A (3:21)

Say a little bit about some background on what was happening in your life that prompted you to write what would become even after everything.

B (3:31)

There was a moment for me when I knew that this was a book. Previously, it was. It was writing in the place that I think most writing begins. Just personal processing. My family life. Today I have a four year old and a two year old and they were both born after losses. My first pregnancy. My husband and I had been childless by choice. We were very happy with life being the two of us for almost a decade. And we decided that it was time for us to start trying. And that first pregnancy, I experienced it during Advent. And that was really wondrous to me at the time, of course, just kind of experiencing the Advent season in this new embodied way. And then that metaphor broke very painfully the week before Christmas when we learned that there was no heartbeat. And I should say, and Adam, maybe if you want to add as a host, but of course this is a pregnancy loss story, so tune in and out as you like. But that of course prompted so much. I think the word that really stood out to me was juxtaposition. That painful, painful juxtaposition of, you know, a light has come to the world, but not for you is what it felt like. And it really felt unforgivable. As someone who metaphor means so much and there's a lot to, you know, kind of interrogate there and some entitlement too, you know, which. Which I probably had to work through. But the point is it was that that dissonance was deeply felt at that time. And fast forward one year later, I gave birth to my daughter. Healthy, you know, birth, pregnancy with some scares and unknowns at certain points, but. And when the doctor gave me the estimated due date, I remember gasping because it was a year to the day of that first loss. And it was just like, how can one full circle of a year hold so much as. As a, you know, self proclaiming enneagram4 who's deep in my feelings. How am I supposed to feel about this day in my life? And that holds both some of the most painful memories and the most beautiful gifts of my life. And I think I wrote the book out of this dissonance of what do you do when the kind of high holidays, special occasions of life, whether it's the cycle of the, you know, the church seasons or the natural world or just, you know, what. What's going on culturally? What do you do when that flashes so strikingly with your personal moment? And where is God in that? And how do we. How does God meet us in those juxtapositions? So, yeah, I think the book was written out of a paradox.

A (6:53)

And it's a super, in my opinion, poetic book, like the way you put words together. It's delicious, it's inviting, it's penetrating. And in my experience, reading was like going on a journey with you into the landscape of hope. Like hope. Hope deferred. Hope, hope shattered, hope renewed. But the landscape of hope, however, there's nothing in. Even after everything that is Pollyanna. Like, you are unflinching in your grappling with how disappointing and painful life can be and how hard it is to hope. You're very clear about that. What I want to do today is read you a lot of your words and reflect on them with you, starting with a quote from chapter five. And that chapter is titled remember your death trying for life. And this is a paragraph where you are writing about your period. And this is what you say. For much of my life, I had felt, as so many women do, that my period was something that held. Held me back from my actual life. It was a disruption defined by sick days and sitting the pool out and staying home with a heating pad. The way I saw it, my period was essentially punitive, removing me from my life in some kind of biological timeout. But I was just now discovering that the medical community had a radically different name for what I was calling a problem to manage. They called it the fifth vital sign, elevating menstrual health to the essential functions of body temperature, blood pressure, heart rate, and breathing rate. What I saw as a liability was actually an embodied icon of life itself. What I saw as an inconvenience was actually the wisdom of the body at work, a somatic intelligence that I had sidelined and silenced for far too long. Okay. Can you say more, Stephanie, about this shift that took place in you related to your period?

B (9:04)

Yeah. Thank you for reading that. Yeah. And starting there. So much to say about this. I. I mean, I'll speak for myself, but, yeah, I. I really did see it as some. It was just such an inconvenience and. And a problem. It was a problem to manage. For the first time after this loss, I wanted something deeply that I could only receive. I mean, there is not much you can control in these in the trying to conceive scenario. But the. The only way I could even possibly receive it is on the other side of really partnership with my body. And even then, there's no guarantees, but I had to view my body as a partner and not a. Not something to be subdued into what I wanted, but something that I had to work with her. And, you know, I think of Hilary McBride, who speaks of, you know, really referring to your body as. As a she, as a he, as. As this essential part of your personhood. And I think that was really the first time that I acknowledged that my body was an essential part of my personhood. And the only way we could do this, even through the healing part, physical healing part, and moving forward, was together. And I think so much of that was I had. I realized how badly I needed to learn to listen to her and her wisdom at work and, you know, a whole lifetime behind me of silencing her and her needs through different ways. I don't have this memory, but it's been shared with me from my family. I think when I was, you know, four, I told my mom I didn't say these words, but I had a sore throat. But to tell her that I said instead, my throat feels like it has thunder in it. And she was so amazed at. Like she knew exactly what I meant. And I had the language to. Not only the language to frame what was happening in my body, but to listen to my body. And I think that it was on the other side of this pregnancy loss that I realized I need to be in touch with that little girl again who was willing to listen to her body and knew when she was hungry, knew when she was hurt, knew when she needed something. And instead of really putting a damper on that vital sign, you know, those vital signs really listen and kind of receive their lended authority as a voice that can push me towards wholeness.

A (11:57)

Here's another excerpt about how your relationship with your body evolved. I love this. You say I had you write. I had taken the stance that my cycle was just a grimy reality standing between me and the life I thought I wanted. But now, upon closer inspection, this was not the relationship with my body that I wanted. This squeamishness is learned, spoken into our lives by the tale as old as time, that women should be sorry for taking up space, that we should apologize by making ourselves small and keeping our messy bodily realities out, out of sight. My work was now unlearning the ways I had been taught to disdain the life of the body, particularly the Life of a woman's body. Okay, there's so much here. But let's start with the notion that women should be sorry for taking up space and that you should apologize by making yourself small. Like, as I read your words back to you, what's happening inside of you.

B (13:01)

These are common metaphors, but they always. They are always linked to embodiment. They always have embodied consequences. I think that, you know, women have. Have largely been conditioned to be apologetic about our needs. So the solution, we think to be nice, to be accepted in society, is to diminish those needs and make them as small and inobtrusive as possible. And that often translates to. Right. Even the physicality of the sitting on the sidelines and not speaking up. And what's interesting to me, too, is this problem has been observed by many for a long time. But what's interesting to me as well is that the antidotes to these behaviors are also embodied. And if you listen to the language of them, it's sound, your voice, stand your ground. Speak up, stand your ground. I mean, these are using our diaphragm. These are using our core. Our voice is. It flows from our core. As you know, Adam. But I have a whole chapter on the core because I was really so just fascinated with this idea that the core of our being has a strength that we don't often acknowledge. And I. I only got in touch with it myself, and I'm embarrassed, frankly, that it took this much and this long. But I only got in touch with the power of the core myself as I was facing the inevitability of birth and labor and birth. But to think that the core is capable of bringing a whole new human into the world, and not only that, but the core for all of us, you know, men, women, birthing or not, it carries us through our life. And if we're not able to stand strong in that or speak from that, we're disconnected from a strength that is really unlike anything else that we have. I think that it all comes back to unlearning our undeserving whatever that might be for. For you, but in the ways that you have made to be feel, made to feel like you have to be less. It's unlearning that and reclaiming that worth and standing and speaking from that.

A (15:36)

Here's another quote where you quote Charles Taylor in his coining of this term excarnation. Let me read this for you. You say that our bodies are our primary way of being in the world. So when we neglect our body's needs. We experience estrangement in our most intimate relationship. Philosopher Charles Taylor has a striking name for this sidelining of the body. He calls it ex carnation, the steady disembodying of spiritual life so that it is less and less carried in deeply meaningful bodily forms and lies more and more in the head. Can you just explain excarnation in more depth? What is it and why does this matter for us?

B (16:26)

This is only interesting by a contrast study. So starting with the Incarnation, which is the story of a body, a human body, in life, death and resurrection. I've always been so fascinated, enchanted with these idea of the Incarnation and what it means for us, because what it means to me is that there is a human body in the person of Christ that has carried every human experience, every human pain, joy, all of it in the nerve of God, in the heart of God, in the body of God, and it's all held there. What interests me about that too, is that there's no bypassing of any human experience in the Incarnation. It's big and bold enough to hold everything. So excarnation, by contrast, is, as Charles Taylor says, it's disembodiment. His kind of thesis is more, excarnation is kind of moving the spiritual life to the head, to all cognitive understanding. But I think for our purposes, it's more. More than that. It's the disembodiment of moving that spiritual life anywhere else but here. I was raised in evangelical youth groups and I had the unfortunate experience of a youth pastor in a very offhanded way at one point say, oh, my body is just my earth suit. And as a young adolescent, I heard that as great news for me because it meant that I could be a good Christian and do all the right things and be accepted and loved by God and also deprive my body of calories and get what I wanted. Which was, again, per our conversation, being less of myself. And I thought, oh, this is great. I can just excarnate. I don't have to bring any of this truth or life into my body. I can just sort of segment it. I don't think any good news ever comes from segmenting anything. It's all, you know, we should be moving toward wholeness. So I think it's, you know, excarnation is. It's life without a body and in denial of the body's needs and creaturely realities, you know, whether we want to confront them or not.

A (19:08)

Here's some sentences that you write in the book about excarnation. You confess, you say, I had practiced Excarnation for too long. For all the ways I had silenced the life of the body, I was ready to listen. I had a lot to learn as well as unlearn. And my discoveries began with the recognition that I had reduced the concept of my cycle to merely the period part of it, when in reality, a woman's cycle moves through a vibrant spectrum of inner seasons. And then you spend a lot of time talking about this. Say more about the idea that a woman's cycle moves through a vibrant spectrum of inner seasons.

B (19:51)

I love this seasonal cyclical frame. If you can't tell already, a seasonal outlook normalizes the cycle of everything beautiful in its time and a purpose for every time. So culturally, we are so ingrained to think that we have to always be at perpetual peak. That's just as absurd as saying the world, the natural world as we know it should be spring or summer constantly. As if fallow seasons or rest seasons don't serve a purpose. And as if those seasons can be disconnected from the seasons of regrowth and renewal. There's just a whole mindset shift that happens. And I really did a deep dive into the menstrual cycle and hormonal cycle of women when I was in that space of trying to conceive. And, you know, I was still grieving and I really wanted something. And I knew, like I said, I knew that the only way I even had a chance was to get reintroduced to my body as a partner. So I did a lot of reading, I did a lot of research, and something that really made a difference for me was the literal four parts of a hormonal cycle. And they each have a purpose, and they each have different sort of energies associated. And for example, during. During the menstrual part of the cycle, it's a rest period. For me, that meant instead of berating myself for not being up for social events or, you know, feeling pretty depleted after a full workday, being like, you know, it's. Yeah, of course you feel kind of done. Your body is really working hard right now, and it actually, literally is depleting itself, and you need renewal and rest. So instead of being like, gosh, why am I not at perpetual peak right now? Why is it not spring and summer? It's like, well, because it's 20 degrees outside and you need to go to bed giving yourself that permission to be in a cycle that's ongoing. And also, there's a little freedom there too, because you don't have to be at peak all the time. That's not what we're made for and kind of learning that detachment of like, you know what, today it's spring, tomorrow I don't know, the seasons roll on and we're going to move through them because that's what our bodies and the world is made to do.

A (22:32)

Yes. And you have this phrase in the book that you call the liturgy of one's cycle and here's what you write about it. You say that living within the litter, which is a great phrase, living within the liturgy of one's cycle not only supports the process of trying for or preventing pregnancy, it can bring greater alignment between our physical and psychological health for whole person benefits. And ultimately such alignment can be deeply angst saving. Instead of berating our energy drops during the lute, the, the luteal stage, we can be at peace knowing that our body is downshifting and now is not the time to push hard. Instead of racking ourselves with what's wrong with me. Cycle syncing can help us accept the inner season we're in, knowing that it is temporary, yet also for the time being, it is right. And the body's wisdom at work. Now look, this is so kind and it is one of your primary points is it's so congruent with the natural world. So for people with a history of trauma, like pushing hard is often second nature. It's just what we do. But you're saying, hold on a minute. What if we listen to the body's wisdom as manifested in our cycle? So can you say more about that?

B (24:00)

When I had my daughter, it was the peak of the pandemic. As you know, her birthday is in December and it was, you know, a year after this loss. And actually her birthday was the. I'm so glad I didn't know this at the time, but her birthday in our city, where we live was the peak of COVID death in our city. And that was the day I was in the hospital delivering her. So it was, it was a time we all have our times and memories around that. This was mine around this. I think that fall Catherine May, a British writer had. Had released her book called Wintering. And I have vivid memories of being post. I was like, this is my postpartum read. And I would be like sitting in my little sitz bath, you know, just like exhausted from nursing and just like nights and everything and all the newness and. And I was reading this book about wintering and it's exactly what we're talking about it. We're all going to winter in life and we need to figure out how to do it well. I don't say well as a achievement status. I mean, this is not something. This isn't like, well, you have to rest, like an A plus, you know, this is about. I think it's more about the acknowledgement of what you need and making space for you to get that and letting yourself off the hook of being on all the time, of being everything to everyone all the time. I don't believe that anyone should have to hustle for their healing. That's never going to be the pace or the path toward the life that we long for and deserve. Speaking as someone who pushing hard is. It's my one mode. It's all I know how to do. There's so much wisdom in just pausing and saying it's okay. And, you know, and there's so much guilt bound up in that, at least for me. Again, I'm thinking of those early parenting days, the blur of, you know, newborn era. My postpartum was really, really, really difficult physically, and I didn't have a lot of mobility. And I remember, you know, just being propped up in bed. That was where I lived. And pretty much every day looking at a vase that I had put fresh evergreens in before our daughter was born. I think I looked at that vase every day until March, and I think I shamed myself just about every day for not changing the stupid vase. And you know, looking back, it's like, oh, I wish I could just. I wish I could just take that from her and practice some self compassion and be like, you know what? If that's bothering you, ask for help. Ask for somebody to take care of that for you and just dump it. But that's not a make or break, you know, And I think you just have to give yourself that permission to say, this doesn't matter as much as you think it does. And it's okay to be where you are and get the rest that you need.

A (27:26)

This book is so kind. One of the kind of the areas that you tackle with kindness is the whole terrain of hope and hopelessness. And in one place you tell the story of your friend Roxy and how her hopes were utterly dashed. And I just want to read this little paragraph and then let's talk about wars with hope. You say, my friend Roxy had been married for 10 years when her husband took her to dinner on a weeknight and told her he didn't want to be married anymore. No one had seen this coming, least of all her. And here it was a sudden death. Ten years crumbled to dust. Some Years later, after some hard won healing, after a cross coastal move for a long distance boyfriend, after months of premarital counseling and ring browsing, so much fresh hope and energy to turn a new page, the boyfriend called while she was on an international trip. And in 20 minutes he said it was over. He never gave her a reason. They never spoke again. And then you write this. How do you trust after trust has been broken and broken? The self preservationist in all of us says better not to trust at all. So you're talking about our war with hope now, where has your Stephanie, like where has your war with hope taken you? And why, why isn't. Why do you believe it's reasonable to hope when you hoped for something before and your hopes were dashed?

B (29:02)

There was a moment that really stands out to me in my pregnancy with my son, who again was born after a loss. And after that loss, I went to a very dark place because my hopes had been dashed again. And you know, the. I only share this part of the story in the epilogue, and not even all of it. I did want to share again that the story's ongoing because it always is. It always is. My book was never meant to be and you and I are both extra sensitive to this, but it was never meant to be an easy, you know, happy ending. Now it's. And actually my, my epilogue is called, I think, an honest epilogue because the story always continues. So I was in this really dark place and my husband and I both had clarity that we really did want to try for another kid. We knew, we felt clear on that much. And we, we and I had to wrestle with, you know, what's the right time for this and when we're ready and all of that. And I knew it was just my experience of pregnancy was always going to be terror. It was just always going to be terror, frankly. But I knew what I wanted. And again, no guarantees, but any chance of experiencing that was on the other side of facing what I experienced as terror. I remember going in for, I think, yeah, it was his first ultrasound. So kind of that very vulnerable moment of truth. And I'd been here before and I saw the image up on the screen and it was just an image. It wasn't video yet, and there was no sound and I didn't know what I was looking at yet. I mean, the room was silent. I did not know what I was looking at. But I knew that I felt such a love rise up within me. And I knew that whatever happened next, I would not take that back. It is a gift And a grace that my son will be celebrating his second birthday this weekend. But no matter what, in that moment, I knew that I was going to stand with that hope and love. I was going to stand with that. I was standing by that. And I think that that's not easy, but I think that we. It's easier to hope when you realize. And I'm convinced that when we practice hope, we like who we become when we engage the muscles that are required of us in the deepest places, when we hope. And that's why I really love and resonate with your language and Adam of the war on hope, which is from your book, because it's a tension. Hope is not the stuff of sentimental fluff. It's like that sweat beaded push. It is using every muscle that you didn't even know you had and saying, I'm standing by this no matter what happens. Regret comes in when, when we, when fear makes us miss out on life. And I think that hope can be our counter to that fear. When we say, I'm standing by what is good and true and beautiful, no matter what happens. And we're made by that, we're shaped by that. In, in the writer's community, we say there's no wasted page, which is a really beautiful mindset. And you know, even if it gets scrapped later, every sentence is worthy practice. And practice makes better writers of us. And I think in the same way, there is no wasted hope. And hope makes better humans of us. And I think, you know, my book is I hope again, a testament to that of even after everything, what stands. And there's a lot of great writers on this very topic, but one that comes to mind is from a poem of Wendell Berry's when he says, be joyful. Though you have considered all the facts, the binaries are easier for our brains to digest. It's easier to just kind of pick a side and set up camp there. And in this conversation, it's the binary of denial or empty optimism. And hope refuses both of those binaries. Hope says, I will consider all the facts. I will go into this knowing that there is any outcome whether, whether you're trying for anything. You know, trying, trying for a baby, trying for a relationship, a friendship, a vocation, a creative risk. There's so many different ways to want and to try. And I think Hope says, I will consider all the facts. I will go into this knowing that taking any risk is to consent to any outcome and that I'm. I'm going to, but I will be, you know, joyful. In my own way, I don't think joy is required necessarily, but I think it's resolve maybe to say, I'm going for this and I'm going to let this story have a chance to begin. Whatever happens.

A (34:37)

As I'm listening to you talk, I can't help right now. I can't help but think about your morning shower ritual that you write about in the book, which is one of my favorite parts of this book. Can you just share with our listeners? Share about your morning shower ritual and how did it come to be a thing?

B (34:57)

Yeah, I'm so glad you're asking about this. So I rattled by some pregnancy scares with my daughter along the way. I was just really getting in touch with that need to center myself somehow, because like many of these experiences of risk, you know, pregnancy is your everyday saying, like, I really, you know, I hope this turns out okay. So just being in that space, I was desperate to find some anchors. So I sort of incorporated one into my morning shower, which was just hot water in the water and kind of reminding myself of my baptism and kind of putting my hand on my chest and again trying to speak to that embodiment and saying, I am baptized. This is who I am. I'm. I am baptized. And also I am beloved. This is who I am Bedrock. And I had been doing that for a little while. And then there was another kind of scary scenario, impromptu doctor's visit, and all was well, but I had to come home and I was like, okay, I need a little more. I need a little more to find my center of gravity here. And so I sort of added a, you know, rounded out my ritual to say, I'm. I'm beloved, I'm baptized, and I am badass. And it was a way of kind of borrowing God's belief in me for myself and borrowing the courage of Christ for myself, because I very strongly believe you can't convince me otherwise. That as we're talking about that giving any story a chance to begin is not a gutsy move. And we have to give ourselves credit for that. You know, I mean, there's so much fear and anxiety wound up in like, oh, well, what if this happens? And what if. What if it all goes the way I fear it will? And the. Those are valid questions. They are. But weird. I don't think we give ourselves enough credit for consenting to the what ifs by saying, I'm still here trying, and it sucks and it's so hard and I can't find my bearings, but here I am. So I Think, you know, there's a. It was a way for me to bring that courage into my body and try to remind myself of what I think I am and I think anyone is who is chancing the risks of this world.

A (37:51)

Yes. Okay, last quote. This is about resurrection. You write. While Holy Saturday affirms the realness of human pain and waiting, Easter invites us to allow ourselves to be astonished by resurrection, even in a Holy Saturday world. Joy like resurrection requires a certain willingness to be surprised, confounded even. It asks us to say yes to bewilderment. When we release our tight fisted, foregone conclusions, our hands can open to receive new gifts that break through and beyond the grid of our expectations. Now, I love that, so say whatever you want. But here's my question for you. Like, how have you grown in a posture of being willing to be surprised by goodness?

B (38:48)

That's such a good question. You grow in that gift. Or at least I have grown in that gift when you further it by a gratitude practice. Because I think when things don't go the way that we want them to, when the story doesn't go the way that we hope it will, it's really easy to just ingrain in that narrative and be like, think this is how it always is for me, this is how it's always going to be. But I think there's, you know, for me, I think it's been the growth of saying, look, really look at the goodness of your life. Small or large, it doesn't matter. Maybe even the smaller the better. And just let yourself let the goodness of that wash over you and let it become honest gratitude. And I think that that maybe opens the door a little bit in my psyche to be open to more, to be bewildered anew. Something that, you know, I've worked on through the writing of this book and continues to be a work, an inner work, is grounding myself in the present and trying not to project too much into the future and saying, look, today this is what I have. Today, this is true. It's been meaningful for me. I think of sometimes it'll be in the morning, sometimes it'll be before the daily squabble of picking up the kids and getting dinner on and evening routine. I have found it meaningful for me to sort of imagine like kind of sacred imagination. But you know, there's. There's an envelope that's being handed me with every day. And in that envelope is the gift of this day. And it's up to me to receive it as such or not. But it's always there for, for my, you know, receiving and, you know, the gift is ever presenting itself to me and it's to me to be awake to that and recognize it for what it is. So I think there's so much to just like, you know what today, today you have enough, Stephanie. Today is enough for you. And similarly, you know, kind of at the day's end, again with my cycles, this is a window into my brain. But, you know, from morning to evening, it's like at the end of the day, let the day end. You can put a period on the end of the story of this day. So anything that was left undone, anything that didn't go well, anywhere that I didn't, I was not my best self. Let that stay in yesterday like that. Close the book on that story. It's done and tomorrow is new.

A (41:42)

If this conversation has been meaningful to you, consider picking up a copy of Stephanie Duncan Smith's book, even after everything. Stephanie, thank you so much for this conversation. It's been lovely to talk with you as an author instead of an editor.

B (42:00)

Thank you so much for having me and so appreciate you all listening.