Dear Durga

I sat on the ledge of the bathtub in anticipation. I stared at the little oval window in the middle of the white stick. After what felt like an eternity, I saw a thin blue line emerge. “Oh my gosh.” I thought. I gently set down my pregnancy test onto the sink counter. My dream came true. I would get to fulfill one of my life purposes—to be someone’s mama. I would get the chance to hold a sweet, tiny baby in my arms—my baby. What was supposed to be one the happiest moments of my life, however, quickly turned sour. I suddenly felt dry mouth out as if I had hiked for days in the desert. My heartbeat sped up while my stomach did somersaults. I felt faint. My mind began to race. I thought about so many things—the lease of my one-bedroom ending; the offer on the house that wasn’t yet bank-approved; my swift job resignation after months of sobbing on the subway; the overdraft message I received when I forgot to transfer money from my rainy-day savings; the fatigue I felt in my bones from constant neglect. I was scared. Scared as hell. How was I going to support a baby feeling wiped out without employment and no guarantee of having a roof over my head? Just a few months prior to conceiving, I had enrolled myself in a life coaching certification program. I originally sought coaching skills as a professional development tool to better serve the students I worked with. However, as I clung to my remaining sanity, I thought, “What the heck, I need coaching for myself. My worn-down spirit had already expressed, “Get help…or somethin’ worse will happen.” I didn’t know what a life coach was until I spoke with different women who became coaches themselves. They told me that coaching others offered transformation across all facets of their lives. “Transformation?” Not sure what that meant, but it sounded like a promising one-way ticket out my full-time gig. Since I didn’t have anything to lose, I attended an introductory session for a nine-month life coaching certification program. I learned a lot during about the coaching curriculum, but by the end of it, I still didn’t know how coaching could help me. So, I volunteered to try a follow-up demo coaching session with a master coach from the program. On a late autumn evening after everyone else in my office went home, I sank into the black swivel chair of my cubicle. I clutched my phone with sweaty palms. I eyeballed the clock five times before my phone rang. I didn’t know what to expect. Then it rang. “Hello?” “Hi, is this Shanita?” I immediately felt at ease. My coach, a warm and soft-spoken woman, was on the other side of the line. Without any instructions, her energy gave me a gentle invitation to dismantle all of the armor I’d been wearing to survive. She checked in with me to see if I was OK and assured me to go with the flow. She asked me to take a few deep breaths. So, I did. After revealing the particulars of my burnout and desire to leave my demanding job, my coach directed, “Tune into your body. Close your eyes. Breathe. Get present with what’s was inside of your chest.” My chest? That’s where my weary heart rested. A heart that was battered and bruised by a grueling routine filled with productivity traps. A heart that felt defeated by superiors and loved ones who gaslighted me to believe that I wasn’t giving enough—that I wasn’t enough. Tuning into my chest felt very different from my muddled meditations, where I’d struggle to not think about my growing to-do lists. Instead of finding points of focus in my head, I let myself wander in my heart. After taking a few deep breaths, my coach said, “Tune into your body.” I noticed something happening in my heart. That’s when she appeared. It was a woman, majestic and magnificent. She had kind brown eyes with a loving smile, rocked ruby red lipstick, wore a white mala over a fuchsia sequenced sari, and adorned a gold-jeweled crown with matching necklaces and bangles. She also sat barefooted on a tiger and held weapons in each hand, all eight of them. Who was she? It was Durga Maa, one of the fiercest mother goddesses in Hinduism; she represents unbeatable bravery, prevailing protection, and victory over evil. I remembered that I had seen this picture of Durga Maa before—a decade before to be exact. Her image came from a postcard I picked up when I was a confused college student studying abroad in India. As I sat with Durga, who I also affectionately refer to as Maa, I felt her radiating love and light. I could sense that she had an important message to share. When I listened, I heard her say, “I am here with you. The courage, power, strength you need is inside of you, with me. I got your back. You are more than enough, and you are not alone.” Whoa. I was blown away. Crouched in my chair, I began to weep. Someone had my back? I was enough? Hold up, I was more than enough? And I wasn’t alone? Wow. I cried with relief and gratitude. Durga’s brief, but mighty, message gave me a sense of companionship that I had longed for. Her presence also awakened something inside of me that I forgot I had—courage.