An Open Letter To…..

An Open Letter To…..

Dear Natural Birth Movement,

As you know, in June this year I gave birth to a beautiful bouncing baby boy. He was born 2 weeks and 3 days over his due date. The 36 hour journey he I and I took together was in parts both the highest and the lowest, and the lightest and the darkest hours I remember living. The nearly 16 weeks I have spent with him since have been pink, fluffy, warm, fuzzy and heart explodingly incredible. There have been moments where I have had to pinch myself, to check if this new life is really real and even now as I write my heart is full and my body enjoys another flood of Oxytocin just thinking of him.

But then I remember why I write to you, and my heart hurts a little as I access again the grief, the shame, the guilt and the confusion you have caused me. This is a cocktail of emotions I never thought you’d inflict on anyone, let alone me, and yet I see you inflicting it unwittingly on others too. Perpetuating the same self important frequently impossible standards, the same standards I feel you have measured me up against, and against which I feel I have measured short. I want to write about and share my full birth story – sing it from the rooftops!!!! But before I do, I need to lighten my load and create some more space inside by getting something off my chest.

We need to talk.

I’m leaving you.

I’m moving in with the Empowered Birth Movement. She and I, well we’re better together than you and I ever were. Let’s face it – there were a few moments we stood high on that soap box together weren’t there? My getting together with the Empowered Birth Movement is better for the people around us; our female peers, their partners and birthing companions, the care professionals nurturing new mothers and their babies; and it’s certainly better for me and those I am privileged to assist as a birth coach and doula.

I notice you’re shocked.

I was too.

It all started about 14 hours into my birth story. The first sign I was in labour was that when I woke up my waters had broken and I had “menstruation pain”. As Thursday wore on my labour intensified and I was happily astounded by the amniotic fluid which intermittently gushed out around the house (Note to self: I must remember to thank my best friend and doula again for following me around with towels) Then I saw a pale greenish colour appear. The fear kicked in: would this mean that we would have to go to hospital – that dreaded place of unnatural and intervention riddled deliveries?

It did – my midwife and I didn’t want to stack risks with me being a first time mum and being already 42w2d. I felt disappointed, as if I had failed at the first hurdle somehow. My contractions, which I had enjoyed riding at home in the shower chanting Ong Namo with Snatam Kaur, felt painful for the first time as I had to navigate the short 5 minute journey to hospital. The bright fluorescent light seemed to embody all that was unnatural; all that went against what you had promised me when I prepared for this day and since choosing to birth at home. I could almost hear you say I told you so. I rallied back and forth with the question “Is it really meconium? Do I really need to be here?”

So there we were in the hospital; you and I and our strongly worded birth preferences which I had negotiated fiercely with the hospital at 42 weeks, then again the next day again to gain more clarity in the “grey areas” which had appeared in the conversation you, me and my midwife had had with the senior midwife and the gynaecologist at the hospital. I was fearful. Despite the fear, I drew on the oxytocin my body was saturated with and opened up to the midwife who was on duty. I asked her to stay present with me, to maintain eye contact with me whilst doing internals – to speak to me about the interior of my vagina and cervix and no one else. Hour by hour in doing so with such consideration and tenderness she gained my trust and I in turn hers, and she let me labour on unassisted. You seemed surprised, but I didn’t linger on the growing ill feeling between us as my son and I had work to do.

Fortunately you stuck around and set up the birthing pool in the labour suite bathroom, you nodded approvingly at the various essential oil compresses, the crystals, the yoga postures, the homeopathy kit, the relaxing music and the affirmations.

Cut to 30 hours into the story following a couple of interventions, a journey back and forth and back again between 6cm and 8cm (YES that can happen!); I had an IV dripping synthetic Oxytocin into my veins and my uterus was leading my body in an almighty fight against the invading chemicals. And that’s the moment when you really flaunted your true colours: I felt like a failure asking for pain relief. I asked however, and my wish was granted. I avoided your gaze. During the three hours I spent floating away on the magic carpet of Remifentanil, intermittently glimmers of conversation came through;

“You’re nearly there! 9cm – great!”

“Your contractions are really effective now….”

But I was exhausted; from chanting, swaying and squatting, from the fight for intervention free plateaus and progression, from the 32+ hours with only 2 light meals, from being my own advocate throughout as a solo parent, from you and me fighting about our conflicting expectations of eachother. And despite all that fighting, during those hours floating away I found my truth: that my son had brought me healing enough throughout pregnancy without having to make the passage through my cervix and vagina and heal that trauma too. (I am an abuse survivor)

“Don’t worry” I heard, “You’re 9.5cm and in minutes you’ll be at 10 – if you can’t find enough energy to push we have everything we need to help you achieve a vaginal birth.”

‘No. Thank. You.’ I thought. ‘Stay away from my vagina.’

“I want a Csection” I heard myself say with conviction and certainty.

Whilst my relief at finding the surrender I had been looking for was almost palpable, I couldn’t make eye contact with you.

In the four months since little JT was born, we have come head to head at many crossroads. I have found you tutting in the sympathetic “Oh what a shames” which I receive when I explain he made his way earthside via his own stargate. I have found you lurking self righteously in the Facebook comments of an “informative natural parenting piece” on how epidurals do indeed pass through the placenta and babies’ alertness is adversely affected; callously telling a woman who said she shouldn’t be shamed for giving birth to a dead foetus with the help of an epidural that in her case “it didn’t matter that the epidural crossed the placenta”. I have found you in the form of a prenatal yoga teacher withholding the happy stories of babies born by Csection to clients in my new friends’ post natal meet up class; the insinuation being that these stories weren’t the optimal outcome that the teacher had been encouraging her students to strive for. I found your influence in the story of my brave warrior friend who gave birth to her beautiful daughter at 27 weeks – where she defends the fact she had a Csection by explaining how dangerous it would have been for baby to have become at all distressed during a “natural delivery”.

I hear you dripping all over the expression “normal birth” – for what is a “normal birth” these days anyway??? I hear you in my final doula course training – a fellow student defending a brutal sounding gynaecologist she had witnessed manually dilating a woman from 8cm to 10cm to keep her in the proper timeframe and avoid being transferred to an inferior public hospital (I verbally winced at that idea); and your final defence? “Well at least she didn’t have to have a Csection.”

I read you as I come across a quote stating that it is a women’s right of passage to give birth naturally and vaginally; and I am left once again wondering if somehow my own experience (which is that the right of passage is in fact becoming a mother: a journey which started from the moment I was conscious my body was housing an embryo and not from the moment I felt the ejection reflex and started to push) is somehow invalid?

So no; I’m afraid these militant ideas you keep don’t ring true for me. I’ve opened my eyes to the countless women who also feel they have to apologetically explain their choosing an epidural or outside intervention – through myself having felt that need to defend; and now I’m starting to understand and realise why so many women unquestioningly hand over their power to medical care providers completely in the face of your dogmatic alternative. They’re frightened they won’t make your grade.

There is good news for me, and my fellow sisters who think along the same lines as I do though!

The Empowered Birth Movement is working hard to inform women about their rights, the possible choices and the protocols and side effects of the choices available to us in birth. The Empowered Birth Movement is exploring and inhabiting that vast expansive space between your natural birthing utopia and the carefully scheduled medical approach to delivering babies. The Empowered Birth Movement is bringing information about all options – judgement free – to the public sphere, bringing candid new images from all types of birth stories so that women can visualise for themselves what will feel safest for them.

When we talk about healthiest birth experiences we have to look at “health” holistically; physically, emotionally, psychologically and spiritually. And I have you to thank for bringing me to that perspective. Speaking as a mother, as a doula and as a birth coach though, I can tell you first hand that there are many reasons why the “healthiest birth” choices for a woman may well include comprehensive pain relief and or surgical assistance. Those reasons range from having a phobia of blood, to being a survivor of sexual abuse and being keen to avoid a trigger, to simply not wanting to experience the pain of vaginal childbirth.

Whatever the reason – we are entitled to make our own choices. As female peers, as mothers, as birth workers, and as birth activists we have to STOP pushing preferences and shaming women’s choices. Birth activism and reclaiming birth is about informed consent and empowered birthing – not a natural birth at all costs. And it’s certainly not about attributing shame to any mother’s birth story because she fell short of the latest soft focus home water birth video on Youtube.

So here we are.

My bags are packed.

I’m ready to go.

Shall I leave my keys on the shelf in the hall on my way out?

The Tribe Contagion

The Tribe Contagion

“You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with.” Jim Rohn

As a coach and self transformation enthusiast, I have heard and read a lot about the people you surround yourself with; your “tribe”. I fought this for a long time, plaguing myself with ideas about obligation, loyalty, duty; “Yeah but who else does he have to talk to about his relationship catastrophes”, “She’s just going through a difficult period – its only been a decade of difficulty – she’ll turn a corner soon”; blah blah blah. I thought my tribe were mostly positive, inspired, ambitious and interesting people, so it didn’t matter that some were a little less so. Then I stumbled across this quote and the mathematical logic of it really struck a chord. I realised the “some” were indeed affecting my average.

Over three years ago I consciously started engaging with my existence; I began my mindfulness practice. This involves being present in the here and now moment; allowing full feeling of physical sensations, emotional experiences, mind generated thinking, heart centred thinking; truly being. Being mindful starts with the self, one’s own mind, one’s own thoughts. However not being a hermit (though there are solitary shell days which I enjoy very much) and thriving on contact and connection with people, very quickly my practice began to take in the physical, emotional, and spiritual reactions to others. In the broadest sense of mindfulness when I say “others” I mean other objects, other people, other animals, other experiences, other behaviours, other communication, other physicality, other anything. The noticing of ‘the other’ is inevitable as part of a mindfulness practice – because the mind persists in it’s separation of self before succumbing to peace, acceptance and oneness. In the context of this post I mean other people.

So in noticing my multi faceted reactions to the people in my life, and the people I encountered in life, naturally an inventory of states began to take form. Very quickly it started to become clear to me with whom I was feeling most at peace, most at ease, most courageous, most inspired, most able to be vulnerable, and crucially for me; where I was mostly hooting with laughter.

Naturally then, without confrontation, and always blessed with love and gratitude, some relationships just started to fall away. This didn’t happen entirely without action on my part, reducing my facebook friends by 350 people was a significant action. Another action, which was perhaps even more significant, was learning to flex my “no” muscle. I am still actively training this muscle, and have learnt a lot about communication in doing so; expect a post on the “no” muscle.

Another action was reestablishing boundaries in the relationships which still had a chance of evolving into a vessel to serve us both, sometimes those boundaries worked for us both and we have grown closer together, sometimes they didn’t work and so we have taken seperate paths. I noticed the liberty of letting these relationships fall away. I noticed the loving gift of an honest no. I noticed the expansion of internal space and possibility. I noticed the heady excitement of random meetings with new people now there was more space in my being, in my heart.

In letting people fall away we are allowing a WIN WIN WIN WIN scenario.

WIN 1: you spend time with people who invigorate you

WIN 2: they spend more time with people who want to spend time with them

WIN 3: you create space for new people to enter your life

WIN 4: those new people get to be invigorated by you!

And one last point to honour the wise Jim Rohn; your average becomes exceptional. Outstanding even!