Taking Flight: Carrying Change (Offering 9.1)
The quiet, internal turning that reshapes everything.
Welcome back. After a quiet pause following Trial by Dust, we step into a new season—and a new phase. Carrying Change begins the journey of Phase IIV, Taking Flight, where transformation starts to move from the inside out.
(If you’re new to Eclosion: An Artist’s Path to Power and Peace, start at the beginning. Or visit my Memoir Hub for a full table of contents with links.)
Shon and I were lying skin to skin, light and shadow playing across our bodies as the sunlight filtered through the treetops onto our bed in the loft. “What do you think about trying to have a baby?” As his words seeped into my relaxed brain, a long dormant yearning began to uncurl inside me.
Getting sober had its costs. One of the most excruciating things—at least for that first year—was letting go of the possibility of having a child. I could barely hold myself together, much less care for a baby. As I put my energy into my recovery, and then becoming an artist, a different vision for our lives blossomed—one where we traveled together and made art, free from the responsibility of parenthood.
Shon was now working a stable job at Evergreen State College. As he witnessed how I was transforming my own life, he felt ready to be a parent in a way he hadn’t before. Two paths lay open before me—the freedom of travel and art, or the unknowns of parenthood.
As I lay there, curled in his warmth, my initial longing was tempered with uncertainty.
Now my uncertainty came, not from being an active alcoholic, but because my career as an artist was beginning to take off. I’d recently completed two large-scale projects, both requiring travel, and was beginning to believe I could make it as an artist—maybe even with a capital A. I remembered standing beneath my latest installation, Project Wetlands—shimmering and dancing lights refracting through the upcycled plastic bottles as river otters played beside it—feeling a new kind of elation.
Even with my recent success, I was far from having a stable career with a reliable income. I tried to imagine completing a piece like that one at Northwest Trek Wildlife Park while pregnant, or with a child at home, and couldn’t. Instead, I saw the image of a friend who’d sold his art supplies because he just didn’t have time to be a parent and make art.
As I thought about becoming a mom over the next few weeks, I looked for examples of successful artist moms. I didn’t know any personally and even the internet came up empty.
I wasn’t convinced I could make it as an artist and a mom, but in just two years, sobriety had remade me in ways I hadn’t expected. The shame I’d carried around for years dissipated as I found my self-worth—my self-talk shifting from “I’m stupid” to “I did a stupid thing,” from “I suck” to “I’ll do better next time.”
For the first time, anything felt possible.
We were still living at Delphinia but had moved from the Root Cellar to the Meadowview—a slightly larger cabin—a few years earlier. There we lived with the birds—deep in the woods, the cabin perched on stilts overlooking the meadow on a steep forested slope.
I’d been working hard to right the harms that I had done to others over the years, including amends to our land mates. At the same time, I charted a new trail through our woods—a faint path you had to know, to follow. On my daily forest walks, I passed the same tiny creek and towering redcedars, noting the changes as we moved from one season into the next. As my relationships with both humans and land healed, I began to accept Delphinia at a deeper level—finally I felt I belonged.
As I walked the trail with new openness, I set aside my conflicting visions of the future and chose what was in front of me—I chose the possibility of becoming an artist mama.
It had taken my brain a while to get on board with having a baby. My body, on the other hand, was apparently ready. Not long after opening myself to the possibility of a child we became pregnant.
Shon and I were excited—and a little terrified—each of us responding in our own ways. My attention turned inward, feeling every shift and change. Shon looked outward, imagining how to make our home a place where our growing family could thrive.
Even as I was finally falling in love with Delphinia, Shon was becoming more frustrated. The community had been spiraling for some time—few people were willing to live in the rat-infested farmhouse or put in the emotional and physical work to keep the place going. The only other member—let’s call him the Thorn—consistently blocked proposals, preventing work being done on the land.
With the prospect of becoming a father, Shon decided the time had come to transform Delphinia into something that could work for us long-term—something more than illegal, ramshackle cabins and constant arguments with the Thorn over seemingly simple matters.
Shon and I had been exploring how to make Delphinia our dream home for years. We’d even drawn up plans for a small house on the edge of the garden, overlooking the meadow. I envisioned our child playing on the swing under the ancient apple trees. But there was so much in the way of making that home a reality.
With a baby on the way, we started thinking bigger. Could we shift Delphinia so that it would support the community and result in a home we loved? Maybe turn it into an artist retreat center? With this vision in his heart and mind, Shon came up with a plan to buy Delphinia.
His proposal sparked a huge feud—the Thorn turned Shon’s proposal into an all-out war, reaching out to anybody who’d ever lived on the land, misconstruing Shon’s proposal and painting us as villains. Lines were drawn. People chose sides. Threats were made. Mediation was fruitless. Lawyers were hired. Emails were bitter and hurtful.
My gut reaction is to retaliate when I feel I’m being attacked. But that wasn’t how I was living anymore. I’d spent so much energy the previous year cleaning up messes I’d made while drinking—no way in hell did I want to go through that again—so I refused to give in to that need to lash out. But I didn’t yet know how else to act. For his part, Shon continually tried to be honest and clear, not talking smack about others or responding in kind.
Walking through the farmhouse to my studio one day, I heard Shon’s name through the door of the Thorn’s room. I paused, hearing the Thorn exaggerate and twist things we’d said. I turned and walked back out of the house, onto my forest trail, breathing deeply, trying to shake off his words like the trees drop their leaves.
After a particularly nasty email, I closed my laptop with a snap.
I was done.
I asked Shon to leave me out of emails with Delphinia. Instead, I did my best to support him as he waded through the negativity, refocusing my energy on my recovery, my work, and my changing body.
What quiet, internal turning is reshaping you right now—and how might you honor the change you’re carrying?