What a bloody dramatic title! I know… but hear me out.
Many of the (mostly) women I’ve spoken to in this past year are either in some kind of pain or on autopilot, surviving the days and making life work for their families.
All of these people are incredible humans.
All of them care deeply about those they love.
All of them want a better future for our children.
And yet, they – like me – are often either in survival mode or feeling the pain of everything going on so deeply that despair threatens.
But I think there’s a lot of power in that… if we are brave enough to use it.
Every single time we’ve spoken about this pain collectively, my heart has felt safer, and the weeks afterwards have felt lighter. Like a sharing of the load.
Every time I share my survival state, or my overwhelm, it lessens – and every time I offer solidarity or sit in space, the same is true.
I listened to an analogy that said, if you go into the woods with a friend and fall and break a leg, the pain will stop you in your tracks. You’ll wait for help, because someone is there but if you have the same fall alone, your brain would block out the pain so that you could hobble to safety.
It’s the same with our collective pain – regardless of where it stems from. As the planets shift and there’s more talk of revolution and reclaiming; I think that it is in the feeling of our pain, and the sharing of it that we will build the communities we need.
Community care is far more essential that the current self-care society wants us to believe. If we can share our pain and hold each other in community, we become like the person in the woods waiting for help, protected by the pain we are feeling.
It’s messy, but it gives me hope. How does it make you feel?
A few weeks ago I had the honour of going to the woods, sharing tea and crafting a story of vulnerability, sacredness, and a reclamation of power. Before we started, we spoke a while and the depths of this shoot were clear, it wasn’t just about getting naked in the woods … it was sacred. It was about self love, worthiness, joy, grief, pain and pride. It was a reclamation.
I delivered the gallery for these the other day, and I’ve been thinking a lot about how the images I caught tell a story. A story in many ways about power.
It isn’t that we lose our power as women, but often that it is reshaped, molded, and flattened into something that just doesn’t align with us anymore.
This shoot was a reclamation of that power
A “fuck you” to the idea of staying small
An full body acknowledgement that we are sacred just because we exist
A rebirthing
Because while we cognitively can ‘do the work’ and tell ourselves that we’re okay, there is an incredible shift that comes when we lie in the earth and let ourselves be held in nature.
These images are a few from our time dancing in creation; they are deep, profound storytelling images… and I’m really proud of them.
From a shedding of layers to a reflection on what’s been learned, and dancing into new directions on your own terms. These images are in more than one way a message, to give ourselves the grace of processing, to honour the time and journeys we go on, and to ultimately find ways to put on our armour and take the roads less travelled – because there we can find our magick.
As always, thank you for reading, it means so much to me that you’re here.
The way a baby is born impacts them on some level for their whole life.
The way they are born. The people around them. The environment they enter this world into.
Baby’s born into war carry that, (if they survive) into the life they live and it physically alters the DNA of their decendants. This has been heavily weighing on my mind this week, as we watch the events in the middle East unfold- with little to no voice given to the reality birthing women and babies are facing.
Baby’s born into immense privilege carry it too… though not always in the ways we might assume. Privilege often equates to a certain amount of resources over and above others. In the birth world, it’s a little more nuanced than that.
Assuming that you’re birthing outside of a war zone then; what impact does the environment of birth really have? It matters deeply, not just for babies but for mothers and partners too.
We cannot prepare for the future without embracing the meaning and the relevance of the baby’s perspective on life.
-Michel Odent
We know that mothers birthing in supported environments where they feel safe and nurtured pass this information on to their babies. The same is true for mothers who birth in conditions of big T and little t trauma. From hospitals to birthing centers to home births, the space you birth will shape everything from the medical interventions used to the emotional atmosphere surrounding your birth. After numerous conversations about why thinking about this as early on as possible matters, I thought I’d write a little on it.
Choosing where to give birth is a deeply personal decision. The assumption that everyone has the information and resources to choose the way they want is one I just cannot make. Socio-economic factors come into play, race, ethnicity and culture too. In the UK (at least at the time of writing in 2024), you can legally choose where you birth, and that choice can absolutely impact the way your birth story plays out.
Ultimately, its your choice, so get informed! There are far too many women told they can only birth in hospital when truly they do have other options. Equally, if the idea of birthing anywhere outside a hospital gives you shudders, then planning that ahead matters.
I want to preface the next few passages by highlighting that ultimately I believe every single baby comes earthside in the way they need to, with their unique birth resourcing them in various ways.
What are your options?
Hospital, Birth Centre, Home. I won’t chat freebirth, that’s for another day.
Hospitals are the high tech options, sold to us as high safety, but also the space where the highest levels of birth trauma exist. Hopstials are supposed to be safe – and when they work, they are a blessing. More and more though, especially for women who have no or low ‘risk’ factors the hosptial birth story isn’t a happy one.
Hospitals represent the standard choice for childbirth, they are normalised in the media we consume right from childhood, and other spaces are considered ‘alternative’ or even a little radical. There are an array of medical interventions and expertise available, with health care professionals and a full range of technology on hand to monitor baby and mother throughout labour. There’s access to all sorts of interventions and pain relief options, and of course surgery.
While a cesarean birth can be lifesaving; for many of us in the birth world, we can see that it is the interventions prior that snowballed a healthy birth into an emergency. The conveyor belt system of induction and cesarean births is all a bit too neatly boxed up; and it takes away from the rite of passage birth physiologically is.
Hospital births are often a ticket to the trauma train because procedure trumps real life experience, and women are often gaslit, ignored, or violated. Circling back to babies, this also means babies are being ignored, assaulted and sent the information that the world is scary and unsafe.
Birth is nearly never an emergency, but sometimes it is. If you need to prioritise safety with medical resources, then a hospital birth is a blessing.
If you don’t… Read on.
A birth centre/midwife unit:
Birth centres are often described as kind of like the middle ground between hospital and home. They’re quieter, often offer a pool, can have the lights dimmed and try to be as warm and cosy as possible. Most birth centers will try to encourage birth to be as intervention free as possible, and I’ve heard of some beautiful birth stories with supportive staff in them.
However, with the ever increasing agenda to streamline birth (and yes this is the agenda), more birth centres are being closed or told they can’t operate fully because of staffing levels. Midwife units cannot support birthing women if they aren’t supported themselves; which means being able to access these is getting harder. Added to this is the fact most of them are for babies being born physiologically with little / no risk, and will turn away women who don’t their box.
This isn’t without reason, birth centres aren’t equipped to navigate emergencies or complications, and so err on the slide of caution. Birth centres can be some of the most beautiful, supportive and nurturing spaces, and midwives often go above and beyond to make them so… but they need to be given the resources for that to happen.
Home births:
For a healthy woman, the first intervention in birth and labour is leaving home. This is something I learned only after my 2nd child, and having had both hospital and home births myself, it is something I wholly believe to be true. As a woman, I know my homebirths were far more positive than my hospital ones, and I only got here through research and experience.
As a doula who wholeheartedly supports informed choices, I will never tell a potential client where to birth, but I will absolutely encourage you to really think about what that means to you.
Homebirths are growing in popularity, becoming something many mothers return to. I don’t see this as a a coincidence, it is a remembering. A remembering that sovereign birth is something we all have the right to. A return to reclaim the power of birth. Homebirths are in the comfort of your own space, so autonomy comes more naturally. You aren’t entering someone else’s space, they are visiting yours as a support system for you.
You can choose the environment, the lights the music etc, and if you decide you want to transfer, then that’s okay. It’s a choice you make. For first time mothers, there’s evidence to say that home births are far less traumatic, bonding feels easier and healing is quicker. Because in your space, generally speaking you feel safer, therefore all these processes don’t need to be big and hard, they can flow with ease. You can take breaks, chill out, zone out, and rest without interruption or inspection. There’s a reason mammals find/create dark quiet spaces for birthing, it is a primal instinct to do so. Humans like to think we are different, but hardly so.
Before I sign off, I have a question for you. Did you birth in more than one of these settings? What were your experiences of thr difference ? If you feel called to and safe to share, get in touch. I’d be honoured to hear from you.
A couple weekends ago we went down south to visit family and celebrate my MILs birthday. Naturally there’s a WhatsApp chat where all the photos were shared from the weekend, and one of the gems captured was this one.
It’s me yeah, showing one of my nieces how to use the camera. Not for the first time, she expressed a little interest and it was a real moment of joy to see her get excited about it. A little later, one of my nephews really didn’t want to get in the big family photo so I asked him to help me before we both ran in for it. It might have only been a second but it was a big win for me to share something with him, because I really don’t get enough time to know these family members deeply.
Anyway, when I saw this photo I had a memory come up, and then my husband asked me when I first knew I wanted to be behind the camera instead of in front of it. I stumped me, because I really don’t think there was a specific moment I knew, it’s just been something I grew into.
There were a lot of us over the weekend. Lots of adults, and lots of kids ranging from teens to my tiny baby. It was loud and busy, so of course my camera came with. Over the years it’s always been by my side for big days out, or when I know there’s the potential of overwhelm, because getting creative is a way for me to connect with myself and regulate my nervous system.
I’ve done this for as long as I can remember, from years watching my dad do the same as I grew up, it was a natural progression for me to get involved with him and hide behind the camera too. Of course, now I understand that’s what I’m doing, but back then, it was just what felt good in my body. It was a beautiful way to connect with him over art and it was an easy excuse to take a minute in a crowd.
My dad would bring his camera to group outings or on the family holiday. He’d snap pictures of us out with friends or document events on Gibraltars National Day while everyone else mixed in the crowd. I remember looking for him, and knowing 9 times out of 10, I’d find him behind the camera. Back then (ancient times I know!) he would upload the images onto the computer and spend hours creating slide shows of our adventures, and then sharing it a week or few later with everyone who was there. Now with my own kids and the progress of phone tech, when we see him, I can guarantee I’ll have beautiful photos sent to me without the wait. He’s visiting in a few weeks, and I’ve asked him to bring his camera.
I have picked mine up and put it down so many times over the year, finding that when life feels overwhelming, I can get creative and artistic behind my lens. Now I’m intentionally choosing to do it both when things feel good and when they don’t. Last week I had the privilege of capturing a birthday celebration walk, and this week I’m excited to be trying something new with a friend (watch this space for an update). Asking my dad to bring his camera is another one of those intentional moves.
I think about how my kids see me, hiding behind the camera and creating stories with it. It looks different to the way my dad did, but it’s something I am proud to be passing on. The chance to pause, reflect, capture and create … and then get those creations printed out to tell stories on our walls.
The day we ate apples on the beach after driving 10 hours Working together on a woodland walkThe day we got ready for babyBath time stories
And so many more…
I thought about how when I started to say that I was “hiding behind the camera” I felt a sense of guilt and shame, but actually, I’m not hiding selfishly. I’m gifting myself pauses, I’m gifting myself creation spaces, and I’m gifting my future self the magick captured in moments we’d otherwise forget.
When I had my first child over 7 years ago, I had never heard of birth photography. I had the idea that I wanted to see my baby being born, and I asked if I could have a camera set up. I didn’t really understand why I wanted to, all I knew was it felt deeply important to me.
The hospital I was birthing at said no. I didn’t argue. I didn’t know how.
That birth, my first child, was traumatic in a number of ways and I’ve worked hard to heal my memories surrounding it. Still, I wish I had photos of it. I wish I could see the woman I was in those moments.
Alas, I cannot.
But I learned my lesson. When I fell pregnant again, I spoke to my partner about wanting to hire a photographer, and so we did.
I looked for a local photographer because at that time, nearly 5 years ago, birth photography wasn’t as popular as it is today. We found one who I trusted and got on with, and she agreed to venture out of her normal photography niche and capture my birth. Those photos are some of the most profound ones I have from that time. Unfortunately, my daughter was ready before anyone else, and the moment I craved capture of, was missed.
Still, having the details like the song she was born to, the pictures of me holding her as I stood up, blood dripped down my legs, cord still attached. They are frozen in time, ready to transport me back. They are a gift from my past self, and they are a gift to my future self too. Moments I have to hold forever.
When I got those images I knew that I wanted to give this to other families. I wanted to capture the rawness of these moments, and the intimacy of saying hello for the first time.
We say that you never forget the birth of your baby, and yes in part it’s true. But memories do fade. Time robs us of details. The haze of motherhood buries the deeply vulnerable early hours postpartum.
Documenting them feels like being able to save a sliver of one of life’s most powerful periods. Giving that to others is a privilege and honour.
When I had my 3rd baby, I hired another birth photographer. We planned a homebirth but ended up freebirthing. She documented the minutes I worried I wouldn’t be able to birth my baby, and she captured the moment where he was between worlds, head here, body not yet earthside, me, a portal.
In the months afterwards where I felt like I was drowning, the photographs she gave us reminded me that I could do the hardest things and survive.
Birth photography isn’t a trend, or just a photo to post on Instagram. It’s powerful, and healing far beyond what we may realise at the time.
Would I recommend it? A big YES! Not only because I do it, but because so many women I’ve spoken to have said, nomatter how their births have gone, they would have loved more images. Those who have them, treasure them deeply.
Baby’s are only born once after all, and no two births are the same.
From the moment of your conception right until the moment you are reading this, you have been absorbing and filtering information. You’re doing it right now too. Every second of every single day.
It’s actually really fucking amazing – and, it means, we have a LOT of conditioning to work through whenever we try to break a cycle or move through some shit.
In terms of birth, what does this mean? We’re not constantly thinking about birth (unless you work in the field) or about how babies come into the world. We don’t actively consider the sacred period of postpartum days. We don’t consciously create a negative or traumatic birth. Why would we?
And yet, the percentage of women who experience birth trauma is rising. It is scary and getting scarier. The maternity services in this country (the UK) are deeply overwhelmed, understaffed, and failing. Arguably this is because of funding and politics and a lack of knowledge etc etc. However, I’ll go a step in a different direction here and say it’s also because we are so deeply conditioned in this society to think about birth a medical problem, a painful experience, and something that we have to survive.
We are conditioned from the moment our parents find out we exist; their thoughts and fears and joys about our birth will transmit information to us, in utero, about what birth is like. Then, our actual entrance into this world either confirms these beliefs that have begun to form, or it challenges them. Either way, beliefs are created- often in the last few generations they were not positive ones.
It might sound a little weird but if you get it, you really do get it. These imprints are the first of many foundational layers of our whole belief system. Every single second. Every single day. It’s all absorbed and filtered.
So then, we hear about birth, we hear screams of labour on the tv, or family and friends talking about the pain and trauma. We grow up with messages that birth isn’t beautiful, that it is bloody and breaks us, and so we fear it.
Generations have birthed under the controlled “guidance” of professionals reinforcing these views that birth isn’t safe or joyful or sacred.
Granted there are exceptions, and someone will say that it’s “not all” but it doesn’t have to be all. It’s some. It’s a majority. And if you have any other racial or economic cards stacked against you, its even more.
Like I said earlier, we don’t consciously create a negative or traumatic birth. However we often do consciously create (also referred to as manifesting) a positive birth experience. How? By filtering out the noise. By deconditioning our expectations of birth.
There are some radical revolutionaries out here doing this work. Deconditioning birth and postpartum, and inviting as many families as we can do the same. Those of us who have seen, heard and sometimes even felt the trauma that can be associated with birthing babies into this world; taking our experience and expertise and molding it into something we share. We are here, and we want better for our collective decendants.
We are here breaking the cycle. Saying no more, doing this sacred work of holding these spaces. Saying enough. Saying the conditioning stops here.
I invite you, regardless of where you are in the experience of birth – having had babies or wanting them, not interested in kids or somewhere in between – what are your beliefs about birth? Where have you been conditioned and where have you consciously created these views?
I’ve been thinking about birth plans a lot recently. About how we approach them as a society, how women are often told one of 2 things – that they must make one for their team to be on the same page, or not to bother because nobody’s going to read it anyway. Birth is treated like a ‘to do list’ activity, with no real consideration of the humans it involves.
I’ve been thinking about how these 2 polarising options presented to mothers-to-be are focusing on how birth plans are impacting other people. They are either necessary for autonomy and choices to be honoured- but are they? Or they are a hinderence and going to be ignored. Neither of these give any consideration into how a pregnant woman (and their partner) is impacted by creating these plans.
So who is a birth plan for truely, if not for the person who’s body is actually going to open and bring life earthside?
Heres my twopence.
Your birth plan isn’t for your team. It isn’t pointless. It doesn’t have to be meticulously planned. Your birth plan can be scribbled on a notebook, voice noted into an app, created with deliberate and careful care, or anything in between.
Whether you’re planning a freebirth, home birth, hospital birth or an elective cesarean, making a plan is one of those things that comes up as a “must do” while you prep for birth, and yet nobody really explains why. It’s for you. It’s for your partner if you have one. It’s for your baby. Because in making a plan, setting intentions for how you want the story to unfold and talking about it, either in your head or out loud, you are communicating with your baby, letting them know there is a plan.
When you change the way you view birth, the way you birth will change. ~ Marie Mongan
We (individually and collectively) can’t control every little thing that’s going to happen, because the nature of birth is that it is unique and out of our control every single time. That said, when we don’t plan, then we don’t really know what we want. In birth, and in life, it’s important to know where our boundaries are.
If you don’t know what you want, then you don’t know what you don’t want.
When you make a plan, you get to decide what is a non-negotiable, and what you’re willing to be flexible about. You get to prepare for this immense transition, and stand in your power through it. In the same way that athletes visualise their win, you can visualise the birth story you want to create with your baby. By doing this, you’re energetically telling the universe that this is the plan- even without writing a single thing down.
I will always say, write things down. When you do, the neurons in your brain form stronger pathways, and your intentions are built with stronger foundations. But even if pen never touches paper, even if not a single plan or intention is spoken out loud, just by visualising it, you’re on the way.
Okay Rohana but is 1 birth plan enough? What should I include? What happens if I want to have a water birth or a home birth and then things change? What if I’m planning a cesarean? Where do I start?
I asked myself all of these questions and more when I was planning my most recent birth. I had made birth plans before, but this one was a freebirth, so I wanted to be extra resourced. I thought long and hard, I journalled, I visualised, I made lists and researched a lot… and I ended up with 3 plans. For me, 3 was enough, for someone else, it might be more.
From those plans, I’ve created this checklist for you, so you can spend more time in the zone of creation and build your support bubble, and less time fretting about whether you’ve thought about everything.
Mostly I tell clients that if they’re making a plan, 2 – 4 plans is best, not to just make the 1. Why? Because there is so much possibility and I’m the kind of control freak (in some areas of life) that needs to prep for the various scenarios ‘just in case’. Creating 1 ideal, everything goes right plan, and 1 emergency plan is the minimum… then there’s the option to flesh out interventions, changes and variations in the middle.
It might like a lot of work, or like youre considering all the ways things could go ‘wrong’, but actually youre taking your power into a situation, where if anything less than your ideal plan happens, you are still sovereign and prepared. It means you’re not throwing your hands in the air or just hoping for the best. It means you are advocating for yourself and for new baby, and if your birthing within the system -regardless of the way you intend to birth- this advocacy is an immensely important muscle to be flexing right from the start.
So, should you make a birth plan – the short answer is yes.
The long answer, is you should make multiple, with different scenarios and different supports. You should advocate hard, and build a foundation of cheerleaders who will hold space for you and nourish you while you labour. You should make your plans in a way that feels good… in a way that is a kind of self care exercise, and a way that bonds you and baby even more. You should share your plans with those who’ll be around, and talk to baby about how you want them to arrive. Make many plans, and resource yourself to aim for the number 1.
Hey, I’ve been busy this week, thinking about how life has changed and my next steps. If you look around the website now, it’s changed a bit. Because of that, I’m kind of walking in the dark here, I’ve changed my email and done some other bits, and I’m not sure if this will work – if it doesn’t I’ll have to figure out another way. Anyway, I’ve put a subscribe button thingy down below; I’m creating an email list, where I won’t bombard you but sometimes thoughts will be a little more personal, updates on life and work will exist too, essentially it’s new direction and I’d love for you to join me. Fingers crossed, if you put your email in the box below, you’ll get added to my list. If it doesn’t work, I’ll try again a different way… I’m over waiting til it’s perfect to figure it out…. so hey ho! Let’s give it a go.
A person decided, without asking to stroke Ps hand and try to tickle him. I was stood there, facing the other 2; he was holding the buggy with me. There was no reason, except that his hand was on the banister bit, and she was sat there next to us.
He didn’t like it. (P does not like being touched most if the time, unless he initiates contact.)
He growled and said, “I don’t like tickles”
I turned around, and figured what had happened just as they (ignoring him) did it again. I asked him to move his hand, and said loudly, let’s say “please don’t tickle me” – he did.
The person glared at me, I’m not sure whether it was in anger or embarrassment. P didn’t want to move his hand, he was waiting for our stop to press the bell. The person nearly tickled him again, but I covered his hand with mine. It was a small moment, but had a big impact. At our stop, P, who was already dysregulated because of the long day and wet clothes, came off the bus, and collapsed on the floor.
On another day, he might have been okay and we’d talk about it. That day, it was too much.
I messaged a friend on the way home, telling her about it, and she asked: Why do we (adults) think we’re entitled to children’s bodies?
I’ve been watching them since it happened, thinking about what she said. From the time they are babies, we make choices for kids, even when we try to give them choices in gentle parenting, there is still so much control. We pick the options and they choose from there… or we just make a plan and expect them to follow. Of course, sometimes it is necessary, but more and more as my kids get older, they push back saying things like “I’m in charge of my body” which is a sentiment I’ve tried to foster over the past few years. Mostly, it brings pride when they use that phrase, and similar sentiments; even and especially when it means I have to check myself and my demands on them. Other times, it makes me realise just how out of whack I have been, like the time where even at the age of 4 my daughter has stood next to me and said “you need to talk nicer mummy” in the middle of a blowout that had started over a sibling fight and led into a spiral of overwhelm from mess, hunger and exhaustion for us all.
These are the moments where I am reminded that not only are my children young whole, full humans, but also that every single other child is too, and that nomatter what the reason, there is never any excuse to exercise my power as an adult over them arbitrarily. I began to dive into the world of children’s rights and consent based relationships when I began my deschooling journey in 2020, but before then, I had never thought about this. Since then however, there have been many unraveling’s, and many moments like this one on the bus, where I’ve wondered why adults think that they can say or do what they want around children, acting as though they are entitled because they are the adult; as though children have no right or power. It makes no (cognitive) sense to me anymore; but then I remember not everyone is on this journey, and many people do still feel like children should be controlled.
When I think about why, I realise there are many reasons; it didn’t just happen overnight. Historically, there has been this idea that children are the property of their parents. Father’s still ‘give away’ daughters at weddings and children were not so long ago sent to work for the family home, for example in India under colonial rule, children were employed in factories and mills – of course this still happens today, with companies employing children as cheap labour, assuming they are entitled to their time and effort, exploiting them. In the west, (most) children are sent to school and expected to live by their parents rule until they are legal adults. The scenario might be different, but ultimately, it’s adults making decisions about children’s bodies, almost always without their consent.
The idea that we as adults are somehow superior to children, when in fact we were once children ourselves is a deliberate mental shift, created by political and social norms that serve those in power. In teaching children that there is a arbitrary hierarchy, we prime them to enter a society where their bodies and boundaries, time and belongings are often entirely ignored. Then, they grow older, and perpetuate the same beliefs and patterns onto the next generation – that’s how we got here: to an elderly person, ignoring my sons obvious discomfort and verbal expression of a boundary, because they probably entirely unconsciously believe that his 7 year old body is less important than theirs. It is a pattern that has been repeated both in their own life and through their ancestors, so, while yes at the time it annoyed me (a fully valid response), I can also see that there was no malice, just unconscious programming.
What does that mean for P? Not a lot and also a conscious leap to break patterns, teaching him, and all my kids that their bodies are there own – and that sometimes I still need to make decisions for them. Working on being a good ancestor rather than a good descendant, undoing my own biases and empowering him with resources to respond in situations where he doesn’t feel heard or respected. It’s hard. I mess up. I keep going. All these little moments make the big picture after all.
What do you think? Come find me on IG and tell me.
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