What's Sitting Inside

Amy Morrison • September 30, 2023

Ultimately I wanted to write a love story for The Patternhood logo. And like many great stories, it has it's origins in darkness...


Many years ago, I found myself in a place, physically and emotionally, where I felt utterly disconnected. I was living in my birth-country, but felt like I was living in a foreign land.

We had moved to a different time zone and somehow that one-hour difference felt like a century to my soul. I met people who had many, many generations of roots growing in that town’s soil—some family root systems were so thick that they were what seemed to be holding the entire town together.


The rootedness of the general population alone was very different for me; my childhood involved three different moves between two states. This happenstance wanderlust somehow followed me into adulthood too, as this location was my sixth state. But even deeper, I felt that I wasn’t accepted in this place. I was seen as a city girl, despite being raised in a small midwestern town. My ideas were either too big or too rigid depending upon who I talked to and what the topic was. Fitting in socially--as an outcast adult--was a brand-new experience for me and honestly, it rattled me a bit.


Navigating the terrain for myself was one challenge, but on top of it I was thrust into stay-at-home motherhood. So, in addition to my own questions about the area, I was also shielding, guiding, and trying to find some acceptance on behalf of my three-year old, Quinn.


Fast forward a few years later when I was homeschooling said child and we came across a labyrinth on our way to the library. We stopped our bikes and explored it. I marveled at how many times we’d gone past and not noticed the garden area that contained the sweet little labyrinth. Walking the small rock-lined spiral gave me a morsel of peace that I didn’t know I could find among that town.


A short time later I was told about a walking-meditation trail in the hills. A local man had built a public (but secretive) hiking trail on his property with scenic lookout spots and contemplative “stations” along the loop. One of these areas included a large walking labyrinth among the forest. It instantly became our favorite place.


Walking those curves and turns, seeing the patterns of this design overlap the path of my own life, was soul awakening.


Explaining this design, and the metaphysical relationship of it, to my child was transformative.  


Watching my child walk the curves and turns, and contemplate the life that lay ahead, was the closest thing I’ve come to participating in a spiritual ceremony.


It was majestic and magical combined and left an imprint on my spirit.


Many years later we moved again.


I was at the beach this time and found a broken conch shell. Most people don’t even bother to pick up a shell if it’s broken, but I saw that familiar spiral design and was as mesmerized as the time I came upon that first labyrinth.


I loved how exposed the inside was.


I loved seeing the parts of the shell that were typically unseen.


I loved understanding that it was only because it was broken that I could see how the creature, who once lived inside it, was protected.


I loved seeing the beauty in something others had discarded or ignored.


Mostly, I loved that it reminded me of that beautiful place in the hills and the journey of discovering myself.


From that day forward, I started collecting intriguing shells with spirals. I have a special jar in my office where I keep these beautiful reminders of life.


A labyrinth is said to relate to the soul’s journey to the inner world. A spiral design is thought to be a symbol of a rebirth. These are ancient and sacred designs, often used in meditation and/or prayer work. Self-discovery work typically follows a curving circular motion, so the spiral can be thought of as a metaphor for life’s work. Following the meandering path inwards, we expose the protective elements and find what’s sitting inside. Or as Cheryl Crow sings, “Everyday is a winding road. I get a little bit closer…to feeling fine.”


And that's why, and how, it came to be the image for The Patternhood.


I share all this not to intimidate you or make the coaching work seem heavy, but to let you know I’m not afraid to walk this path with you. We’ll go on the journey together…we’ll explore and unravel your spiral to find the heart of connection. I’m here for you. 


~ajm


By Amy Morrison September 26, 2025
In my early 20’s, I lived in the heart of a big, vibrant city, freshly transplanted from a midwestern town. I was very newly married and I worked with kiddos who were impacted by a life-threatening illness or condition. By the time I was 26, I had graduated with a Master’s Degree in Child Development. I share those stats because, by most accounts, I had all the boxes checked for what might be the basis for a stable home for a child. But checked boxes doesn't always equate, or even predict, success. {Note: It’s cool if you did become a parent in your twenties or younger. I’m just sharing hindsight about why this worked out in my favor, k? No hate talk, because what I’m about to tell you is personal and flows with science and it’s not okay to mock either one of those things here. Thanks for understanding…carrying on with your reading.} Although I didn’t have the young girl fantasies of playing house or being a mom, it wasn’t that I was against that path either. I just didn’t see myself on it. (That’s because I didn’t know all the different roads that might lead to motherhood… but that’s for another post.) I spent most of my second decade of life doing what many people in their twenties do; learning how to be an employee, navigating all the responsibilities of living away from anything and anyone I knew, figuring out how to be in relationship with another adult, sharing space with that person, making sense of what overlapped between us and what didn't, and reacting to all of it. There are some moments I look back at now and cringe. I blame my behavior on being young, naïve, unexperienced, and desperate. I’m bagging on myself, but I’m not alone in this. Most people in this age group are blissfully unaware of what unhealthy patterns they carry, how they show up in relationships, and how to rebuild the hurting parts of themselves. In my twenties (and maybe even beyond), I just didn’t know myself yet. And that's why I'm glad motherhood came later for me. That twenty-something version of myself didn’t know the power of empathy yet. Sure, I had plenty of compassion, but I didn’t know my conditioned beliefs yet, because I wasn’t—couldn’t be--reflective at that time. I didn’t yet have the skills to take care of my inner child, let alone a real life child. Oh sure, I had the degree from the well-respected institute, but inner knowledge? Nope. You see, the brain takes approximately two and a half decades to fully mature. Researchers say anywhere between ages 24-28 is when the prefrontal cortex finally gets fully established. Skills like impulse control, planning, and judgement are handled in this part of the brain. These higher-order skills require higher-order processes. This all takes time (plus experiences) to develop. And it’s not like we get notification when the maturation is complete like we do with a software update. So hindsight and reflection is how we monitor our inner growth. We sometimes forget that young twenty-year olds are still in the developmental process. They’re still ripening. And, I’d argue that until the brain has finished cooking, we’re still trying on different costumes in life. We’re role playing a bit until we hit a point where our systems are ready to do the reflective and insightful work related to self-awareness. (And, yes, some people go their whole lives never even considering to do this work. But, if you're reading this, that's not you.) Becoming a parent is big responsibility. It takes resources. And not just financial—emotional--resources that call upon the higher order brain. Interestingly, the minimum age to adopt from some countries is around 30 years old. Coincidence? Perhaps not. What I know now, five decades in to life, is that becoming a parent in my 30’s allowed me time to grow. I’ll be honest, in some ways I envy the 20-something parents. They have energy. They’re more agile physically and mentally—they haven’t built as many rigid patterns yet. But if I had a chance to do it all over, have the same child, but at an earlier time in life, I wouldn’t do it. For me, and so many others I’ve coached, motherhood has really been the beginning of a personal quest to finding my core self. Not just about raising and walking alongside a child, but also re-raising and walking alongside myself, my inner child, and even my own parents and their inner-child-states. It gave me perspective to see the "why" behind my actions. I became aware of my auto-pilot mode. And I learned how to sort through my patterns and set aside the ones I’ve collected, but no longer need to carry throughout the years. I believe that children arrive in our lives at just the right time. But that “right time” can sometimes not make sense until much later. For anyone who's ever worried that they waited “too long” or have heard it’s “too late” to be a parent, maybe this post will resonate with you. Peace and love.
By Amy Morrison September 8, 2025
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