21emBODY

There’s a handful of things I remember very clearly about being in art school.

One of them was anatomy class and how much I loved to draw ribs.

If you dig deep into my studio closet you’ll find an old vinyl portfolio stuffed behind stretched canvases where these anatomical drawings still live.

For almost two straight years I received a professional massage every single Monday.

Colleen, my massage therapist at the time, was starting a catering business with her mother and I just happened to be ridiculously obsessed with throwing pottery back then.

We had a deal. A 90 minute massage in exchange for custom made pieces.

So each week I threw platters, bowls, plates, and cups with the sweetest of celadon glazes, for some of the most amazing massages I’ve ever received in return.

At the beginning of my third trimester I started having full blown panic attacks. They mostly came upon late at night, totally out of nowhere, and sometimes a bit terrifying.

One afternoon I told a dear friend of mine about it and she shared a breathing technique she thought might help.

I sat down in a chair, feet firmly planted on the floor, hands resting at my sides, eyes closed. As I slowly inhaled,