Past Life Karma, Cats, and 10 Gentle Ways to Encourage Your Milk Supply

Here for the milk supply tips, not the life story? Scroll to the bottom to find them.

Becoming a Mother

I’m officially a mom. Just like that — four months went by and I had a baby.

I mean… I know motherhood is one of the most ancient rites of passage in the life of a human woman. Actually, in the life of all females on Earth — mammals, birds, reptiles, fish, amphibians. You could even argue it’s one of the central continuations of life itself.

And yet.

As I sit here blogging it up, with a little one at my breast, his head tucked perfectly into the crook of my arm, it all feels wildly surreal.

Sacred. Ordinary. Cosmic. Exhausting.

Lately the self-reflection I have on my life is one of living in paradox — and motherhood feels both primal and brand new. Ancient and personal. Beautiful and completely overwhelming… sometimes all before lunch.

Izzy at 3 weeks old.

The First Unexpected Challenge

The last three weeks have been full of baby “firsts.” While having been a nanny for over a decade, many of the tasks themselves feel familiar — save for one or two.

For example, I’ve learned that changing your own baby’s diaper is somehow significantly less gross than anyone else’s.

Smart biology, I guess.

Plus breastfeeding — which I’ve never done before — has been my biggest challenge thus far.

When My Milk Didn’t Come In

My breasts don’t make enough milk.

When Izzie was three or four days old and I realized it, I was gutted. Teary-eyed at any given moment. And as I became present with my emotions, I felt like I’d been punched straight in the heart chakra — my survival instinct in full failure mode.

Dramatic? Maybe.

But also deeply primal — and, as other mothers in this circumstance would likely attest to, so deeply real.

An ancient alarm bell started ringing: If I can’t provide the most basic need for my child, how will I provide for the rest — especially as a single mom? When even the most innate thing doesn’t feel like a given, the fear gets loud.

My body had somehow missed the memo on the one job it was supposedly “designed” to do — and I was left standing there, heart open, wondering how something so natural could feel so unavailable.

And yes… painfully ironic.

In a world embedded with toxicity and artificial substitutes, I had spent over a decade trying to live as naturally as possible.

And yet, here I was.

Widening the Lens

So I took a breath and decided to move into the spiritual layer of the experience — which helped immensely. And by spiritual, I mean subtle. The kind that requires widening the lens.

I began to consider karma. Soul threads. The larger arc of this life. I leaned into living through the heart — choosing meaning-making as my anchor and asking: What is being balanced here? Something in me quieted. And I remembered the threads.

A Memory From Years Earlier

A memory from years earlier surfaced — something I had almost forgotten.

During a meditation retreat, a quiet voice once said something to me that made absolutely no sense at the time: “I’m not incarnated yet. I’m going to be your child.”

At the time I filed it away under mystical experiences that are either deeply profound… or slightly questionable. And then as the years passed I forgot about it completely.

But we’ll get to that part of the story.

Living a Soul-Led Life

Before I share the memories that helped soothe my washed-out new-mom hormones (and my psyche), I want to speak to something bigger — what it means to live a soul-led life.

When we wake up to the soul level of who we are — one could say literally, not just as an idea — past lives and karma become part of the lens through which we view life.

The moral frameworks many of us were raised with — Christianity in my case — overlap with spiritual development in many beautiful ways.

But expanding our perception beyond one lifetime adds nuance. It complicates the simple right-and-wrong narratives we’ve all become accustomed to. Because the right and wrongs many of us understand from the outside looking in aren’t always sophisticated enough to balance the compounded nature of our inner karma — what you might call the soul baggage each of us carries in our own unique way.

And when you start looking at life through that lens, certain experiences begin to make a little more sense.

Why Becoming a Single Mother Made Sense for Me

For someone who's walked in similar shoes, choosing to become a single mother at 37 — without emotional pain or baggage from the past, I might add — may seem unconventional.

But after some deep introspection, I've come to see it as a healing pathway.

One that helps balance my karma.

A biological father exists, of course, but in many ways he feels more like an accidental sperm donor. And to put it quaintly… it’s probably the only way I would have chosen to have a child in this particular season of my life.

The Puzzle Pieces

About ten years ago I was deep into Vipassana retreats. I’ve done five in total, and in the one right in the middle I was leaning into what I called the numbness in my heart.

I could literally feel it — it was hard to access emotionally, and I had limited mobility in the back of my left shoulder blade.

It became such a big investigation in my spiritual life that I eventually wrote a book exploring it's themes — which, I might add, you can conveniently purchase just to the right of this webpage.

Back then I was also obsessed with the idea of twin flames.

The Voice I Heard During Meditation

One day I was sitting on a bench overlooking a field of golden grass, watching a mother deer and her baby grazing quietly nearby.

I asked the universe — God — the unseen — wherever you believe guidance comes from: “Where are you?” Meaning my soulmate.

And what I heard next, gently, from just above and slightly to my left, made me burst into tears. “I’m not incarnated yet. I’m going to be your child.”

A Memory From Another Time

Later, while living on the Canadian west coast, another memory surfaced during meditation, and which has resurfaced many times since — a past-life image of me in a small cabin in the forest.

I was a healer. Or what some might have called a witch. And I was angry. I remember pacing my small one-room dwelling in the woods, waiting to be killed. I knew I was being hunted. And I wasn’t afraid. Just empowered… and furious.

The Memory Returns

Then six months ago, when I was four months pregnant, another layer surfaced. A family trigger bringing it back.

My immediate family is extremely close — in a soul-tied kind of way — and as I quietly scurried to the old cabin at the back of our property to feel the imminent pain away from judging eyes, I noticed something strange.

The cabin was remarkably similar to the one in my memory. It was at least a century old; something my father had relocated and fixed up.

And this time as I leaned into the discomfort, something felt new.

A new layer of pain.

In my familiar memory I realized that it was not only me they were coming for. I also had a child. A baby. They would kill me and take him… somewhere beyond my knowledge. Somewhere difficult, I’m sure.

Eventually I dried my eyes, regained my composure, and walked the three-minute trail up the lawn to the driveway. And in the quiet after that experience, another realization began to form.

If a part of my soul carried the memory of such terror — of having my child taken from me, of not knowing what would become of him — then perhaps it wasn’t so surprising that becoming a mother in this lifetime came with resistance.

After all, if I had once faced men coming to my door to take the most precious thing in my life away… of course a part of me might hesitate before stepping into motherhood again.

And of course my body might mirror that. Our bodies are wise — quiet living maps of who we are and who we have been.

And maybe, from a soul-level, fate had to find a slightly unconventional way to make me a mom this time around.

As these puzzle pieces began to settle into place, my earlier struggles with low milk supply started to make a different kind of sense. I don’t know about you, but when my mind finds peace with a story — when scattered realizations begin to form a clearer picture — the rest of me relaxes too.

With a quiet understanding, my heart softened to the blow of not being able to provide milk for my little one.

And while my soul was busy connecting dots across lifetimes, my newborn was busy having his very first adventures.

Back to the Present

Izzie had his first lunch out with Grandma and me.

His first car ride.

His first midwife appointment outside the womb.

He met the family pets — horses included. Shanti, my cat familiar, surprised me the most. She's stepped boldly into her new role as quiet guardian. If I’m in the room when he cries, she’ll spring away in milliseconds. But if I’m not there?

She stays.

Head lifted. Ears alert. Watching him like a tiny fuzzy security guard.

Usually I’m just in the kitchen prepping a bottle or sneaking in a quick shower. That’s the beauty of a small apartment in this season of life.

I’m never far from my babe.

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*In the end, I never did make enough milk for my little one to be breastfed full time — but Lord knows I gave it a good try. I could have kept pushing it too, but the freedom of formula gave me more time and energy to be a better mom in other ways. So that became the current I allowed to carry me.

On paper, breast is best. But life comes with limitations, and circumstance to circumstance, we all find our own way to be the best mothers we can be in a 2026 world.

For me, doing the first-hand research and trying everything under the sun — until I eventually reach my own self-created surrender town — is what helps me let go and move forward in moments like this one.

And from that journey I'm sharing with you these insights.