctor).
My wishes were completely respected. She did not have eye ointment or any
poking and prodding. As much as is possible, I had what felt like a
home-cesarean birth. The staff seemed to be truly invested in taking care
of us. They were so kind and attentive, always happily willing to go the
extra mile.

Life’s experiences make us stronger. Now that I have a clearer
understanding, I wonder would I have changed anything? All of those fears
have lingered under the surface for years but I may have never understood
them had they not been brought forth through Marina’s birth. On an
intuitive level, I have understood the need to be there for women
unconditionally. But without the soul searching, would it have carried
through long term in a system that promotes fear of lawsuits, control and
"professional boundaries" to a point of not being able to truly love
their clients?

Would I have been able to really get in there and see the
raw beauty of birth, even in a hospital? To see that so much of a
fulfilling birth comes from love and support. Yes, I think that a vaginal
birth is safer and creates an environment that is better for bonding,
breastfeeding, emotional wellbeing and so forth. Yes, if I get pregnant
again I am going to be clear with myself and my birth attendants/friends
about what I need. But no, I would not trade my experience with Marina’s
birth. The depth of understanding that I have gained is invaluable. It
was never a question of whether or not I could safely have a vaginal
birth after 4 cesareans. It was fear of being abandoned. A fear that
while I still own, I now recognize.

We have choices in how we respond to
what we are dealt. My fear has made me stronger. It is my choice that I
will not allow it to destroy me but rather, my fears will push me to
greater depths of love and understanding. To a greater passion for
understanding the pain that permeates our world. My fear will remind me
the importance of pulling off the mask and to always speak, feel and love
from the bottom of my heart.