Before the birth of my youngest son I must have seen at least a hundred different birth-video’s, many of them together with my five-year old daughter who wants to become a Doula herself one day.
There are births to watch in hospitals, like ‘One born every minute.’ They are hard to look at, when you are a bit of a birth-activist, wanting to spread consciousness about self-determined birthing. Even though each birth is primal and beautiful in its own unique way it can be heart-breaking to feel that a caesarean section could possibly have been prevented if only the woman would have felt more comforted, by a more consistent support of a midwife with enough time.
I also watched the opposite type of birth video, wherein beautiful women lie between rose-petals in birthing-pools with fascinating, arty tattoos on their tiger stripe-free bodies. Some of them are quiet all through their births and some of them smile while their baby emerges. I have even seen two video’s with birthing women who explode into ecstatic laughter during the last stage of their child’s birth. In my subconscious these women turned into my birthing-hero’s and as it happens with hero’s, I wanted to be like them.
I only found my inner heroines popping out of their cocoons, the morning our big baby-boy wanted to face the light. ‘I’ve seen them that can stay quiet!’ I yelled. ‘How do they do it? Why can’t I do it?’ It was maybe not the pain of the contractions, nor my own loudness that were hurting me the most, because this pain was indeed coming in waves and once the wave was gone it did not return, each one of them was new and left me when I had managed them. It was this ruthless inner criticizer that could not let me birth the only way I could without having a commentary to it. This voice caused me to feel a pain that had nothing to do with the physical pain and it remained during the first week after the birth. I had given birth at home, in the pool to a healthy 4320 gram love-baby without medication. I had a loving supporting-team around me and everything was just right but I had to go through moment’s feeling I had failed. Now, what is that about? Have I chosen a self-determined birth to create a peaceful birth-environment, what Leboyer calls 'Birth without violence', so that I can be this hard on myself? If a midwife in the hospital would tell a woman to be quiet, this could be classified as some form of emotional violence, hurting a woman in her integrity to expres herself in her own kind of way, right? It doesn't make sense either though to critique the inner criticizer. Ok, she is there and she can be a bit fierce, but all she wants is to be seen and accepted, the same way that the wordless roar wants to express itself. So I say to the bitch with the critique, it's all right, come here if you like and I put my arms around you.
Here I am, exactly as I am, a mother but not a heroin. A mother with a tendency to perfectionism,
with one time impatience, another time patience towards herself to learn to let go.
I smile at my ego, my ‘wanting to be someone’, my preferences and disgusts.
My tiredness I ask:
are you my thoughts? Why do you write this?
Why do you share it? What about the writing?
It’s a phoenix out of the ashes-thingie yo!
The ‘showing up anyway’ where Elizabeth Gilbert talks about in her wonderful Ted-speech.
Because you know what? I dreamed last night that Facebook introduced the ‘sick-button.’ I had written something on Facebook, maybe it was what I’ve just been writing and an old classmate from art-academy who is now a successful author had pushed the ‘sick-button’. It was a green face about to throw-up. I had no other likes, wow’s or comments, no angry’s, no sad’s, just one sick. I woke up feeling like it had been a nightmare and I was aware once more about this wanting to do it all good of mine, this wanting to be someone who gets approval.
Here, I give this thoughts and feelings back to the flow, into the river of life. It is simply not up to me. Scream, like, wow, angry, sad, sick or don’t bother at all as much as you like or be or feel what you don’t like against your own will or whatever. Women give birth as they do as a completion of pregnancy and writers write after carrying some thoughts and ideas around. Be you, I say into the mirror and to you-you. Be authentic, this is more than enough. This is the love of your life, for yourself. Be there for your inner anti-hero and the outer ones, your beloveds. Love your human-being lover, kids, family and friends not because of their perfectness nor for what they present into the world. Love them because of their there-ness and laugh the thoughts away, alone or together.
birthing..At Remi's birth I was blessed with an amazing midwife Tanja Piererfellner, The One mr. Babypapa, and three(!) Doula's, one Doula-doula Natalie Bidmon, two child-doula's: daughter Livia was there 95% of the time and she was amazing, son Davin has been pouring water over my belly during the earlier opening-stage when Liv was still asleep.. Thanks to all of you for your there-ness!
