Disclaimer 1: This was my first pregnancy and birth experience. I say this because I know my feelings around my journey are so much a reflection of it being my first time.
Disclaimer 2: All birth is birth, and all people who birth babies are badasses. I chose a home-birth experience because it most reflected the journey that *I* wanted to have, based on my personal value system. Please don’t let my passion for home-birth make you feel that any other path is not as powerful.
Disclaimer 3: Don’t let my story shape your narrative of birth. Every birth is different, and pleasurable births are possible. In fact, here’s an interview I did about Orgasmic Birth just days before I went into labor. I believe that some mothers manifest the birth experience they need for whatever lesson they are walking at that time. I believe God is reflecting back to her in those moments the things her heart most needs to look at. For those that could use healing in regard to their birth stories, I highly recommend a Birth-Processing session with my midwife, Tiffany Hoffman, through Alchemist Movement's healing sanctuary.
Disclaimer 4: I was blessed with a healthy pregnancy, and privileged with access to healthcare and a steady income, and this is what made me successful in my home-birth dream. Even though home-births cost about $10,000 less than hospital births (and that's without a C-section), they are rarely covered by insurance. I hope my story helps spread the gospel of birthing at home.
Act I: The Mind Fuck (36-40 Weeks Pregnant)
36 Weeks: You feel like an expert in pregnancy but a complete novice in labor/birth (for first time moms, at least). At this point in my journey, because the impending labor just didn’t seem real, the whole thing felt like an exam I was studying for but that there was a chance I might get out of. Like, you’re nervous for the test, but also the Professor has shared he might just cancel the finals and base your final grade on your most recent paper, or something.
39 weeks: The reality of your birth, which absolutely no one knows how it will unfold, is definitely just around the corner. Because I was planning a natural birth and natural induction, the whole thing just felt like a surprise party that I accidentally found out about; I knew a party was happening happening, but I didn’t know when or where. So every corner I turned (every strange feeling), every time I walked in the door (every new pain), I’m like, “Is this it? Is it happening now?” And then it’s not, and the mind fuck just continues. You know you’re at the end, but also you’re still going...
40 weeks: “The Surprise Party” is now all the time. Basically everyday I was sending group texts like, “IT’S HAPPENING.”... ”No wait sorry no it’s not, my bad everyone.”... “OK NOW FOR REAL!”... “oh shoot sorry no it went away sorry.”
Act II: It’s Really Happening (Labor begins)
On Monday of my 40th week, I kept thinking my water broke because I was constantly leaking fluid due to incontinence (#LoveRealLife). There are these swabs that test for amniotic fluid, and my midwife gave me a handful of them to take home because it just kept happening. (Did you know that only 8-10% of women’s waters actually break in early labor? Most don’t break until right before the baby comes out. The idea that water breaks early is just an overused Hollywood trope!) The reason it was important for me to know whether or not my water was still in tact was because I had tested positive for GBS (1 in 4 women do), and, in the case of my water breaking, I had 18 hours (or something like that) to get the baby out in order to keep his risk of infection low.
I went through several false swabs throughout the week, then...Friday morning, February 9th, at 8:30am I went to pee and felt a little rush of fluid. At this point I had every expectation of another false result, when suddenly, the tip of the swab turned a vivid blue/black. My heart did flip-flops. I texted a picture of the swab to my midwife, and within seconds she wrote back, “Yep. That’s a positive swab. Your water has broken.”
A strange mixture of both calmness and adrenaline washed over me. It’s really happening, I thought.
I walked out and told my husband that my water broke. We both felt grateful that our baby decided to begin his journey on a Friday, giving us a 3-day weekend to capture the experience (it seriously could NOT have been better timed).
Typically, labor starts naturally within 12-24 hours after your water ruptures. My birth team and I decided that if my labor hadn’t started by 6pm that night, I was going to drink a “castor oil smoothie” (a natural way to induce labor at home). I texted all my friends and we decided to have a “castor oil smoothie party”. I was nervous because I really wanted to let my body progress naturally without the smoothie, but I was also ready to get the show on the fucking road.
I went about my day as normal. I even got a text from a producer I work with a lot, and she needed me to record a voiceover for the film we had been working on. I wrote back, “No problem. My water just broke, so send me the script within the next couple hours and I can knock it out.” She replied, “Can I please screenshot this text and send it to our client? You’re fucking insane.” To which I replied, “No, I’m dedicated.” But also, early labor can be mentally brutal, so having normal things to do was always a part of my plan, anyway.'
I did the voiceover. I went for a walk with my husband. We kept having these mini existential crises like, “Babe. This is our LAST walk as a family of two. Next walk we take there will be a BABY.”
At 6pm, all my friends had gathered for our castor oil smoothie party. We had pizza and donuts and were ready to rock out in my living room. Then...the midwives showed up. Another mama had gone into labor, and they asked me to NOT drink the smoothie, because it can speed up labor REALLY fast, and they can’t be in two places at once. So, they ran a few tests on me (checked heart rate of baby, took my blood pressure, and had my nurse friend give me an IV of antibiotics as a guard against any infection from the GBS).
The new plan was that they were going to rush off to the mom currently in labor, and then text me at midnight; if my labor hadn’t progressed by then, I was to drink the smoothie at midnight, giving them enough time to take care of that mama, and then get back to me.
I felt bad, like I had ruined my friends’ plans (this is a theme that would come up majorly throughout the next 22 hours). BACKSTORY: My midwife had been emotionally preparing me for 6 months, “You labor as you live,” she would tell me. What does that mean? It means that whatever emotional battles you fight in your life, THEY WILL ARISE TO THE SURFACE DURING A NATURAL LABOR! This is why having a natural labor was so important to me -- because it presents one of the most powerful opportunities to heal yourself of old patterns and wounds. It sets the space for absolute, total self-awareness and alchemy to occur. For me, that meant people-pleasing and trying to control everything, and then feeling really bad when I couldn’t. More on that later, though.
My friends, being the amazing humans they are, obviously didn’t care. We hung out and ate junk food, and my doula taught us some belly dancing moves. So, there we were, a bunch of girls, gays, and a pregnant chick, belly dancing in early labor on a Friday night. Around 10ish, it was clear that a baby wasn’t coming any time soon (contractions hadn’t even started yet), and so my friends went home, and I watched the clock, waiting for midnight and preparing my smoothie.
At midnight, my midwife texted me, “Almost done here. Go ahead and drink the smoothie, if it feels right.”
IF IT FEELS RIGHT -- those words seemed to stick out in bold on my text screen. Why did she text “if it feels right??” I wondered.
So I asked, “Why did you say, ‘If it feels right’?”
“Because you don’t have to drink it if it doesn’t. Does it?” She asked.
NO. It didn’t. It didn’t feel right. And I’ve never in my life, even as a professionally trained psychic (whatever that means, right?), *heard* something as clear as the “no” I got when I read her text. And this is why I am and will always be so in love with Tiffany Hoffman, my midwife, because she also listens to the Universe, and she knew to text me that.
I wrote back, “It doesn’t feel right.”
She said, “Great. Don’t drink it. Try to get some sleep. See you soon.”
The house was quiet. My friends were all gone. My husband was sleeping. I felt depressed because I JUST wanted to GET THE SHOW ON THE ROAD. But I couldn’t deny that “no” I felt/heard. It was just so...loud and clear. I went and laid in bed. There was no way I was going to fall asleep. What’s going on in there, I wondered to my baby.
At 12:30am my bff, whom I lovingly call “Wifey”, texted, “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, really,” I answered. “All the sudden I just got these really bad period-like cramps. I’m just laying in bed in the fetal position.”
“Be there in 10,” she shot back. She showed up a few minutes later with a heating pad. We went to my living room and I laid on the floor as the period cramps got worse. I was in the fetal position and she was cuddling me. Just typing this part of the story is making me super emotional. I’ll never forget that hour, just her and I on my floor. I texted my doula who showed up around 1:30am. My bff went to lay down in my bed to sleep, and my doula took over cuddling me on the floor, rubbing my head, talking to me about what was happening. The pain was gnarly, so my doula texted the midwives and said things seems to be progressing rapidly.
The midwives arrived around 3:30am, I think. They had spent all night at that other birth. I texted my friends and told them to come back around 6:30am. My plan (which is laughable now) was to have all of my tribe present when the little King made his entrance. I had also made a private facebook group from which I was going to broadcast my labor live. Over the course of my final month of pregnancy, that group had grown to about 60+ people, all friends and family near and far. Again, my intuition screamed at me, “Don’t do it. Don’t broadcast this to that many people.”
I had been watching live births on a Facebook group called “BirthTube” for weeks, and felt really attached to the idea of letting all my favorite people be a part of this experience in such a modern way. But no, my insides were telling me not to. So, in the middle of a contraction, I created a new group with only a few people in it (parents, my husband’s family, and a couple of important friends that I really just wanted there). I also insisted on no one even knowing I was in labor, and flipped out when I found out my husband had posted in a small, private theatre group that my water had broken. For whatever reason, I could suddenly *feel* the energy of people thinking about us, and I then understood why mammals seek privacy when giving birth. I went from wanting all of my loved ones to know things had started, to not wanting anyone to know until it was over.
My mom, who was 3 hours ahead of us in Ohio, called me and said Azlan had come to her in a dream. That it was super real and that she had even seen his face. She said in the dream she was showing him off to our family, including my great-grandmother Orpha, who I’ve had an extreme psychic connection to since I was a baby (including talking to her in my dreams as a very little kid, and knowing things I couldn’t have otherwise known). My mom said in the dream I was walking around looking for donuts to eat, which was hilarious and validating because I was absolutely walking around eating the donuts my Wifey had brought over the night before.
5am: I got into the birth tub in my living room for the first time. You’re supposed to wait until the last minute to get into the tub, when you can’t handle any more pain, because it provides so much relief. If you get in too early, it can make it less effective later. I was so convinced that I was so close to the end at this point and wanted to be in the tub. (More backstory: in 2009, when I met the man who would become my husband, I had a vision of a waterbirth in a living room, with him sitting behind me. This was before we were even together. This psychic vision was so intense that it actually made me go, “Hmmm...well, he IS kind of cute. I could see him being my babydaddy.” That vision then created the crush that then made me pursue him.) So, needless to say, I was convinced this is how my baby would be born, and I wanted in that tub.
While I was in the tub, my friends had the MOST INCREDIBLE jam session. They were playing worship music, and my favorite singer in the whole wide world was belting out my most favorite worship songs while my husband played piano. Then they had a drum circle, which was amazing to hear while in labor, and really helped me to tap into Earth energy. This whole part is so fuzzy to me, and I remember not being able to look at my friends because I felt so self-conscious. Turns out I only like the spotlight when I’m in absolute control of everything happening under it.
7am: I was antsy and annoyed that “nothing was happening”. I felt like I was disappointing people, that I was “taking too long”, that I wasn’t performing, that my friends were bored, that my birth team was annoyed. I was more worried about being a good host and was absolutely incapable of tapping into my own needs and focusing on myself. (Are you seeing now how all of my personal issues were arising in my birth, full frontal, completely raw. It was impossible to not be aware of them). My midwife 10000% warned me this would happen, and so I knew in my heart what was going on inside me.
My birth team suggested that I get out of the tub and sit on the toilet for a while. By this point some back labor had started and I was miserable. It fucking hurt to sit on the toilet, but also I could see how SO many women give birth on toilets because of the muscle memory that comes as soon as you sit down. Like, I had so much trouble relaxing my pelvic floor and “letting go”, even in the tub, but the second I would be on the toilet, I felt comfortable relaxing “down there”. But also it fucking hurt to sit on a hard seat.
I want to take a moment to talk about my doula, Allison, who was the most amazing thing to happen to my birth. I would never have another baby without a doula. I called her my shepherd, since that’s exactly what she was for me throughout my journey. While my midwives were busy charting and executing their medical role, and my friends were just trying to hold space, my doula never left my side (unless I asked her to). Every time I peed, every time I changed rooms, every time I cried..she was right there, affirming me, telling me stories of other births, promising me over and over again that the pain would stop the very moment the baby came out.
At this point, I hadn’t been measured yet, and didn’t know how far along I was. Part of going the midwife/homebirth route is that they are very hands off. It’s all about trusting your body, trusting the mother, and trusting the baby. The medical reasons for not checking for dilation are because it GREATLY increases chances of infection (especially in cases where the water has already ruptured). It’s actually kind of crazy that this practice has become normal in hospitals because the research is all there of how much more risk it creates. The psychological reasons for not checking is because it can really put the mother in her head if she’s not “as far along” as she thinks she “should” be.
But by this point I was going a little crazy and needed to be checked...for my own sanity. Again, the midwife journey is about honoring WHAT THE MOTHER WANTS, and guiding her to have autonomy in her choices. So, though many midwives discourage checking the cervix, when I was clear about wanting it, I got it. I decided that if I was anything less than 8cm dilated, I was going to send my friends home. So, my midwife checked me, and the result was 6cm. I started crying and finally admitted that I needed my friends to leave because I just couldn’t surrender. I am a people-pleaser, and a control freak, and there was zero chance I was going to be able to tap into my primal nature with anyone watching. I asked my doula to go tell all of my friends (except the one who feels like my big sister) to leave while I cried in that bathroom, grieving the loss of the birth I had so carefully “planned” in my head.
9:30am: They suggested I try getting into bed. Again, I had a ton of emotions around this not being a part of my “plan”. My beautiful, wonderful midwife took it upon herself to move all the “affirmations” I had taped up in my living room to my bedroom. I hated those affirmations at that moment. “Fuck the affirmations,” I kept thinking. The only thing good about this part are how beautiful and raw the pictures are from my husband and my doula in bed with me.
10am: I made Tiffany check me again, I was 8-ish cm.
11am: I tried to overcompensate for the guilt I was feeling about how long this was taking by showcasing a suddenly fresh and invigorated attitude. It became clear that the baby’s position was not great. He was head down, but the awful back labor and slow-ish progress also indicated that he may be mal-positioned. Luckily for me, my doula happened to be familiar with something called Spinning Babies, which is ALL about creating better births by creating better positioned babies. My doula had told me I should be doing these exercises throughout my whole pregnancy, ESPECIALLY third trimester. Here I was, with probably the only doula in town with this knowledge, and I didn’t do it. I assumed that because he was head down that I was totally good to go. I regret that so much, and if I ever had another baby, I would spend my entire pregnancy focusing on this aspect. But it was too late now, so all I could do was try to do some moves in the moment, including deep lunges up my basement stairs, and a weird upside thing that hurt so bad I only achieved one.
12pm: The back labor was so bad at this point, I was so miserable. The ONLY thing that provided relief was sitting slouched on my couch. But here was the kicker: every time I sat like that, I undid all of the progress from the lunges. I literally had to CHOOSE to stop doing the one thing that was bringing me any relief. And here’s why midwives are the heroes of our planet: they never told me that I had to stop slouching. They only suggested it. I remember Tiffany actually saying, “You can keep doing it, we’re not going anywhere, but it is slowing your labor down. We support you no matter what.” Can you fucking believe that?? A doctor in a hospital would probably be like, “I’ve got a golf game at 4, so you need to hurry up.” But here was my birth team, letting me have my journey. I just don’t have words to capture how incredible, humbling, and boundary-pushing that was.
1pm: My contractions stopped. WHY. GOD. WHY. Emotionally, I knew God was challenging me again and bringing up my people-pleasingness. It was KILLING me knowing that my midwives had come from an overnight birth. I knew they hadn’t slept yet. I knew that I had called them too early. I felt like I failed them, that I should have known I wasn’t as far along as I thought, and that they could have gone home to sleep after the birth from late Friday night. I kept begging them to go take naps in our guest room. And I kept apologizing that I was “taking too long”. I seriously was so triggered by this aspect. It was almost as unbearable as the physical pain. And no amount of loving affirmation from them that everything was fine would help.
Anyway, midwives can’t administer pitocin to stimulate contractions, so they used herbal tinctures and nipple stimulation via a breast pump, which are known natural stimulants.
It wasn’t working.
4pm: No urge to push yet and really pissed off about it. I was crying and begging Tiffany to “tell me when it would be over.” I felt like I could handle the rest of the journey if someone could just FUCKING TELL ME how much longer it would be! Even if someone was like, “You’ve still got 8 more hours of this shit,” I would have been like, “Awesome. Someone start the clock.” But not knowing how much longer I had was existential torture like no other. Was it 2 more hours? 5 more hours? 2 more days?!?! The physical pain mixed with the emotional distress of not knowing made me want to die. It was sometime around here that I asked for a gun so I could shoot myself. (Dramatic, I know. But I was NOT planning on this back labor, and I was NOT planning on it taking this long.)
At this point my lovely brother stopped by to take our senior dog for a walk. I remember that he walked in, and so casually and genuinely said, "You're still in labor?"
I. almost. murdered him. He will never live that down.
5pm: More lunges, more stairs, more resisting the urge to recline on the couch, more crying, more begging, more praying and pleading and bargaining with God. One thing that I swear worked is that I kept bargaining with my baby and making deals with him that if he wanted to be born at home, things needed to progress.
6pm: My husband took his third nap. I remember telling myself that I would be very supportive of him napping because he would need his rest and should seize it when he could, but oh my god I was SO FUCKING ANNOYED by this time and resented him for even being able to sleep at all. I’m only noting this because it’s funny and true.
Also, at the time, we decided to discontinue my IV. This was another moment of intuition where I could simply FEEL that I didn’t need it, and that my baby and I would be okay without it. Also, there was something about that contraption being lodged in my hand that was seriously holding me back. I can’t quite describe it but I felt so free when they finally took it out.
6:30pm: Midwife noted that the baby felt asynclitic, which refers to the position of a baby in the uterus, such that the head of the baby is presenting first and is tilted to the shoulder, causing the fetal head to no longer be in line with the birth canal. This would explain the excruciating back labor and slow progression.
7pm: I asked to go to the hospital. All the passion I had for having my baby at home was gone, and I just wanted it out of me. Despite there being absolutely no medical concern for me to transfer (heart rate, blood pressure, etc), I had so much fear that I just wasn’t going to be able to do it. My contractions had stopped. In my head I felt like I wasn’t progressing. And though the pain was insane, it was more that no one could tell me when it would be over, and I just wanted to give up.
Of course my midwives supported whatever I wanted to do, but they also knew I was fine, so they encouraged me to understand what transferring would mean, and I realized that it wouldn’t really solve any of my problems (as it was probably too late for an epidural, plus I would have to deal with checking in, etc). The idea of leaving the energy of my home and dealing with the energy of a hospital seemed absolutely impossible. My midwife actually bargained with me, which was a BRILLIANT move on her part. She said, “Let’s check you again, and see if you’ve progressed in dilation. If you have, we should stay.”
I loved that idea and started bargaining again with my baby. I prayed to God and to my baby, “If you want to be born at home, mommy needs you to have progressed past 8cm.”
I laid down to let her check me. I was almost 9cm. We were staying home.
8pm: I started pushing, laying down in my bed, even though I didn’t really feel the urge to. Pushing laying down is literally the worst thing I’ve ever felt in my life and I cannot believe anyone has babies this way.
9pm: My contractions felt really inconsistent but I wanted to keep pushing. Pushing for that long and feeling like no progress is being made is absolute hell. At one point my midwife gave me a "focal point" of "where" to push by pressing down on my perineum. Not only did it actually feel really good, but also it helped IMMENSELY with the pushing. Highly recommend. I remember begging her, "DO THE FINGER THING AGAIN!!"
9:30pm: My husband and my friend are standing at the side of my bed, watching me push. I would push with all of my might, and nothing would happen, and it was so depressing. Then, one time I pushed, and while I personally didn’t notice anything different, my husband and my friend both GASPED at the exact same moment. They had just seen the head emerge at the very back of the canal. Watching them react was exactly what I needed. The only tragic thing was that I thought it meant I was so close to being done! Little did I know I still had an hour left of pushing.
Somewhere around this time, while pushing with all my might, my midwife reached inside and executed a “manual rotation” to try to get his head unstuck and in line with the birth canal. It was quick, and though the moment in general was chaotic, I 100% remember thinking it was the most badass thing I had ever witnessed. It was also what changed the game, and made the rest of my journey possible. I reflect on this moment a lot when thinking about how expert my birth team was, and how heartbreaking it is when “the establishment” does not take these women seriously. The brains, skills, and spirit it takes to be a midwife is very super-human, while at the same time is the essence of humanness. (If you haven’t seen my performance called “The Passion of the Midwife”, you can watch it here).
10pm: I started squatting at the foot of my bed. This also hurt like a bitch, but it was so much easier to let go. I realized how much I hadn’t been letting go fully because I was afraid of peeing and pooping. Of course I was squatting over chuck pads, but there was still so much self-consciousness around this aspect. If you want to have a natural birth, I recommend practicing this somehow.
Anyway, I somehow stopped caring, finally. Like, seriously stopped caring. I would grab the edge of my heavy oak-framed bed and PULL it toward me while simultaneously squatting and yelling, and fluids just starting flowing. There was blood and poop coming out, and my birth team would switch out those pads quick as lighting, and I never saw anything. But damn did it feel good! All the poop and blood meant we were close and it was the most motivating thing ever. It turns out the thing I was most scared of was actually the thing I most needed. Birth is so, so strange and beautiful.
Again, my contractions had stopped, and my team was constantly doing everything they could to get them going. My midwife said, “Your contractions stopping are a sign that you are tired,” (which made sense because I had been up for two days at that point without sleep). That scared the shit out of me. There was absolutely NO FUCKING WAY I WAS TAKING A BREAK. So, I lied, and said that they had started again. And every minute or so I said I could feel one coming out, and I’d bear down, squat, pull on the frame of my bed, and push, stand up, and repeat. It seemed like the baby wasn’t really making it any further down the canal.
10:28pm: I had just come up from squatting and bearing down. I remember my midwife said, “Ok, let’s take a little break,” or something like that. Whatever it was exactly, all I remember was yelling, “NO!!!!!!”, and with that I squatted down, and pulled on the frame of my insanely heavy bed. I remember thinking, I don’t care if I explode. I don’t care if I die, I’m not stopping pushing until this is fucking over.
Suddenly, I felt this burning. It’s called “The Ring of Fire”, and it’s the burning sensation felt as the mother's tissues stretch around the baby's head. (It’s very similar to sticking your fingers in your mouth to stretch your lips and pulling as wide as you can.) I yelled, “I FEEL THE BURNING THING!” To be honest, it felt really good in a really weird way, and for a SPLIT second I had a glimpse of what orgasmic birth must feel like.
Tiffany said, “KEEP GOING!!” She was in her infamous squatting position, twisted, looking up inside of me from below. My husband was also laying on the floor on the other side, looking up, best seat in the house. (He was so cute, not afraid of absolutely anything the entire journey. The midwives even commented on how grounded and calm he was the whole time.)
The poetic thing about birth is that you have to die. Like, you get to this moment where you are SO over the pain, that you legitimately no longer care if you die pushing the baby out. You just want the pain to stop, so you push until you die. You split open, you let go of everything (literally) and you pray for death. And then BAM. In a single MOMENT the excruciating pain just...stops. It’s not gradual; it’s sudden. The pain is just over...and there...is your baby. The death becomes life.
The moment that my death turned into birth was accompanied by a *splat* that I’ll never forget. Mr. Azlan Rey Taglieber did not come out gradually, as I had seen in so many birth videos, where the baby crowns slowly, and gently just fallllllls out. Nope. Not Azzy Rey. He came out in what can only be described as a quantum moment. And just as my doula had been promising, with that splat came instantaneous relief. I remember my midwife catching him like the true professional she is and handing him up to me, bent over at the side of my bed. The next thing I remember is her yelling, “SHORT CORD, DON’T STAND UP!” So there I hunched, holding this THING in my arms, and mumbling, “It’s over. It’s fucking over. I did it. I can’t believe I fucking did it. I did it. I did it. I did it myself.”
When the cord situation was handled, they laid me on my bed and covered Azlan and I in blankets. He never cried. Not once. I remember he was lying belly down on my chest and at one point he lifted his head up and scanned the entire room, looking everyone in the eye like the freakin’ Terminator or something. It was psychedelic and wild.
Everything from there was a blur. The oxytocin rushed in, and while the midwives did their thing (which was beyond fascinating to see) I remember staring at my bff Heather at the foot of my bed, and she was crying (and snapping these amazing photos), and I kept whispering to her, “Mama, I did it. I did it. He’s here. It’s finally over. I did it.”
They had me “birth” my placenta, which I never remember learning ANYWHERE in all my education. It’s the most wild, sensational feeling. Like birthing jello. They properly cared for it so that it could be made into placenta capsules by this amazing local doula.
Everything was so calm, and we know we were blessed to not have required any further medical procedures. The home-birth experience, when as healthy and smooth as mine, is very hands-off. There was no rush. There was no unnecessary separation. They allowed his cord to stay connected until it turned white. My midwife stitched my one, small tear in the comfort of my bedroom. We were laughing, joking, crying.
My doula fed me an ice cold cherry coke she found in the fridge (sorry, Amanda), and it was THE MOST GLORIOUS THING I HAVE EVER TASTED IN MY LIFE. I freakin’ chugged that thing. I’ll never forget that cherry coke.
The midwives told me that they couldn’t leave until I peed at least once, and that sometimes it can take a really long time and multiple tries. I remember thinking, I’m gonna rock this for you ladies. I’m going to pee quicker than anyone has ever peed as a small token for having had a 22.5 hour labor.
AND I DID. I peed right away, and shouted, “I PEED!” And they cheered from the other room.
The next thing I know, it was probably 3 am, and Tiffany was tucking the 3 of us into bed. She kissed my head and turned out my light as she let herself out of my house. The last thing she said was, “This is your last chance to get a really long stretch of sleep.”
And that was it. I was a mother.
I listened to the stillness of my mostly-empty house for what felt like a really long time. Writing this now, almost a year later, I don’t actually remember if I ever slept. But I do know I didn’t leave my bed, my favorite place on Earth, and now the holy site where I gave birth, for almost 2 weeks. It was more glorious than anything I could have designed myself.
Looking back and examining the motifs that showed up in my journey, I realize that this birth for me was about letting go of what other people thought of me, and, recognizing that I can do things myself. Where many people struggle with asking for help, I think I struggle to believe I can do things on my own. I have a tendency toward codependency, often believing that I need other people to accomplish my goals (more so professionally than personally). The light side of this trait is that I have a talent for bringing teams together, and my matriarchal role is often the glue holding things together, as well as the air stoking the fire in the passions of other people’s heart. The shadow side of this trait is that I forget I’m enough on my own-- that I, too, am worthy of being produced, not just being the one who is producing. Like all codependents, I avoid looking at myself by focusing on others. Now I know that when I focus on myself, I’m capable of producing life.
What kind of life would you lead if you had no fear? #AlchemistMovement