I come from a long line of Indigenous matriarchs.
Women who followed their original instructions and passed down the teachings of our creations story. Women who bled and birthed deep in the woods, by firelight or moonlight, and always surrounded by midwives—or as we would say: mashkikiiwikwe (Medicine Woman).
The teachings of birth are highly revered within my community. They come to us, as women, when we get our first period or “moon time.”
When I was a young woman this time was very special for me. I was 13 years old when my grandmother (my first period) visited me for the first time. It was February 17, 2000.
I remember this date because it is my niece's birthday, and my mother announced the occasion to the entire restaurant that evening at her party. I remember how hot my cheeks got when I was singled out for having bled for the first time.
This feeling would visit me often as I grew through my teenage years. See, in my house, periods were never something to be ashamed of, to hide or shy away from. Especially if you knew your teachings.
The berry fast gives you the teachings of life, of life bearing and creation. It speaks of sacrifice and responsibility and the care that must be taken to protect life and our sacred vessels as women.
I did not eat berries for one year. Harvesting the berries each season, but not eating them was a lesson in community—to think beyond yourself and see your role amongst others.
At the end of that year, I served the berries I had harvested and offered gifts I had made to my community and, in turn, they welcomed me as a new woman. My roles and responsibilities changed and the teaching I was offered transformed me.
I felt the weight of my ancestors on my shoulders and the strength of them in the earth under my feet as I walked through my teenage years.
The pressure of being a woman in this world is mighty. I felt that pressure. I had to learn to love my body and keep my spirit safe. I always felt like I was walking in two worlds.
I felt like a target and never felt safe outside my community, especially amongst men. So the teachings of life helped to protect me as I navigated the clash between western, colonial views of women's rights and responsibilities, which are mostly to serve men and create a family.
I rebelled against the ways women were lifted up in colonial society, mostly because it caused me so much pain and my body too much harm as I grew into womanhood.
To be more blunt, being seen as an object—just a body to be desired—was alarming and earth shattering for me. Especially in times when women were increasingly standing for self determination and equal rights.
My mother, a feminist, fought hard for me to walk proud and carry myself in a positive way. So, when I say my roles and responsibilities changed, I’m talking about the responsibility to carry life, to care for life—my own life at the center as a priority.
In my lodge, I became a buffalo dancer and that asked me to take on the responsibility of caring for others; to use my gifts to heal and care for community.
As a woman, I hold the responsibility of carrying on the ways of my ancestors. It is a choice to follow in their footsteps.
Honoring my moon time, that sacred time every month to sit with my grandmother, to be slow and considerate of my body is following in those footsteps.
It is a time in my house when I am left to rest. It is a monthly reminder for self care and caring for one's own spirit vessel (body). Each month, when my moon time comes, I honor her visit.
This evolved as I became a mother. As you try to carry life, you come to watch your periods. Then, you pray for your grandmother to allow new life to come to you.
For nine months, she doesn’t visit you as you carry and care for life. For me, it was over three years that my grandmother didn’t come to visit (I didn’t get my period) while I carried and cared for life.
I got so busy and so distracted, I didn’t realize how much I missed her—and her teachings of kindness and strength. Her teachings brought me the ability to carry life and prepared me for each step of the way. The years of blood shaped me.
My big sister Selena is doing her berry fast again, this time with her young daughter who just started her berry fast. Selena is in the change of life now (perimenopause).
She’s in the opposite moment of her daughter’s burgeoning reproductive life. Her grandmother visited her for many years, gifted her with two beautiful children, and now will leave her to transform into a grandmother herself.
This change of life is happening to all my big sisters right now. It’s a beautiful moment for me as a new mom. To bask in the teachings of life and all the ways they manifest to hold us.
I have always looked to my big sisters to prepare for what is to come. I also hold the memories of what it was like to become a young woman as my own mother went into menopause.
I remember so clearly her discomfort, and the physical manifestations of transformation. She didn’t get to have a ceremony, like the berry fast to welcome the next stage of life.
Her role in community, however, shifted. She is an elder, healer, and knowledge keeper for the people. She has spent her life picking up teachings that were stolen; rekindling the fire of creation amongst the people.
She brought three women up in this world and raised a young nation of proud Anishinaabekwes.
She allowed our blood memory to flow, hold its reverence, and lift us up into the power and protection every woman deserves. These are the teachings of women, of nationhood, of creation.
We bleed. We carry and care for life. This is the work of grandmothers of many generations. Since the very beginning of life itself.