Our Brave Hearts

Not every mother who sits with me comes because of motherhood.

Anxiety. Relationship difficulties. A creeping sense that they’ve lost themselves somewhere along the way. Feeling like they’re failing at everything and succeeding at nothing.

Not always “motherhood stuff.” And yet motherhood is always there. Shaping how they see themselves, how they move through the world, how much they feel they deserve support.

That’s why I work the way I do.

A matrescence-informed lens adds depth and insight to everything we explore together, whatever it may be that brings you through the door.

I am delighted to offer the two new spaces that have come available:

❤️ Tuesday 12:45 · In-person · Skerries

❤️ Friday 9am · Online

Link in bio to book a free 20-minute consultation call. 🌿

Touched by sorrow, flavoured with grief and abundant in love.

Sometimes, not all the time, I feel my life in every single cell in my body.

The simplicity, the mundane, they take my breath away.

A mother’s love

Every Friday I stand on a bridge in my local area with a Palestine flag. I’ve been doing it for just over two years. I’ve been made aware recently of what some people think of that.

This carousel is my response and my invitation.

I stand there because a genocide is being livestreamed and I will not pretend otherwise. I stand there because my children sometimes stand with me, and I want them to know that solidarity is not contingent on certainty of outcome.

I stand there because silence has a cost, and I am not willing to pay it.

To those who shout at us, give us the finger, or ask why we don’t “go and fight”, I understand that my presence on that bridge is uncomfortable for you.

And to those who simply find it annoying to drive past every week, you are more than welcome to pull over and talk to us.

We don’t bite. And who knows, you might even want to join us.

Free Palestine. 🇵🇸

Oh hands of time, what say ye about how slow you moved for the first few years of my motherhood to now whizzing round the clock?

My son is almost 13.

There are moments in time that I thought I’d remember forever but the details, the specifics of the hour, the day, have disappeared into the vastness of my lifetime.

But the feeling, oh the feeling, stays with me.

It is woven into parts of my soul that bask in the presence of my children.

A Mother’s Love ❤️‍🔥

*photo of a page from my book

“This is the sound of one voice”

It started with an idea, in the wee hours of the morning. It became a conversation with a dear friend ✨

Now it’s two voices offering the invitation, offering the call.

“This is the sound of voices two. The sound of me singing with you”

And then another voice says yes. And then another. Until the room we fill holds that which none of us should be carrying alone.

Sometimes the bravery is in showing up alone. And perhaps it’s also about discovering how deeply our roots were already reaching toward each other before we gathered.

That’s what we’re making space for on Monday 1st June.

Croí’s Anam Gathering ❤️‍🔥
Bective Mills Dome, Co. Meath.
Three hours. Cacao. Gentle movement.
Stillness. Words
€60 · limited spaces.

** And if you want to stay a while longer, we’ll be taking a sauna and a dip in the River Boyne to remind ourselves of what a joy it is to be alive ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 This is an additional €15 to do. Completely optional. Completely worth it

Come as you are.

Jaq & Trish

(DM either one of us to save your space)

In as much as I try to give words to the wonder and the love of motherhood, I do so because the intensity of claws at me.

Putting into words how I feel in a moment is like a release valve for me, it soothes the beast that prowls my soul, sometimes it feels like the feeling is determined to constantly disrupt my peace of mind, of which I have very little of if I’m being honest with you.

Even the love, the joy, the awe, at times feels too much.

I sometimes (a lot of the times) find myself stupified that the world has convinced us that becoming a mother is just one of many things. It doesn’t feel like that to me.

Becoming a mother is the ruin and wreckage of all of who I thought I was. It is the fire upon which I have died and risen from, a phoenix, a mother.

I would lay myself down in the fire every single minute of every single day if it meant I got to become the mother of Fionn and Molly in each and every lifetime but that doesn’t mean I cannot speak of what it feels like to have my skin flayed from my bones as a result of such great undertakings.

The love.
The rage.
The joy.
The grief.
The wonder.
The boredom.
The disbelief that these little beings are mine to mind for a while. That I am theirs.

There are no words expansive enough, sorrow filled enough, to capture what it feels like to be a mother. If I could, I would bleed myself for you to see so you could perhaps glimpse a little of what I am made of.

I am made of them, now. Not just me.

I am made of them

This mother’s heart cannot imagine what this boy’s mother’s heart is enduring.

We, the mothers, cannot look away from the torture of other mother’s children. Boycott. Donate. Divest. Amplify.

Jawad Abu Nassar is the baby boy’s name.
palestine.network


May every single motherhood/parenthood account on any type of social media say his name and tag their political representatives, their local and national media outlets.

If mainstream media won’t acknowledge what was done to this baby, the least that we, the mothers, can do is to not let them away with their silence.