A Woman's Labour Of Love

Birth is something I am incredibly passionate about.  I love it.  I feel it to be the beautiful, crowning jewel of womanhood.  It can be so liberating, the girl coming of age and becoming a woman.  It connects us so closely with our body when we let it.  There can be so much pleasure found in it, not only in the end result, but in the journey too.  I have experienced that.  Truly it is a labour of love.  Love not only for the child being born, but also for labourer herself and everyone involved, when it is allowed to be.  And I have rarely, if ever, felt myself so close to divinity.



Yet, in our search for equality in a male dominated world, it is the thing that we, as women, have let the power be taken away from our hands. To bear children and give birth is our God given right, a beautiful gift, and as such he has given the tools we need to make it wonderful and joyous the whole way through.  From conception to the moment that we look into our new child's eyes and hold him to our breast.  And to every feminist that touts I am giving up my rights and privileges that women have worked so hard to for us to have, to that I have to say that in her search for equality, woman has given up control of her own body and the power of influence she has over the coming generation.  Two of the greatest powers that we possess.  The two things that women through all the ages have always been able to find their joy and pride, bearing and rearing children, have been turned into a millstone around the neck.  It has been turned into the scapegoat for the inequality that has been experienced.  Really, birth and child rearing are not to blame.  It is something that differentiates us from men, true, but since when is being different being unequal?  And so one of the most intimate and shaping moments in a woman's life has been taken out of her hands, as it is believed to be a burden, and been turned over to education and science.  In the search for being able to do all that men do in our world, we have lost touch with our femininity, what it really means to be a woman.  The labour of love has turned into simply giving birth, and the inate pleasure and joy that comes with such an experience has turned into fear, mistrust of our bodies and helplessness in the hands of healthcare professionals.  But this is not how it has to be.

Yesterday I had the most wonderful conversation with one of my closest friends.  Her second son had been born the day before, and she was sharing with me what her experience was like, and how good it had been.  I am so happy for her.  That she was able to have such a moving experience.  It felt so wonderful for me to finally be able to share with someone I'm so close to similar experiences, and have her more fully understand why I'm so passionate about birth.

But the day before she had called me very shortly after her labour had started, and she was terrified.

With her first son, even though she wanted it, she really knew nothing about having a drug free labour.  So, she at a week overdue, not feeling that she should take a stand and say that it is perfectly normal to go two weeks overdue, she was induced.  Then, when she was three centimeters dialated, she felt so overwhelmed and scared she asked for an epidural.  At the time, it had been just fine with her, and for many women it is.  But as she researched more, experienced an emotional detatchment, and supported me through my experience of giving birth, she learned that from that point forward she wanted something much different.

I could hear in her voice with every contraction the tension she was creating in her body.  She so very much wanted to be able to have a natural, normal labour and birth in her home.  But here she was now, feeling the pain and she didn't know if she could do it.  Sensing her immediate need for support and hearing her fighting against the contractions, I told her to stop and breathe.  Her body wouldn't be able to function as it needed to, the way it was built to, if she was emotionally fighting and not providing all the fuel that it needed.  The uterus is like any muscle, it needs oxygen and fuel, too.  As she began to breath again, I could hear her relax.  We talked over many things that she had learned in her reading, and things that I had been able to experience in the birth of my daughter.  Though she still had fears of pain, and its future intensity, she now remembered the tools that she could put to use to help her.  I was so amazed to listen to her, on the other side of the continent, alone with her three year old son, overcome her fears and begin to find the things that she needed to work through each movement of her uterus.  When she got off the phone with me, she was still alone, still had fears, but she now knew that she had, at the very least, the power to work with her body through the next contraction, and her doulas and midwife were on the way to help her.

Labour has a rhythm.  The uterus pulses and rests, just like the heart, though not as quickly.  It is normal, it is natural.  And when worked with, instead of being fought against, and done with the joy of giving this gift to your child, it becomes a labour of love.  The pain changes into the most incredible intense feeling that is no longer pain, but can't really be described.  Often it is so intense that it cannot be contained.  It is released in rocking in time to the rhythm, and through the voice.  Some women call this the birth song.

My friend told me of her experience with this after her baby was born.  She had done what she could to prepare, letting the whole to be guided by God as need be, and everything she needed to have a beautiful experience fell into place.  She found the two doulas she needed to have with her, friends came to help who needed to share in the experience, and the initial decision of choosing a midwife.  And she found her rhythm.  As she was allowed to listen and respond to her body and what it needed, she learned how to have control of her son leaving her body, to make it gentle for her and her son.  She had women who knew how to support her there, but she was the one directing the experience.  It was liberating, fulfilling and joyful.  It was an experience that will affect her far into the future, having shown her the strength, determination and power within herself that she didn't know she had.

This experience is not the norm, at least in our western culture.  Birth has become either taboo or horrifying in many social circles, so how could it be?  But it can change.  As women learn that this is possible, as they decide that it is what they want, it can change.  We don't have to turn it into a battle.  We simply have to find out what we want, take a stand, and then share our experience with others.  That's how I came to be on this journey, and how my friend did as well.  Other women shared their own own stories of joyful birth with us.

Perhaps what we have done is a small thing in the history of the world.  Perhaps we are taking small steps.  But every movement toward a positive change has begun with someone taking some small steps, and continuing to do so.  Like the pebble dropped in the pond, the ripples go on until they reach every shore.  This is one of my pebbles, one of my steps, brought on by many taken by my friend, on the other side of the country.  And so now, we can go forward, supporting one another as women, in our simple yet profound way help other women.