Sea Turtles and Tides

Our most recent trip to Florida coincided with Hurricane Erin skirting the coast and providing some much need energy for what are typically dog days in August. On an evening beach walk where a big tide was incoming I commented on how many of the sea turtle nests weren’t going to make it. In thinking about all of that work a mother sea turtle endures just to have her nest destroyed and washed away as if it had never existed broke my heart.

As we walked back toward the beach approach we noticed a small crowd gathering. There were a few surfers calling it quits as the light faded, and we figured folks were watching them. But then we saw them. Around two dozen baby sea turtles making their way toward a violent sea. The tide had come in signaling that it was time to go. Time to leave comfort, and safety in exchange for an unknown, and perhaps short future.

I don’t know how long we stood and watch these sea turtles, it didn’t matter. That moment felt more important than anything else in this world, and I had to laugh a little about that irony. How we can give time, and space for sea turtles, yet we are rarely willing to place that sort of importance on things in our own lives….

I’ve thought a lot about sea turtles lately. Sea turtles and tides.

On October 7th, 2017, after a second round of IVF I miscarried. Alone. There was no acknowledgement of loss from well…anyone, I was alone. So I told myself that while I felt completely devasted it really wasn’t a big deal, that this was part of life, that making a scene would only serve to make others feel uncomfortable. No one really knows what to do in the face of loss anyway. I told myself to celebrate the births of new babies in our extended family, be helpful, don’t be a burden. Silly, but hurtful comments were made, “…and I thought YOU would be the one to have twins,” to which I responded by shrinking further into myself and ultimately trying to disappear; continuing to tell myself that nobody was making insensitive remarks or ignoring me out of malice, so any hurt I felt as a result was weakness on my part… this really wasn’t a big deal.

I started drinking, not heavily just a cocktail or three a night. Quickly recognizing it could become a problem, I picked up ultra running. I’ve run a lot of miles trying to escape this darkness. To find things, and people in my life that were actually a big deal. It wasn’t enough, I added surfing, and freediving to my repertoire. Hoping, praying, begging for just a few minutes outside of my own fucking brain. But I’ve run a lot of miles, surfed (and not surfed) waves I had no business being out in, and have held my breath for a long time. All of it to realize that that moment, that loss, that grief was in fact a big deal and deserves acknowledgement.

I eventually named her. This loss, this miscarriage… my baby. Her name is Ebb. The ebb tide is the low, the fall in ocean movement. It is not generally associated with the more beautiful parts of ocean life. It is however, when the ocean reveals her secrets, she lets her guard down and exposes her most vulnerable wards. I wish you were here, who would you have been, and oh how my life would have been different. I’m not sure I would have named her Ebb had she come to land, she was never meant to be here anyway… she is a moment in time.

I’ve come to recognize these last eight years of my life as an ebb. I’ve discovered a lot about myself, and what people are capable of. The power of loss exposed parts of me I didn’t know existed; there’s a monster within us all. I’ve grown comfortable in this space of fighting an outgoing tide, but it’s time for a change, an incoming tide. For energy, for waves filled with fresh oxygen to revitalize and carry this jetsam out to sea.

On September 12th, 2025 we will let go of our remaining embryos. We will walk up to a lake high in the mountains, breath fresh, clean air and recognize the importance of these little creatures before the tide comes in. To give them the time and space that didn’t feel allowed before… together.

Life is full of ebb and flow. The energy of these cycles are too powerful to fight, and so learn to move with them, to let go.