Being a woman of mixed ancestry, I’m blessed with a rich cultural background from my mother and father.  I am Indigenous from North America (U.S./Canada), Celtic, Norse, and of Germanic origin. My Indigenous heritage encompasses three tribes, Chippewa, Cree, and Metis, all of whom are represented within the Turtle Mountain Band of Chippewa community in North Dakota. I'm a certified artist with my tribe, Turtle Mountain, and I strive to give back to the community. 

Because both my paternal grandparents are Turtle Mountain, I have two ancestral Indigenous lineages. In 2002, my grandmother Mary Sayers wrote a book about her life. I am grateful to have experienced my history through her eyes, and that is where this story begins.

In 1893, Mary’s grandparents traveled by wagon from the Red River Métis community in Manitoba, Canada, to North Dakota, seeking a better life. Because they were (Chippewa/Cree), they were enrolled as citizens of the Turtle Mountain Band of Chippewa in North Dakota. Instead of residing on the reservation, which was unable to meet the needs of their community because of its small land base, the Bureau of Indian Affairs allotted them 160 acres of land in North Dakota near the Montana border, where the Missouri River meets the Yellowstone River. During the journey, Mary’s mother, Ernestine was born in a wagon.

Ernestine was also allotted land, but it was located in Montana. The government didn’t care to keep families close together. Ernestine and her two brothers went to public school. They were forbidden to have long hair or speak their Native language. If caught, they were beaten. The US Congress passed the Homestead Act, which provided acreage to settlers willing to improve and live off the land for 5 years. This opened up the Dakota Territory which at that time included land within the area of North Dakota, South Dakota, Montana, and Wyoming. A German man named Jack Winter and his family arrived from Minnesota to build their homesteads. The land they were given was the same allotted land Ernestine and her family lived on, yet no one at the time cared if Native land was given to non-Natives. Ernestine worked at the Fort Buford trading post that served Natives and new settlers. This is where Ernestine met Jack, and they fell in love and married in 1912 when she was 19. They built a tar paper shack on their shared allotted land and in 1920, my grandmother Mary was born. The Montana winters were harsh and lonely for the family. After Mary’s brother died from pneumonia, the family wanted to be closer to their Native family so they moved back to North Dakata.

Mary’s grandfather taught her how to live off the land. They were called Mooshum and Kookum, Anishinaabe words for grandfather and grandmother. Mooshum could not read or write and spoke little English yet he was a beautiful violin player. Their land was a stopping point for tribes sanctioned by the Bureau of Indian Affairs. At that time Native Americans had to have written permission to be off the reservation. Mooshum would mend their harnesses and wagons while they rested before continuing their journey.

Mary’s mixed heritage created challenges for her. She was often not allowed to play with other Native children who were called the “full-bloods” because they said she wasn’t good enough. She was also discouraged from playing with non-Native children who called her a “half-breed.” It forced the other mixed Indigenous families to support and commune with each other, which strengthened their unique community and culture. For fun, they would jig (dance) to instruments such as the fiddle or violin which was commonplace in Metis culture.

In 1936, at the age of 16, Mary was sent to a Native American boarding school called Chemawa in Salem, Oregon. The Bureau of Indian Affairs was putting pressure on Mary’s family to send her away. They were told it was for her education but it was the government’s way of separating Native families. During the train ride from North Dakota to Oregon, she met another young Native girl named Rosalie Sayers who was also Turtle Mountain Chippewa. She became her close friend and roommate. With regular bouts of asthma, Mary returned home after a year at boarding school. She recalled only learning two things well at boarding school: ironing a man’s shirt and making a bed. There were strict rules at school and unfair demerit systems that forced students, when punished, to do activities such as paste waxing and polishing floors, cleaning teachers’ homes, and watching their children.

Shortly after returning home from Chemawa, Mary received news that Rosalie Sayers had passed away due to complications of tuberculosis, a common illness picked up in boarding schools. She decided to visit the family in Medicine Lake, Montana, which was also allotted land through the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Communication was difficult because Mrs. Sayers spoke a French/Chippewa/Cree dialect, often referred to as the Michif language. During this time, Rosalie’s handsome older brother Joseph visited and was pleased to meet Mary. Soon after, they began courting, and in 1938, at the age of 18, Mary married my grandfather Joseph in Poplar, Montana, on the Fort Peck Indian Reservation as it was close to Medicine Lake.

Together, they had six children, including my father. They took residence on the reservation because Joseph worked for the Civilian Conservation Corps within their Native American department and as a foreman in mechanics for the National Guard. Mary worked at the tribe’s drive-in restaurant. As WWII intensified, the National Guard began looking for men in defense work. In 1941, Joseph and Mary moved to Bremerton, Washington because the Puget Sound Navy Yard was in need of men.

Life during the war was hard. My grandparents lived in a small 14’x14’ cabin with no running water. Eventually, Joseph bought a five-acre farm in Port Orchard, Washington, about twenty-five minutes from the Naval Shipyard. When the war ended, jobs were hard to come by. Once a welder for the shipyard, Joseph found himself working as a sweeper. When his former welding supervisor saw him pushing the broom, he asked what he was doing. Joseph replied, “I am feeding my family.” The next day Joseph was told to report immediately to the welding supervisor. He got his old job back and held onto it for 33 years until he retired.

In 1970, at the age of 50, Mary obtained her GED and went to work as a certified Native American Cultural Specialist, appointed by Indian Affairs in the Puget Sound area of Washington. Mary took classes from Northwest coastal tribal members and expanded her knowledge in the areas of basketry, botany, traditional food, and medicine. She enjoyed working for the school district teaching urban Native youth about Indigenous history, culture, and identity.

My father, Michael Sayers, went on to serve in the United States Air Force for four years, then obtained his B.A. in Art Science at Western Washington University. He taught for 32 years at South Kitsap High School with a primary focus in fine arts, Washington State history, Native American history, and Native American literature. He oversaw the creation of the first Native American student club. Since growing up in Western Washington, he cultivated a strong connection to Coast Salish culture which was an integral component in teaching high school local Indigenous history. He was fortunate to study Coast Salish art from Skokomish tribal leader and artist Bruce Miller. As an artist, his work also represents the plains lifestyle of Chippewa culture as they migrated west into the Dakotas and Montana.

It was during this time he met my beautiful mother, Dannie, who built a farmhouse and raised llamas, and in 1982, I was born. In the late 1980s, funding for Indian education changed drastically. Instead of rich cultural programming, students were quickly pulled during class for Indian education. As a student of these services, it felt more like the government’s effort to fill in checkboxes. Most of the time I found myself coloring Native American coloring books with the three other Native students at my school. This would be the first time I met my future husband, Jeremy, and the two of us were coloring next to one another, unbeknownst to me how our paths would cross again in the future. He, too, was an urban Native like me, his grandfather coming to the Naval Shipyard after serving in WWII on submarines. His grandfather was Prairie Band Potawatomi from Kansas, and his grandmother, Yankton and Sisseton Sioux and Assiniboine from Fort Peck.

In early 2016, Jeremy and I crossed paths again. Soon after, I decided it was time to move closer to Jeremy and my family. On September 23, 2017, Jeremy and I got married. We were unable to have children of our own, which greatly saddened me. I decided to channel energy and efforts into serving, supporting, and giving back to the Indigenous community.

 

The Resiliency Project is made possible by the Resiliency Blanket, designed by Native artist and owner of Soul Curiosity, Tessa Sayers. Her desire to give back to her indigenous community inspired the Resiliency Project, a partnership with the Turtle Mountain Band of Chippewa and Dr. Tami Jollie-Trottier, owner of GenerationArt. Believing in the power of art and its ability to help heal, 100% of the blanket profits support GenerationArt workshops meant to empower courage and resilience within the Turtle Mountain tribal community. The Turtle Mountain Band of Chippewa matches the total funds raised. Since November 2019, the blanket has raised over $26,000.

October 16-18, 2020, Soul Curiosity, in partnership with GenArt, Seven Stone Center For Behavioral Health & Healing and Beyond Buckskin, hosted a free virtual art workshop with Turtle Mountain Native youth ages 15-21. 

This three-day virtual healing and creative workshop guided youth in how to:

• Become more resilient
• Use art in resiliency healing
• Connect with culture in resiliency healing
• Find present thoughts and feelings
• Choose desired thoughts and feelings
• Identify a personal power word
• Design and make a resiliency blanket
• Write a resiliency story that is motivating and empowering

Youth left the workshop with their own blanket that was infused with inspiration to help guide a more balanced, confident, and resilient self. 

This workshop was made possible by the generous supporters of the Resiliency Blanket. All profits from the sale of this blanket were donated and matched by the Turtle Mountain Band of Chippewa. The collaboration between Tessa Sayers, Dr. Tami Jollie Trottier, Jessica Metcalfe, and Jona Peltier was a true uniting of indigenous women who wanted to give back and empower youth to heal and find their voice.

I got married on September 23, 2017. Besides being excited to get married, I was extremely excited to start trying for a baby. I honestly thought it would happen quickly. As a self-described go-getter and driven woman, I jump head-first into the things I really want. When it came to conceiving I had the motto "If you build it, they will come" attitude. I had my autoimmune system in a stable place, I was eating well, resting, reducing my stress, tracking my ovulation, and doing you know what. Check, check, and check.

As my Aunt Flow continued to make her monthly visit, I noticed the panic starting to settle in. What's wrong with me? Why am I not getting pregnant? What am I not doing right? Friends and doctors assured me that the average couple can take up to a year to get pregnant. I thought that these were strange statistics because everyone around me was getting pregnant rather quickly. It was everywhere, I mean everywhere. Baby everything—from social media to kid parties, to gender reveals and baby showers. Oh, and the ads on my Facebook... really? How does it know?

Getting married involves compromise. I chose to join my husband near our hometown which was a big adjustment from city life in Portland, Oregon. All of a sudden I was thrust into a family-centered culture. Everyone around me has kids... everyone but me. Meanwhile, my friends were busy being moms and they didn't have time for movie nights or day trips to the beach. I didn’t fault them for it, I just wanted to join this mommy club so I could be invited to kid parties and playdates too. 

There was one catch to being part of that club. I needed a kid and I couldn’t order one from Amazon Prime. When my friends got together they talked about all things baby. And they should! That was the reality, relevancy, and exciting nature of their world. I wanted to hear them. But, I just want to have stories of my own to share instead of the awkward, "Oh yeah, my dog Tule, she pukes everywhere too. Oh and her poop, yeah, I have to clean her butt all the time when it gets smashed into her butt hair, so I totally get your baby challenges." In my head, I immediately imagine the emoji of the girl who slaps herself in the forehead. “Did I just say that to my mom friends?”

I never realized the emotional roller coaster I would embark on trying to conceive. The highs of seeing that you ovulated, to the lows of Aunt Flow coming for another visit. You repeat this cycle month by month and the anxiety grows, and the feeling of hopelessness is hard to deflect. You try hard not to be sad, but you are. You put a smile on your face in front of your friends and family because you don't want to seem gloomy. You feel a sense of isolation and disconnect from the world around you, and feel guilty and ashamed for feeling that way.

The two-week wait is the worst. You can't take a pregnancy test for two weeks and on top of that, you can’t help but dwell on the potential of a human being growing in your belly. One of my biggest complaints about sharing my fertility struggles with others is someone telling me not to think about it during those two weeks. Um hello, there could be a human in my body and you are telling me not to think about that for two weeks?!

If you know someone who is struggling to get pregnant I would like to share some helpful tips on what not to say. 

1. “Don't think about it.”

We went over this one already. Especially in the two-week wait window. Come on, we are talking about a lifelong event happening in my uterus! It’s on my mind. 

 

2. “You haven't been trying that long if you think about it.”

This always seems to come from someone who conceived rather quickly. My first thought to myself is, "Yeah, you wouldn't know about that." And in case you haven't noticed, I'm entering my late 30s. 

 

3. “Don't stress about it, it will happen when you just go with the flow.”

You are right, let me check fertility stress off my morning to-do list. Done! Wow that was easy, how come you didn't mention it sooner? 

4. “Have a lot of sex all the time.”

Did I already mention I am not in my 20s anymore? 

 

5. “It will happen.”

Last time I checked you didn't have psychic abilities. Thank you for the confirmed confirmation, anything else exciting going to for sure happen in my future? 

 

6. “Women have babies in their 40s.”

That is great for women who want to be pregnant in their 40s. I, for one, am not one of them. And let’s not forget that the risk of miscarriage and abnormalities go up the older you get, and your chances of getting pregnant go down, with each passing cycle. My vision board doesn't have a grayed hair woman with a baby bump. 

7. “You have plenty of time.”

Hmm, actually I don't. But more importantly, I would love for my children to know who their grandparents are before they die. Plus, I would love for my kids to grow up with my friend's kids. But hey, maybe by then they could babysit mine.

 

8. “Just focus on other things in your life.”

I am trying. I am trying to focus on anything but the fact that I can’t get pregnant. Thank goodness for 90-Day Fiancé on TLC. At least I have a real husband, right? 

 

9. “There are medical interventions that could help you.”

There are really expensive options. Just thinking about that makes me want to cry, vomit, or both. Of course, I have $30,000+ in my shoebox for things like this, who doesn’t? 

Okay, so that was a tad dramatic but I hope you get the point. We understand you mean well, we really do. We know that you want nothing more for us to experience the joy of becoming a mom. The thing is, many times it makes us feel worse. Here are a few responses that might help validate and console someone struggling to conceive. 

"That must be really hard for you."

"I don't understand what you are going through, however if I was in your position, I would probably feel the same way."

"What can I do to be supportive?" 

A hug. No, really! Sometimes a sweet hug is all I need to know that someone hears me.

I hope this offers a new perspective on the struggles of infertility. Most women suffer in silence. Hey, we aren't even supposed to tell people we are pregnant until three months in. There are thousands of women doing everything in their power to get pregnant and each month the visit from Aunt Flow separates them further from that dream. This doesn't even address the women who experience miscarriages—something I have not endured myself—but I can't imagine being handed the gift of life, only to have it taken away. 

What I do know is this: I am sad, I am hurting, and I am working diligently on figuring out some of the potential barriers to conceiving. I also believe that sometimes there aren't any barriers; it just isn't the right time. I also believe that perhaps I was not meant to experience motherhood of a human child in this lifetime. I don't like to admit that, but I do believe it. I can check off the medical issues, but after that, it is truly a lesson of letting go. And with that letting go, a realization that I will get to be a mom, maybe just not in the way I originally envisioned. In the tough moments, I have to make a list of all the wonderful things I have in my life, and there are so many, yet they are easy to lose sight of when you're hyper-focused on something else. In those challenging moments, I have to remind myself how lucky I am to take a nap on a Saturday afternoon, or to binge-watch Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman each night with my puppies happily by my side. To come back to my art because, not only do I have the time, but more importantly, it is medicine for my soul. And to spend more time with my parents, because being a mom is demanding, and I’m lucky to have extra time to share with them. To my husband during this "waiting" period: let's go on adventures, let’s strengthen our marriage, let's do all the things we want before our life changes. Lastly, I have to remember that I am already a mom to two beautiful fur babies, a cat, and 12 chickens. 

I’m sending love to all the other women who can relate. If you need a virtual hug or to vent, I’m here. 

With Love,
Tessa