Why Preparing for a Homebirth is Vital Work

We’ve been hunked down today in Helensburgh during storm Eowyn, watching videos of flying roofs and seeing pictures of just how much damage has been caused by the winds.

It is a powerful reminder about just how incredible mother nature is. It is not to be taken lightly when there is footage of Helensburgh leisure centre losing its roof or of the garages on the street I used to live destroyed.

There have been many concerns, while my kids have played and watched and cuddled and fought through the day, I’ve had the joy to know they are safe, they are here, and we can stay put; something I’m grateful for. We’ve watched in fascination and at least for a moment we spoke about why this is an example of how much respect nature deserves, because it is immensely powerful.

At the same time, I’ve thought about S, my youngest bubba and how I had him in the living room of my last home here. I’ve thought about the drive out of Helensburgh for As birth and how we had to journey to outside of Glasgow… and how I would not have wanted to be doing that journey today.

Of course, these are extreme circumstances and usually there’s no major storm around, but without a doubt we can say babies have been born today… storm or not, its someone’s birthing day.

Imagine travelling to hosptial in a storm, with no guarantee about road safety, contractions presumably well underway, and the worry of “if there’s a tree blocking the road will I get to hospital in time?” Or “have the midwives managed to make it in for their shifts?” Or “what if the wind gets worse … ?”

It’s pretty scary shit isn’t it?!

And so, I thought I’d share here, that while yes, it’s unlikely that you’re going to have a storm blowing in the middle of your labour, your really cannot know that it won’t happen… so preparing to hunker down, stay home and birth your baby without risking a car journey, might be a really worthwhile consideration. 

Ultimately, I’m not taking about just a homebirth, I’m talking about essentially planning for a freebirth, even if you have absolutely zero intention of ever actually doing it. Preparing for that worst case scenario where you can’t drive out of Helensburgh (or wherever you are reading this of course), or where you get told there’s no midwives available… it means you still have a huge amount of knowledge, confidence and flexibility around your birth. It means that if the worst case scenario comes, you’re not going to freeze or panic or anything like that, you’re just going to carry on and birth your baby like the goddess you are.

With S, I planned and freebirthed him, because I knew that was what I wanted. He was born in Helensburgh last summer, in a house we’d moved into 2 weeks beforehand… we had prepped for a homebirth, and we had prepped for a freebirth, because with K, we hadn’t, and I had learned my lesson. N

No there was no storm or weather warning… but if there had been, I’d have still been at home, cosy, and brought him earthside knowing we were exactly where we needed to be. Thinking about this, I have a really strong pull to share just how important it is to prepare the plans.

Before today I used to tell clients we’d prep 3 plans, an ideal, an intervention and an emergency, but after this, I’m thinking of adding another one in… or at least bringing up the “have you got an idea about what you’d like to do if the actual weather prevents you from safety leaving home while in labour” plan – I might need a shorter name though!

Anyway, if you’re pregnant and not planning a homebirth, in fact, even if a homebrith is not your ideal birthspace, I genuinely think everyone should have a basic homebirth plan, so that if shit hits the fan, you know you still got this!

Thanks for reading and happy planning,

Rohana xox

Hard Seasons of Parenting

Ti’s the season… to be really honest about the phases of parenting that can look really dark and despairing sometimes, especially for neruospicy folk. It might be the new year and all that in the Gregorian calendar, but here in the northern hemisphere, the earth is still deep in her slumber, the days are dark, and as mammals, we should be curled up in the warmth in community, not isolated and out in the cold at all hours of the day.

The last few weeks of festivities and house move have been a real rollercoaster for me parenting wise, and now, I’m taking the time to record and reflect on them. I had been having a really tough time with K, with major meltdowns night terrors multiple time a week. Night terrors are especially scary because at least in my experience, my child isn’t really there at all, they look like themselves but actually have no resemblance to the sweet or fun personality of the kid I know. I’m grateful he’s my 3rd child, because I am aware this happened with both my older children and that this stage doesn’t last forever. That said, when you’re in it, in that moment, it feels like forever, especially when 20 minutes can cause so much damage. The screaming and rage is scary and hard, trying to keep them safe, from each other and themselves, trying to hold on to the knowledge that this is their primal brain, and that they are not consciously or willingly trying to hurt you … but then comes the after, and the pain I feel when the little sobs haven’t quietened yet and I’m stroking their face wondering what I can do to help. It is one of the hardest, darkest parts of parenting I have ever faced. It is one of the loneliest too, because who talks about how their kids tore the room apart or screamed that they wanted to destroy everything in the depths of feelings… nobody I know does.

I do sometimes to be fair, and when I have done so, the looks of horror or surprise, or then relief (depending on who I’m talking to) are always so visible. It’s hard though, and when people don’t understand, it’s easier to make small talk.

I’m really fucking bad at small talk though.

So I share … and recently I share more. The hardest bits, like when A told me she didn’t want to exist anymore because she was so sad in the middle of the night. Or when we played a game at the park, she didn’t fully understand it and thought she’d lost, and screamed and scratched for 45 minutes once we’d made it home, telling me we should have never started that game and she wanted to cut her jacket to pieces. I looked at her and saw that in this game and her reaction, she had created the perfect storm to play out her feelings of not getting what she wanted. She was bubbling over and trying to process her lack of control, and because children speak and heal through play, this was her doing the work of healing.

Thankfully, we have the resources to see that, to resource them, and to repair when ruptures are made. That night, as she sobbed in bed, and said she didn’t know why she’d found it so hard, I held her and said seriously “there is literally nothing you could ever do to make us stop loving you. You cannot hurt us, and we will keep everyone safe as much as we can, but your feelings are always allowed.”

I read the other day about how resources for emotional regulation and tools for a safe nervous system are a form of generational wealth and honestly I love that. These are tools that yes feel foreign to me at times, but are going to be (hopefully) passed down for generations to benefit from. Teaching them and learning with them is healing, for all of us.

I think this literal dark season of winter correlates with some of the darker hours of motherhood, and I am grateful to find moments to reflect, breathe, practice on my mat or go to the woods and let the trees and river hold me in my processing. The depths these kids feel… it scares me. And it’s a mirror. They are highly sensitive and notice everything, but so do I. As a kid, I didn’t understand it. In fact, even into my 20s I didn’t… and I still struggle now. As a neurospicy house, we all feel deeply, H too, though he says less words, and P in his own way tells us through his games or stories or sensory seeking comforts. We are all looking forward to the light.

Lighter days and lighter loads. It isn’t forever, and as the seasons cycle, we do too. Every year, these months around Christmas and cold are, in their own ways, a challenge. Every year, in the midst of it all, I wonder if it will last forever. And every year, we grow, we hold each other, we cry and we laugh, and we get really honest about much we miss the sun.

This year, the lightness feels closer, as we settle into a new space, and we ride the waves of all that comes with big transitions, we exit the festive period and move into new beginnings, not in the Gregorian calendar sense, but in a whole family, new home, new spaces, new learnings and new resources kind of way. I am learning that the more honest I am about the darker seasons of parenting, the lighter they end up becoming.

This might not be the end of all the hard moments this season, and I guarantee there will be more rollercoaster days to come, but right now, sitting with it I am beyond grateful for the cracks shining through these dark hours, and for the darkness – because it is in these hours that I really see just how imperfectly human we all are. I’m sharing it in the hope that someone like me will find it, and feel a little less crazy, a little less lonely and a little more hopeful about their own magick darkness – not to romanticize it or glorify the chaos, but because when I’ve dug deeper, survived those minutes and hours, and loved on my little ones even harder than before, I am reminded that allowing them to feel this means it doesn’t get stuck in their little bodies. Allowing them to feel it means that maybe one day, they’ll be holding space for their own babies, and find it easier than I do … and that is important work.

Until next time, with love and ramblings,

Rohana xox

The Healing Power of Postpartum Rest in Traditional Chinese Medicine

When I first learned about how in Chinese medicine birth is seen as a depleting life event, it felt contradictory to everything I’d ever read birth was “supposed” to be.

Surely having a baby was a rich, life giving event that left you full and feeling blessed and whole right? But no, in Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) birth is an event that requires a lot of jing, and depletes the qi and blood within the body. It puts pressure on the kidneys and takes the warmth out of a woman’s body, so where she was full of the  warmth of an extra life, with extra blood and vital energy through her pregnancy, the energy is used in labour and by the time baby is earthside, her body is emptier and depleted. Essentially what I learned was, yes having a baby is a beautiful life event, and it requires massive amounts of life force energy. Both things can be simultaneously true.

By this point I’d had 3 babies already, and I hadn’t respected the sacredness of postpartum any of those times. In fact, with my 2nd, I was up and out in the Scottish December cold just 3 days after she was born. With my summer babies, I didn’t rest either, and I indulged in ice creams and cold drinks, not understanding the impact letting more cold into my body would have.

From this experience then, and from work with women in the past few years, I have really leaned into the wisdom of traditional Chinese medicine, and deeply respect the many cultures that prioritise a rest period postpartum, where women can rest, rebuild their stores of warmth and qi, and honour their recovery from birth while bonding with their babies.

In Chinese Medicine, there is a 40 day period of recovery. These 40 days are essential for warmth, healing, and vitality, and the wisdom of it says that if a woman lets cold into her body, through food or exposure, in these first 40 days, the result will likely be an impact (negatively) on her mental health down the line. Of course, postpartum depression, anxiety and other mental health struggles are not solely related to the first 40 days, and we can absolutely see there are elements of privilege and resources that impact families too, but the idea that we could radically influence that first year within the first 40 days is fascinating to me.

Learning this revolutionised the way I taught postpartum doula-ing, it changed the way I would offer support postpartum, and when it came to having my 4th baby, it radically impacted the way I planned my own resting period.

I didn’t manage 40 days indoors – I’ve got 3 older kids so that was always going to be stretch; but I did give myself 12. I prepped warm foods, accepted food from friends, asked my mum to come visit and mother me in my own newness again, and strictly stayed away from cold foods, drinks, and winds. It wasn’t perfect, but it was my own adapted honouring of the learnings TCM has given me.

You know that saying, if its worth doing, it’s worth half arsing? Or done is better than prefect? This was my approach. I knew following the teachings of TCM would be beneficial, and whether that was doing it at 90% or doing it at 15%, I would gain warmth and energy to keep up with my older kiddos in the long run.

7 months later, I can see and feel the gift of those slow weeks, and it influences the way I show up even more to support others. Prepping for postpartum with a lens of ancient traditions is something I think more families should have access to. A slow, warm, hygge filled postpartum, with nourishing foods and a support bubble that shows up for you, with no need to mask or entertain or host them, is what I wish I could give every new mother no-matter how many children she has. It is through this rest and healing that we start parenting not in burnout or depleted and traumatised, but full of life and feeling supported. Imagine a whole generation raised by families who aren’t in their survival responses – what a change that will make on the world! This is the impact of TCM (and other ancient wisdoms)… if we learn and listen.

With love, thanks for reading,

Rohana x

A poem about the festive season

It’s January… sales are getting BIG

And of course, I value saving as much as anyone, with 4 kids it really does make a difference. But as I watch people get ready for the year, with promises about the new version of themselves, and hear about lists of things to hit the sales for… it has made me stop and really deeply think again about the impact all of this has.

Everything I do is political… from the voice I have to the food I buy. From the places I boycott to the spaces I invest in. From the birth planning to the trauma healing work and the support of parents beyond their postpartum bubbles… it is all political. 

So I wrote a poem. Not for you, or for me, but because it needed to come. Here it is:

“Birth is political
Sex is political
Parenting is political
The food we eat
The clothes we buy
It all feeds in
The festive period highlights this so much for me
From scheduling sections because convinience triumphs physiology
To the use of bodies to tell us we need more stuff in order to be happy
The wasted food
The gimmicky extras
Bound for a landfill
More earths resoruces spent

Its all political
And though we don’t want to admit it
Every choice we make
Every penny we spend
All feeds the machine
Of society that tells us
That politics is dirty
Or not lay mans business
But birth is political
And pregnancy too
Laying the foundations
Of everything we’ll do
And once we are earthside
The choices we make
Impact toddlers to teenagers
So for goodness sake
Think where your pennies go
Before buying in to the lie
That you need more stuff this season
Because you don’t
And it’s making the planet die“

Anyway, I’m not doing a big new year thing, we move in a week and then I’ll set some fresh intentions for our new home.

For now, happy calendar reset. I am truely grateful for you all being here. See you soon 💕

Xox Rohana

It’s The Pain That Will Save Us

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?

For tonight, that’s enough.

With love,

Rohana x