As the theme changes from spooky to sparkles, I am jumping on this trend with a quick note today, because honestly, while everyone sharing their fabulous decorations, costumes, and pumpkins – almost all of which have a HUGE impact on the environment and carry their own horror story, there’s also a 365 day crisis in perintal care that’s far scarier than Halloween.
5 truely spooky things, going on every single day within birth, because the system is build to conveyor belt families from pregnancy through to postpartum as conveniently as possible. This is not because those working in it want to, but because that’s the way policies and systems have been built.
Scary stuff!
So, heres just 5, of the many terrifying things going on in the birth world … all year round.
The lies in antenatal care from professionals in the system – I know I said above that it’s not those working in the system, and most of the time, it isn’t. But the truth is, sometimes it is. Sometimes it is professionals ticking boxes, sometimes it’s disregarding evidence based care, sometimes it’s policy and sometimes it’s someone who’s burnt out and exhausted. But the lies come. And the ripples they create are immense.
Induction rates are incredibly high. When there’s a medical need, induction can be an incredibly useful life-saving tool, and thank goodness for that. However for the majority of women and birthing people induction is often a result of lack of confidence, misinformation, scarmongering and guidance about ‘big babies’ or being ‘overdue’. It isn’t based on the latest evidence and induction – in its various forms – ends up being the first step in a sliding scale of interventions which often perpetuate trauam for all those involved.
Lack of trauma informed, neruodivergent aware, autonomy based care is in part related to the point above: induction. However, it goes well beyond that. A lack of well rounded training and resources means that a majority of healthcare professionals, while well intentioned, often don’t have the correct language or experience to be able to support the different women and birthing people that they are seeing. The lack of neurodiverse not knowledge means that a lot of the time, families are treated in ways that cause more harm, coerce all violate their rates to autonomy. The reality of this is that once again, women, birthing people, partners and the babies involved are coming away from birthing within the system with experiences they need to heal from right at the start of this new journey together.
When we have a lack of support and we feel out of control or in danger. Physiological birth is halted, and our bodies go into shut down. This means that a majority of families are starting their journey together with this new baby, and also having to recover from the experience of pregnancy and birth.
The maternal mortality rate for non white bodies is another incredibly scary aspect of birth in not just the UK but around the Western world. The reality is that biases exist, unconscious ones often doing more harm than we realise. Although most people don’t believe themselves to be racist, these are socialised biases that have informed everything we do, so of course, it is unsurprising that we see them unfold in preintal care too.
Lastly, the bullying, coercion, and violation that women and birthing are experiencing every day. Unfortunately, almost everyone who has been through the system will have an experience where they have been treated in a less than ideal way. However, the scariest part of this is that they leave, and I, myself have done this too, grateful for the fact that they have come out not as damaged as they could be, and that their baby is there, not damaged or as damaged as could have been.
Halloween is one day. One commercialised day adulterated from ancient traditions.
The crisis in perinatal care is all year round.
If you’re planning a baby or pregnant – get informed. You and your baby deserve better than what is currently happening.
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.
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?
It’s been a month, just over actually, since S arrived in our world. A whirlwind pregnancy, and a whirlwind birth, and I say that in the most loving way.
After writing for 40 days, I took a break, and dove deeper into my journals, moved from Plymouth to Scotland and tended to not only my nervous system, but my children’s too – moving really is such a rollercoaster.
2 weeks exactly after we moved into our new space, S arrived… in a glorious, entirely uninterrupted freebirth, with his older siblings witnessing the pain and joy and nearly everything in between.
My early labour started on the Sunday night, the contractions starting off, noticable enough, and also nothing to make me rush. Though I had been joking about how this would be a fast birth, especially when I was stressing about our move, actually, this was the slowest one of all of them.
I slept and Monday morning it was as though nothing had happened. I took the kids up to a play group while H ran errands and walked back home, stopping at various playparks along the way. I rested in the sun, and made peace with the idea that I could still be housing my baby for another few weeks. Of course, that wasn’t the case, but looking back, I think in accepting that there could be weeks of pregnancy still to come, I was able to let go of (at least that part of) the control and wondering that was coming up.
Monday night was the same, and then Tuesday morning, about 5am things started moving faster. Contractions would wake me up, and I was breathing and moaning through them… I said to H, if this kept up we could have a baby before lunch. Alas, it would be another whole day and more.
Things tappered off after breakfast. I cancelled plans and built my bubble… texting a friend who we’d planned as a second birth partner/my emergency contact… she said she would be coming round later if I wanted her to, and so, before midnight she arrived.
Through the day, I swayed through contractions, talked to the kids about how baby was working hard and getting ready, and told them even though it might sound scary, mummy was actually really okay. We played and took photos, I had intended to capture more of the birth story but once it was happening, I didn’t want to be thinking about lights and camera settings… so there are only some beautiful snippets from the early hours.
I cooked dhal and made mango cake with the kids, knowing that in the days ahead, I’d appreciate the nourishing food and sweet treat immensely. The day rocked between restful and restless, I was anticipating contractions and refused to time them, but could sense there was no regularity. They got stronger, and then further apart, and given what had happened with Ks birth, I knew that could mean that baby just wasn’t ready yet.
Bedtime took its toll, I was physically and mentally exhausted and also knew we still had a long marathon to go. My friend was on her way, and while I took the kids to bed, for the last time as just the 3 of them, H put the pool up and eventually they all went to sleep. As they did, I felt peaceful, tired and wondered how the next few hours would go, given that bedtime had once again slowed everything down as I focused on being mum, and turned away from the internal pull to go deep into labour.
My friend arrived, and we sat and spoke a while, H and her sharing stories, me listening in. The oxytocin growing and the support felt immensely. I asked H to fill the pool.
Pool filled, I got in, and the relief was pretty instant. In previous births, water has been a huge part of managing for me, and this was no different. The water makes things easier, and I needed it. Water however, slows earlier labour down, and though I was frustrated that this happened at the time, it also provided the much needed space to rest. I slept in the pool for hours, and it was in this sleepy limbo state where I met my baby, I spoke to him, and he told me to trust him, he was trying and he wasn’t ready yet. It was here, where all the confusion about names melted away, because as we spoke, I called him his name, and afterwards, I knew we couldn’t choose anything else. He had chosen it there, in those moments in the pool.
I got out the pool in the early hours and danced. I shared some moments of reset with my husband when he checked on me, and journalled my fears, and then, as the dance of labour continued, I put in my earphones and did a breathwork session, setting intentions and adjusting my expectations. I needed to stop trying to fonr the pattern or match this experience to thr ones before, I needed to let S create his own story. It was about 5am when I fell asleep again.
A few hours later I was talking to E, my friend who had come and stayed over and slept on a mattress on the floor, I told her about my realisation moments, and in true E fashion, she asked what I felt I needed to be supported and nurtured at the time. I love her, and this question really unlocked something for me.
She had some breakfast, walked our pup so H could rest, and then got ready for work. H took her and P & A in the car, dropped her off and went to grab eztra snacks for the kids. I stayed home with K while he watched paw patrol so I could nap… we had joked that as soon as she left, things would quicken. They did.
E had helped me put the TENS machine on earlier, and though contractions were still irregular, I was going deeper. I napped and a while later called H and told him I needed him and to come home without snacks if need be. He asked if I’d had the baby already, but I was still hours away, I just wanted my person. Though I didn’t want to be touched or held, I wanted him around, because he helped me feel safe – in those moments I was seeking safety and solitude.
I knew I could do it alone. I didn’t want to.
He got home and I was deeply in my zone by then. I came half out of it with the kids, who were so excited, and then, I got in the pool while he played with them, fed them and they watched TV. They wanted to be involved, and so i taught them about breathing with me, and how the sounds mummy was making weren’t bad, because though it hurt, it meant my body and baby was doing exactly what they needed, and it was helping him come out. There are some videos of these moments, I asked H to take because I couldn’t, and the other day, I heard A watching one as she scrolled through my camera roll. She says it reminds her of that day and that it sounded scary but wasn’t bad.
After a while, I wanted space, so they were upstairs, I was down in the pool. I wanted H near, and I also wanted to be alone… so I could feel him close but he knew not to touch me. The kids shuffled arould curious, playing and checking on me.
I knew they were moving around, but it felt so normal and safe… mostly anyway. I remember at one point they were all shouting and I told them to be quieter… when they didn’t, I told them they weren’t helping baby come. Then they started breathing with me instead, and though it meant I was focusing on them more than my body, it was both funny and wholesome.
Then, as they were upstairs and I was down, I felt S start to decent. “He’s coming” I said…. and then, I stopped “get A”.
H ran to get the kids, and they came down, watching and waiting. It was nearly an hour later before he arrived, so H moved the laptop to the kitchen and they watched there quietly, knowing it was soon.
That last hour or so was hard. I remember telling H I was dying. He told me I wasn’t, and I told him to shut up because I absolutely was. I told him I couldn’t do it. I felt like I was breaking… I was scared and also, there was a part of me listening in, knowing that because this was where I was, I was at the very end of the marathon now. I heard myself say I could do it and H said “you can, you can, you can” … something we say to the kids.
The next few surges, I held this mantra with me. I can. I can. I can.
And then, I said he was coming – my body took over and I fully became the portal allowing him to enter. H grabbed my phone and video, told the kids to stand by the pool and waited. “He’s here” is the start of the video, the biggest relief and quiet accomplishment palpable in my voice.
S arrived completely of his own accord. I didn’t push. Foetal ejection reflex happened, and he entered into the world in the pool, the calmest, most beautiful experience, exactly what I had hoped for, except better. The video is one I will treasure forever.
As soon as he was here, I brought him out the water and the kids wanted to meet him, so I invited them into the pool, reminded them he was still attached to the placenta and they touched his head, saying hi. K said “it’s a baby kid” which when I listen back sounds like either pink or pig, but H understood he was saying S had arrived.
The pool started turning red; the kids got out and I followed. We knew from our experience with K that the placenta could be very quick, but just to be cautious, I had some tincture that I’d bought specifically. Within 10 minutes of his birth, squatting over a bowl, the tiny placenta that had been the life force of S while he grew was out, and though again we were cautious to watch the bleeding, after those initial few minutes, aside from the intense nausea, I was feeling so good.
It was post birth that I started actually being sick, my bodies reaction to the intense marathon it had just completed. H fed me, and made sure I was hydrated… but for a few hours, nothing stayed down. We called the midwifery team after the placenta arrived, and they sent someone out. She was honestly lovely, kind, excited to be coming out to a freebirth, and so congratulatory through the whole thing. I had been worried about calling anyone but she made the whole experience feel so easy, she notifed our birth and checked with us every step of the way.
A few hours later, once we’d told families and friends about our new addition, it was bedtime, and so the kids all chambered into bed and said goodnight to their new baby brother. The weeks following have been a beautiful rollercoaster… the most healing postpartum I’ve had. The most restful. The most active in many ways too. It’s been such a different experience… I wish I could bottle parts of it up to gift away. Between the mini meal train organised by E, and trip my mum did (flying from Gibraltar!) to see us and cook so I could rest, and the beds on the floor downstairs that helped H insist I rest, and the 12 days at home while others came to me or went out, I have really felt that there is no “right” way to do postpartum, but that there is so much that can aid us if we lean in. An
Anyway, there it is, the birth story of S. I could have written more… but its already 2000 words long, and I’ve lost many details already honestly. Like with everything, this is my version, this is my experience, and it is what I can remember… but truly words don’t give me the real way to describe this story. Alas, it was far more than these letter combinations can convey.
I’ll write again soon (ish),
With love, Rohana x
Would you like to share your birth story? Do you have questions? Get in touch and let’s chat.
Did you know, doing something for 40 days rewires our neurobiology?
It’s stronger than a habit.
It’s why, many yoga practices, or meditations etc do 40 days…. its a magic number.
When I committed to these 40 days, I was feeling really unsure, given that our house move is now in 3 days, I knew it would be a push, but actually, it has been such a grounding gift to be able to reflect and hold space for myself. To show up and to say, even when I don’t want to, I will.
I adore writing. I adore reading too, though I do far less of it than I’d like.
I used to think, I’d need things to be on point or have a theme in order to show up. It has boxed me in.
Slowly the self-censorship shackles are being broken.
On that topic, last year, I set intentions around self censorship in my breathwork practice. I was feeling very caged in, and much of it was related either to my own self imposed ideas of what was okay or not, or from what I’d decided comments from those close to me meant. I was frustrated and angry. I wanted change.
My intentions were around letting go of self censorship that didn’t serve me. Allowing myself to step authentically into my voice and feeling able to speak my truth regardless of the voices around me. That didn’t mean to be cruel, it meant, I needed to tune in.
A year later… I’m reflecting on this and realising, the thoughts and intentions I protected out then are my reality now without any real planning. I crafted it.
I won’t lie – it feels fu*king good!
Change isn’t instant…. but it comes. This process has been an anchoring of that.
I won’t continue to write every day, not specifically here at least. But I’ve got some incredible ideas for more shares that have been inspired the past 40 days; and I will continue to share on other platforms.
I consider myself a writer.
Writing is a part of who I am… and when I write, even (especially) if it’s just for me, there is magick in those offerings.
I’m off to write some more pages of intentions… crafting my reality for next year .. and beyond. I’ll leave you with this, a note I had written for myself in May 2023:
Why do we put so much pressure on ourselves and expect change or transformation to be instant? It’s like asking a pregnant woman to birth instantly, without allowing her the process and labour of love and transition she needs in order to bring life earthside. Our instant culture is ruining us… choosing slowness and ease is more radical every day.
From my journalling notes
If you’ve stuck with me these past 40 days, thank you. If you’ve been around longer, thank you. If you’re only just showing up, welcome.
There are many many transformations coming. I’m stocking up on spoons to be able to share them!
I hope you know, whereever you are, you are loved. You are important. You are powerful. You are so much more than enough.
Last night I thought I’d missed something, when I checked and realised I’d already written for the day. It felt like a big win, becauee I had been organised. The reality was I seized the moment, and I’m so glad I did.
I’m half doing the same now, it’s very early hours, and I’m listening to babies snore; I got up for a wee and have been tossing around, so thought, “what’s the time?” and landed here.
In many ways I suppose I’m already intimately familiar with the early hours, 3 and 4am particularly. I’m not exactly getting reacquainted since my kids are often up needed cuddles or to change position, go toilet or even have a snack – though this is rarely. However, I know in the coming weeks I’ll be far more likely to see these hours with leaky breasts and nappy changing… and I’ll be experiencing the darkness of not quite morning in whole new ways.
It’s day 30 now, and I’m genuinely considering joining a container where for 7 weeks there’ll be daily prompts, knowing full well I cannot 100% guarantee I’ll even have 2 of those 7… but also knowing that I might have nearly all, and it’s something I’ve been looking at for over a year. If I do, I’ll have the last 10 days of this 40 day practice, alongside packing and new writing prompts… and I keep thinking how exciting it is. Other voices (who I deeply respect, value and have asked opinions of) have concerns that I’m not resting enough. I probably am not, but that’s more based on having 3 kids under 7 and a 10 month old labrador so I am still gallivanting on adventures regularly through the week.
I don’t want to open the door of relying on technology to fill gaps just yet, because I know in the early days of new baby, I will lean on tablets and TV more; something I’m entirely at home with, becauee honouring a restful period of postpartum means I want to spend many of my first days with baby in bed, and that also means cuddles, books, screens and space to hold my older ones.
For the first time preparing for a baby, I feel wholly content; I feel confident, and I am calling in seamless transitions. This past year of practices has changed so much for me, I cannot put into words just how much has shifted.
Last year, in early 2023 the thought of having another baby terrified me to the point of desperation. Now, 18 months later, it feels like doors have opened wide, I’ve cried more and shed many many layers in healthy ways, and I’m new.
An incredible creator I follow called Rebecca Oakiah says pregnancy is the gestation of the mother and it feels so absolutely true. I’ve learning so much from her and various other birthkeepers since K was born. I’m inspired by them all, and more confident in my own work and sharing than I could have imagined I’d be.
Truthfully I didn’t do my Doula training because I wanted to work in birth. I did it because I wanted to be empowered after Ps birth, so that when I had A, I wasn’t left processing trauma and trying to figure out life with a newborn. I knew Hs job would demand a lot, and I was resourcing myself in the way I knew how – learning from people who’d been there before me.
Now I look back and see these life events were catalysing me towards a deeper calling. I was turning to the wise women, and looking further than my village because I knew that in order to learn and heal and hold others, I needed to be held myself. I found wisdom in spaces and I have for the last 5 years inhaled it all…
Before P I thought learning looked a certain way, through the trajectory of school and uni, I planned a masters and career and all the ‘normal’ path kind of things. I thought that’s what I should do, and ought to do.
Even after he was born it was still my plan… though I’d begun to spiral away a little. Meeting other women in a retreat while I held him in my womb, and hearing their wisdoms. That was one the transitionary stages for me. Those women, my beautiful mother included, held a blessing for me, crested a web of well wishes and sat in circle with me.
I long for the day where I can sit in circle with women again. It is healing.
Tracking these experiences back I’m so aware of how blessed I’ve been, and I can see, though P was a surprise baby, his entrance to the world was the most powerful thing. I didn’t understand manifestation or anything back then, but I manifested him … just as, in other ways, I have all my children. I have in each circumstance send out some energy into the universe, not even consciously at the time, calling in these babies, these experiences, these path changes.
Now, at 4am, as I spiral into the memories of it all, I feel like there is an unfolding and awakening.
I am meant to be here, holding this baby. I am meant to be on this path, working with others who want to do the same. I may not be ready to support a birth and capture it (though I am in my heart) becauee my capacity is filled with the abundance and attendance to my own children right now, but I am able to offer support in every ripple I create.
It isn’t about fighting the system, which it felt like with K.
It isn’t about being seen and heard loudly like it felt with A.
It isn’t about being quiet and submissive or apologetic like it felt with P.
It is about standing with my feet on the earth, rooting down and being supported by the land. Land that I stand on where ancestors have moved across, land that I cannot reach, where my ancestors were rooted. It isn’t about anyone else… its me, my body, my baby, my family.
H and I said when I turned 27 that every year I step into my identity as a witch a little more. Witch meaning wise woman. Witch meaning skilled medicine woman. Witch meaning someone connected to the energy around her. The word Witch holds so much energy… it was used for so much harm, but truly, I love the saying that we are the granddaughtersof the witches they couldn’t burn. I know it’s more complicated but this sentiment resonates. I am more confident in my radicalness every year… and I have little concern that it turns people away.
It also brings people here.
Anyway, it’s 5am, the kids aren’t going to let me sleep in and we’ve got adventuring planned for the day. So, for now, I’m signing off. This has been the most interesting few hours to write.
If you’ve stuck with me through it all, and foe the past 30 days, I’m honoured. If you’re just joining, welcome.
Ahhh what a difference comes with the weather. I know I rambled about this already, but it was just so reinforced today with my dad here for a visit. The kids played outside while I got some house bits sorted, including more of our decor put away ready for moving, and then we head to town for ice creams and a park play.
These are the kinds of things I used to do all the time, and I think in part over the winter, I’d lost sight of how much impact the weather has on me.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy winter, because I do… but my kids struggle to get out the house; and so I find being stuck indoors very hard. I shared how much easier it all feels with my partner and he said “darling you aren’t meant to live life indoors” … he’s right. Generally but also because for my and my mental health, getting out is essential!
This past winter P brought up some of his birth imprints; including feeling rushed and pushed out before he’s ready. It came up in our getting out the house which would take up to 3 hours on some days. I didn’t have the language for it all at the time, but now I see this need for absolute control as a way to regain some of what was lost in his birth.
When I first heard about them, I knew, birth imprints made sense to me… albeit a little ‘out there‘ in terms of understanding them. Working through this one with P – whcih outside of some play has involved ONLY working on my own nervous system, I feel so strongly about the way they can impact us.
Diving deeper and learning more has been super interesting and I am right in the middle of some books now, fascinated.
The changing weather helps us, because as it gets brighter and warmer, he’s more willing to come out. When we had a garden that was enclosed, he would spend hours climbing and being out… so I’m looking forward to this again. My intention is to build a space for them to really be able to spin and jump and play in the ways that they need for their bodies. His body NEEDs to move, and there’s nothing wrong with that… it helps his brain. Through the winter he slowed down a lot, got into more lego and sat for ages, focused and content. Now, he’s jumping and climbing everything… I’m grateful to go along with as much as I can.
Seeing them play and find creatures has been epic. P spend a long time telling my dad all about different pokemon evolutions while he ran around or enacted different scenes. My dad, focused on looking for caterpillars, listened and repeated back all the right things to validate to P that what he was infodumping was important. Its got me thinking about finding a pokemon magazine or similar, to see if it’ll encourage some reading. So far, he adores looking through our pokemon encyclopedia and he is memorising the evolutions from there.
K, obsessed with bugs at the moment, pottered after my dad with a magnifying glass, thrilled to be out for so many hours with someone finding him all the things to look at and hold.
I haven’t dived into much of his birth recently, though I’m drawing on aspects of all of theirs as I plan for our next.
A was at preschool so in between house jobs, I’ve started making my birth plans … though I advise for a plan A, B, C and D, I’m starting with our actual plan, and then, our emergency one. Over the next week, I’ll be creating more in depth scenario based bits… and packing a bag I don’t intend to use.
I have been very chilled so far, and as we get closer I feel really trusting that this birth will bring what it needs to. I have had lots of quiet and I’m grateful for it… but that’s for another share. Probably not tomorrow’s.
I’m back. Today I did a yoga practice, took the kids to the park, and have spent the last couple of hours working on sublimation t-shirt prints that I am making to fundraise for Gaza. It’s been a good day and I am exhausted in a joyful way.
The eclipse yesterday sparked a few conversations which felt authentic from a home ed point of view, and today things have felt calmer. The wind was strong but the sun came out and my kids played for hours outside. Then we came home and they played here, before tuning in to a new programme so I could rest. My body, at 31 weeks of growing another human, has reminded me today, that I am not actually capable of as much as I used to be. My body, in it’s wisdom, asking me to honour the need for a slower pace, and to rest; because it knows, as changes come, rest will look very different soon.
Tonight I’m thinking about rest, and about yoga, breathwork, and Palestine. I am thinking about how my body, growing our baby dragon is able to ask for rest, to ask for nourishment, to be held safely. I am privileged, and as in every pregnancy, acutely aware of it. This time, far more resourced, far more ready, and far more willing to listen; while also being aware that women, just like me in many ways, are carrying babies through stress, heartbreak, displacement, famine, and phycological warfare as well as genocide. I have learned, more deeply in these past months than ever before; how to hold solidarity in my body, bare witness and look away when needed, coming back, and trying to create ripples of healing.
The past 6 months I have delved into learning more deeply about pregnancy, our experiences in the womb and how we are in fact so much more aware and impacted even before life earthside begins; and as I have learned, I have grown in my knowledge, and in my belly; and in my capacity to practice compassion while NOT jumping into overwhelm. I have tried to protect my baby from the stress, while not disappearing into a bubble (a previous, very effective strategy of mine).
As I type, I think of the women who don’t have the choices I do; who are birthing to the sound of drones, who are carrying through loss and change more tumultuous than I can cognitively comprehend; and I feel a sense of understanding… I know in my bones, from lives before this one, that these experiences will not break them; because the resilience passed on is just as strong as the trauma. I have a sense of real solidarity, compassion and also rage. I am burning… and that fire has led to these t-shirts that sit before me; a way for me to fundraise a little, a way for me to contribute more than contaminate. That fire has led to something bigger too; a project I worked on for weeks, pulling in different people to help, and creating resources. Small, and still, ripples… ripples that I can see and ripples that I can’t.
I hope that this baby feels those ripples; the burning inside me, to do more and also to honour rest. It isn’t something I have gifted my other babies, already earthside teaching me daily. I didn’t know how to then; but now, I am doing what I can, with different tools in my toolbox… I can feel them wriggling inside me, dancing in my belly (and making me need a wee!); and I am beyond grateful for the lessons.
Supporting you from pregnancy to parenting 