*Originally posted here at Simply Leap with Lauree Ostrofsky, as part of her Like You Mean It series. Thanks, Lauree!

Without a pre-flight checklist, a jump team, and a plan, what’s a Type-A, compulsive list-maker to do?

In less than 8 weeks, I will become a wife to my wonderful partner. About 10 weeks after that, we together will become parents to our first baby.

While these are the grandest leaps that either one of us has ever made, neither of us saw them coming four months ago.

Instead, we looked around us one day in early May and discovered that we had already leapt without recognizing it, and evolution already had us in its arms.

It would be a false revision of history to say that it was an elegant or peaceful realization. To be sure, there was panic, fear, disorientation, denial.

There was resistance because while we wanted to be parents someday, this was not how it was supposed to happen. It didn’t look at all like my daydreams of marriage, partnership, and ecstatically welcoming the news of a just-created life.

Instead, this leap into becoming a wife and mother at first felt like falling, without control, without bearing, without a grasp on anything solid or sure.

While I had taken leaps of faith before, I had to learn to leap all over again.

The first step toward transforming a surprise launch into a conscious leap was realizing that any change, no matter the level of transformation involved, is never a slip and fall into a deep abyss.

Instead, it’s a hop down at a time, day by day, moment by moment. Planning a wedding, evolving my work life, creating a home for a baby, nurturing my body through pregnancy, bonding with our unborn child, and preparing for the journey of childbirth – they’re all one small jump per day, tiny actions that are completely doable.

Then there’s rest.

After each tiny hop that composes our grand leap, there is the constant knowledge and faith that we are being held in a divine hammock larger than our lives and our ability to control them.

When we can rest in a hammock of grace, knowing that we’re being cared for; that life is evolving in precisely the ways that we need it to – even the furthest leap becomes tangible.

When I stopped trying to convince myself that each next step was safe and began to trust instead that it was, a recognizable way forward appeared.

Finally, just like an overburdened plane casting off heavy cargo to stay airborne, I realized that I’d been holding on to far too much baggage to land well.

I needed to leave behind old stories, old neuroses and habits, incomplete pasts and irrelevant fears, and time was short. It’s amazing to see how quickly we can burn through old clutter when there’s true necessity.

When leaping entails adopting a new identity – and how many leaps don’t? – there’s an inevitable process of grieving what’s been left behind.

The childless, pre-pregnancy me is gone forever. But with the grace of knowing change is one jump at a time, in the context of implicit safety and amid the continued work of burning off what no longer serves – it appears not as a death to be mourned, but as an expansion, a surprise leap that happened at precisely the right time.

It’s one of my most fundamental self-care rules: boundaries are effing critical.

Our boundaries – between self and others, between public and private, work and not-work – can be porous, fluid, dynamic.

We can continue to be curious and always-learning in the context of our boundaries. We can be open, receptive, willing, daring, courageous and still have a healthy respect for boundaries.

A commitment to healthy boundaries leads to structures rooted in self-love that help us take good care of ourselves on a day-to-day basis.

It doesn’t sound like I need a lot of convincing about boundaries. And yet.

Apparently I’ve still got a lot to learn.

The German Alps kicked my ass this week, and all because I forgot all about my boundaries. (Ahh, yes. Humility.)

A tiny bit of background: I learned to ski years ago in Pennsylvania. And this week for the first time I took a ski trip to the German Alps at Garmisch and Zugspitze.

You won’t be surprised to hear that in terms of skiing, Pennsylvania has nothing on the Alps. Savvy ski bunnies in Pennsylvania are put to shame in the Alps.  Trust me.

Even so, the first day found me confident, self-assured, easy-breezy and carefree. I wasn’t thinking about boring boundaries, I was going for fearless. We were in the Alps, for God’s sake. When in the Alps, do as the Alpinists. Everyone here pounds a few beers, hops nonchalantly into their boots, and whoosh – they’re gone. No fear. It was working out great.

It was the last run of the day and my brother wanted to go all the way down the mountain. Most of this run was doable, he said, but parts of it were “hard as shit.”

“Whatever,” says I. “I’m scared and tired, but let’s just go.”

“Hard as shit” indeed.  It took everything I had not to bawl when I looked down the hill.  Left, right, breathe, left, right, breathing, fighting panic, fighting to stay in control.

My brother and partner described what happened 10 minutes later as “epic.” I lost it completely. They heard me scream, turned to see me tumble, and apparently I kept on screaming as I fell.

It was the beginning of the end of dignity. For one thing, Alpinists never scream.

When I skidded to a stop, a young boy stood looking at me, lying spreadeagle on the snow.

“I’m ok,” I said, and he whooshed off.

When I finally got to my feet, my legs were shaking. This was all my brother’s fault. We should never have gone all the way down the mountain. It’s the end of our first day. This was the stupidest idea. My coordination is shot. We’re exhausted. It’s getting dark and it’s icy. This is way too steep for someone who hasn’t been skiing in at least five years. What the hell was he thinking?

And I wasn’t just pissed at my brother; the chorus of inner critics had their cue. “You asshole, what were you thinking? You’re not ready for this! Everyone else here has been on moguls since before they were weaned.”

All notions of competence were out the window. I was no longer safe.

That night I lay in bed hugely fearful of the next day, when I had to get back in the saddle and go again. Here I was, an ocean away on a fabulously romantic adventure, and I was scared shitless. And disappointed with myself, because up until the end, I was feeling so damn good. That’s not how you’re supposed to spend a vacation in the Alps. What a waste!

And my partner picked up on it, too. He said, “You’re acting like you do when you’ve been hurt.” I wasn’t hurt; I was scared. But as far as he was concerned, the outcome was no different.

Of course skiing, like anything else, is at least partly a mental game. The next day, still scared, I panicked more than was necessary. Even back on the “easier” runs, I was wobbly and unsure and so focused on just making it down alive that the love for what I was doing was diminished.

Can you see where this is going?

I didn’t really need to kick my own ass.

Had I taken the cue that “hard as shit” might not be appropriate for the end of my first day of Alpine skiing, this story might have ended differently.

I would have joined my lovely sister-in-law for one last run down the easier slope, a gorgeous ride down the ski lift to the bottom, and a hot mug of spiced wine.

I would have ended that day confident, proud, and eager to start again the next day. And I’m convinced that I would have done better, felt better, and had the wherewithal to be fully present had I not disregarded my own boundaries.

And I did it because I thought I should. I thought that’s what I needed to do to take full advantage of being there.

How often do we do this? And in how many different ways?

If we’re in a conscious practice of gentle pushing past our comfort zone, it can be occasionally tempting to throw it all to hell and hurtle oneself way beyond what we know in our heart is an actual boundary.

And when that leaves us crumpled, fearful and full of new self-doubt, it is not a practice borne of self-love.

There’s a difference, I think, between this and the healthy fear that we can acknowledge and move through. Healthy fear can be an opportunity to move a bit beyond where we are; to push through into something bigger and better. But carelessly disregarding boundaries does not accomplish these aims. To the contrary, it wears us out, makes us less than we could otherwise become.

Respecting my own boundaries means that I have the willingness and confidence to come back again; to push the comfort zone out a bit more; to have even more to give tomorrow. It means that in the long run I’m more effective, because I’m working with where I am right now.

So, what do you think? Where could you show a bit more love for healthy boundaries?

So many of us here are leading double lives: between work and family, between a handful of jobs, between the demands of an internet-based business and everything else.

I too am leading a double life. I’m a birth doula.

I work with the Hudson Perinatal Consortium as a community doula. The program is funded by the state of New Jersey in part because doulas and continuous labor support have been shown time and again to improve birth outcomes (i.e., shorter labors with fewer complications and interventions and healthier babies) while cutting health care costs. Many women also find that doula support improves birth satisfaction and helps create empowering, positive memories of the labor and birth experience.

What’s a doula?

According to DONA, one of several national doula certifying organizations:

The word “doula” comes from the ancient Greek meaning “a woman who serves” and is now used to refer to a trained and experienced professional who provides continuous physical, emotional and informational support to the mother before, during and just after birth; or who provides emotional and practical support during the postpartum period.

A Doula:

• Recognizes birth as a key experience the mother will remember all her life
• Understands the physiology of birth and the emotional needs of a woman in labor
• Assists the woman in preparing for and carrying out her plans for birth
• Stays with the woman throughout the labor
• Provides emotional support, physical comfort measures and an objective viewpoint, as well as helping the woman get the information she needs to make informed decision
• Facilitates communication between the laboring woman, her partner and her clinical care providers
• Perceives her role as nurturing and protecting the woman’s memory of the birth experience
• Allows the woman’s partner to participate at his/her comfort level

After working in maternity care and childbirth advocacy for years, I now want to see the direct impact of my work improving another woman’s life.  And I’m very specific about the “woman’s life” piece.  Many childbirth advocates come to their work specifically aiming to improve infant care. I come to this work primarily driven to support women’s work, women’s reproductive choices, and ultimately women’s empowerment.

So too with my approach to virtual assistance.

The question I get all the time

“What’s the connection?”

It’s a fair question. Interestingly, none of the women business owners I work with as a VA have kids. (I suppose I should say that none have kids yet. My VA clients’ future childbearing plans aren’t part of my Get-to-Know-You call).  Together we think and talk about mailing lists, billing schedules, new webpages and ways to automate administrative tasks.

When I’m with my doula clients, we talk about comfort measures to get through the next surge and breathing the baby down. We talk about breastfeeding, oxytocin levels to promote mother-baby attachment, and Mother-friendly and Baby-friendly hospitals in the area.

Both types of conversations are about nurturing something you love into fruition, and strategizing like hell to make the process transformative and empowering. Both conversations require a commitment to stress reduction and taking good care of oneself.

And look, neither a doula nor a VA is the star of the show.  We do the behind-the-scenes work: we clean up databases, run errands, focus on what will make our client look and feel good.  We are the support structures that make the process more enjoyable, more fulfilling. Less stressful.  Healthier. And sure, life isn’t perfect; I’m not perfect; childbirth isn’t perfect. But it can be better.

Moms and business owners both experience shifts in their identity when life stretches to accommodate this big new piece. It can be stressful, frustrating, frightening, and overwhelming.

Doulas and VAs both offer resources, helpful pieces of information, support systems, advice and I’ve-been-there-before guidance and companionship. Personally, I thrive on opportunities to share what I’ve got in useful ways.

And, bonus, being a doula makes me a better VA. It helps me listen, empathize, communicate, lead compassionately and be present even when the shit hits the fan. It teaches me about the value of offering a calming presence and the importance of making sure my needs are met before I can offer support to others.

Likewise, being a VA makes me a better doula. It teaches me to problem-solve in creative ways, to use technology, online resources and online networking to get my clients what they need. It teaches me that my doula business is a business and therefore requires proper caretaking to grow and thrive.

What we do & who we are

Some folks are surprised when they hear that I’ve never experienced childbirth myself.  Right now I’m wrestling with my own ambivalences about parenting, even as I whole-heartedly support women in the process of becoming a parent themselves.

But is that so surprising? My VA clients are coaches, attorneys, and teachers. I don’t need to be a coach, attorney, or teacher in order to effectively help them with their work.  Similarly, when a client is having intense, painful surges, what matters is whether a doula can support her through them until her baby is in her arms, not whether she has a personal memory of what that experience is like.

So, ok, we’re all leading double lives. And maybe in the end, the mixing and mingling of those lives and roles ultimately makes us more whole people.

Acknowledging and appreciating these parallels transformed the way I think about my big picture. It makes me feel more confident, more in touch with myself.

(By the way, I have Lauree Ostrofsky to thank for gentle nudges and insightful questions that led me to this inquiry. Go find Lauree. She’s amazing.)

What double lives are you leading?