Dear Reader,

Today is my 49th birthday, and it's also the day my son graduates from 8th grade.

I can't tell you what a precious gift this is for me.

I often call my son a catalyst because his existence has initiated me like nothing else.

A few weeks ago, while speaking on stage, I shared a photo of him shortly after he was born, just 2 pounds, 9 ounces, arriving five weeks early. A mistake at a doctor's appointment unexpectedly saved his life.

I always say I birthed him, but in many ways, he gave me life. At a time when many women lose themselves in motherhood, I found myself.

His dramatic Leo entrance into the world (he was supposed to be a Virgo) became one of the biggest wake-up calls of my life.

He forced me to say yes to something that had been whispering to me for decades but that I didn't yet have the courage to fully hear.

Because of his birth, I began asking, "Maybe I can do something beyond pharmacy."

Because of him, I started meditating and writing, two practices that helped me find my voice.

Then the pandemic came, and he catalyzed me again.

He was an eight-year-old with several invisible learning disabilities who had barely used a computer before suddenly being expected to learn on a screen for hours each day.

This time, he initiated me into using my voice.

I've always talked a lot. But speaking up boldly, directly, and taking a stand for what mattered felt incredibly threatening to the people-pleaser in me. But they don't call us mama bears for nothing.

Over the years, advocating for him practically became a full-time job.

I became certified as a vocal empowerment facilitator, learning not only how to use my voice but how to be heard. I also became a mural facilitator and discovered the power of transforming heartbreak into possibility through a shared vision.

It took more than five years, but this year we reached a milestone. My son finally received the support he needs to be educated in a system that was never designed for him.

We didn't sue the school district, which is what many families ultimately have to do. I’m grateful to transition him to high-school with a stronger footing and more support.

I’m also incredibly proud, not only because of the outcome, but because through an empowered voice and a greater vision, I took a stand for justice both with boldness and love.

And just a few weeks ago, I unveiled the seventh collaborative mural I've facilitated which I created with the very school district where I had spent years advocating for my son.

We named the mural Mosaic Voices of Justice and Belonging.

As we do with all Singing Tree murals, we begin by naming the heartbreaks and challenges we see around us. Then we ask: What is the greater vision trying to emerge?

The mural becomes a collective vision of that possibility.

To say this is a full-circle moment is an understatement.

What amazes me is how many of the symbols from my first mural found their way into this newest one. The scales were my contribution, the heart, the hands, the voices, they came from others.

My first co-created mural during my Singing Tree certification in 2021 was called Growing Through What We Are Going Through. The pandemic was initiation all of us even if in different ways.

Each participant contributed symbols that felt meaningful to them. I chose an elephant because I've always loved them. Later, I learned that elephants are matriarchal leaders.

None of this happened overnight and none of it happened alone.

For over a decade, I feel like I’ve been birthing my own being. There have been painful contractions, powerful moments of realizing my own strength (which as write this makes me cry.)

I always associated struggling as weakness but really it’s just evidence that we are in the hard and messy process of creating new life.

But with my first mural, I was painting the very thing I was becoming, someone learning how to lead with strength and community.

The leaf I contributed contained symbols of a creative activist being born.

What if the hardest seasons are not signs that life isn't working? What if they are signs that something new is trying to be born?

Birth is painful.

Growth is messy.

Transformation rarely looks graceful from the inside.

Yet we don't look at labor pains and assume the mother has failed, we understand that new life is making its way into the world. Why is it so hard to give ourselves that same grace?

So often we abandon ourselves in the middle of our own becoming.

We mistake contractions for evidence that we're off course when they may actually be evidence that we're finally moving toward who we came here to be.

The work of finding your true voice, living your values, and becoming more fully yourself requires courage.

It’s understandable to not want to go through the discomfort that comes with being brave.

But imagine if your mother had never been willing to walk through the painful and powerful journey of birth?

You wouldn't be here.

Neither would everything you're meant to bring to life.

At heart, I am an educator and the root word of education is “to bring forth” and that it was what I am devoted to in my life. As a mother as a coach/facilitator, as a speaker as a professor as a creative.

Not to tell people who they should become, but to help bring forth who they already are.

So on my birthday, I want to ask you: What is trying to be born through you right now?

And can you trust that the contractions you're experiencing are not evidence that something is wrong, but that something meaningful is making its way into the world?

Here's to being birthed,

P.S. If you're in need of a mid-life mid-wife for a smoother birth for you or your staff/team hit reply. I have several ways I can support including coaching, workshops, talks and team-building.

P.P.S. I also have an upcoming retreat with some great timely bonuses and earl-bird pricing. Check it out: https://www.drswetachawla.com/retreat​

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