Surrender Over Defeat: The Holy Battle to Meeting my Daughter
An audio Podcast-style interview of this birth story can be found on
Homebirth was never something I envisioned for myself. I always pictured birthing in a hospital, and that was my original plan for my first pregnancy and birth. Nevertheless, a seed was planted for the roots of homebirth to grow in my heart from a dear friend of mine who was styling my hair at the time (she also happened to be a doula). She shared her homebirth story with me and her beautiful photos, and I admit, I was a little inspired by her experience. Within the upcoming weeks of my pregnancy, my husband and I were in a vulnerable season in which he had lost his job, and we had lost our medical insurance. We had no idea what we were going to do for our birth anymore. God had a way of working these things for good by leading us to our home birth midwife and transitioning our care to her when I was 23 weeks pregnant. I always felt peaceful when our midwife left our home after our appointments together, and knew that I would be in great hands when it came time to meet my baby. Throughout pregnancy, I watched lots of home birth videos on social media and read books about pain free labors. A picture perfect birth was created in my mind about the details of my future labor, and I was excited to partake in such a powerful, intimate experience at home.
At 41 weeks pregnant, I was sitting around our dinner table Friday night with my husband and friends enjoying some fast food we had ordered. After eating, I began to feel really crampy and sick. I honestly thought maybe I had food poisoning, but after a little while, the sensations began to develop a pattern of coming about every 40 minutes or so. Realizing they may be early contractions, I went to sleep for the night and rested pretty well. Saturday morning, I was sure we’d be meeting our daughter that weekend. We carried on about our day, headed to the Farmer’s Market, had lunch, and played some games of cribbage before shopping at TJ Maxx. I began timing my contractions on my phone. Each time one would arise in the store, I would just take a pause and breathe through it. If this is what contractions were like, I was confident I could do this.
Back at our house that evening, I was around the dinner table again with my husband and best friend (who served as my doula), and we were all taking guesses what time baby would arrive. I was optimistic she would be here very soon. Around 5:oo pm, I called our midwife to let her know my contractions had been consistently coming about every 5 minutes for the last hour. She arrived around 8:00 pm, which was perfect timing because things were starting to feel more intense, and I was in need of more support. I felt so much relief. She got me comfortable on the couch, and my contractions ended up slowing way down. My midwife returned home to sleep, and I told my husband to get some sleep too. My best friend stayed up with me, but I was in and out of sleep until 2:00 am. I was very uncomfortable, trying different positions on my exercise ball. I was in and out of the hot shower, and finally at 4:00 am, I asked my best friend to call our midwife back, and I woke up my husband. The contractions felt stronger than they ever hadbefore at this point, and I was struggling and very emotional. By 6:30 am, the birth tub was filled, and I regained confidence that I would be meeting my baby so soon. I was encouraged by my midwife’s words that each contraction had a purpose, that the pain had a purpose, that each time a contraction was gone, it was gone for good, and that each contraction that passed led me closer to meeting my baby.
A second midwife arrived around this time because our birth assistant was unable to be there due to a family emergency. I so was thankful to have the support of another midwife. I was in the tub and felt like I couldn’t get a break between contractions. I was beginning to feel miserably defeated. I kept trying to praise God through the contractions and surrender them to him, but it felt like I wasn’t being heard. It was so disappointing when I kept thinking my daughter was going to be here and then she wasn’t. Why was I still in labor? Was my daughter ever going to come? My midwives helped me into various positions to progress labor along, and my contractions intensified even more. I asked for a cervical check. I was close to giving up. Thankfully, they chose not to tell me at the time that I was only 4 cm dilated. I still had a long road ahead so it seemed. I felt like I no longer trusted my body or the process of birth. I asked everyone to leave so it could be just me and the midwives. Again, trying more positions in bed to progress labor, I kept seeing the sunlight peek through our windows, wishing that my baby was already here. She was supposed to be here by daylight. I didn’t know it at the time, but the light was so symbolic of God shining into my darkness. In the midst of my doubt, I was encouraged by the scriptures and affirmations that were being illuminated on my bedroom wall. If I looked away from the wall of truth, I felt defeated, but as long as I could see the wall of truth, I felt confident. I let my midwives become anchors for me during this pit of the morning when I felt I had no strength left. They didn’t just tend to my body with hydration and snacks, they tended to my heart and my spirit. They held my hand, they cried when I cried, and they just loved me. Though I was laboring through much more pain than I expected, peace still broke through when I needed it most.
My husband came in and began praying over me and speaking life over me, and around 2:00 pm, I felt something in my body shift. My midwives helped me sit backwards over the toilet again (one of the many positions we used to progress labor), but I knew it wasn't working this time. I needed to be back in the tub or back in bed. I needed to trust what my body was telling me. I found myself back in the birth tub and felt so relieved to be surrounded in warmth again. I was reminded of the beautiful picture of birth that had been painted for me by social media, and I began to realize, my perception of birth was so wrong. It was anything but perfect, and it was anything but pain-free. It was very imperfect and inexpressibly painful, but it was real. Nothing was edited out, nothing was filtered, though at this point I wished it could be. I stared at my husband just begging him to help me somehow. The pain had become unbearable, and I was beginning to say “I’m done.” I was invited into a gentle conversation with my midwife as she asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital. This was a pivotal moment for me because I felt like Istill had the power to choose how this labor was going to end. The conscious power to choose gave me peace. I don’t know why, but at that moment, it felt imminent to call my friend, the hairstylist, the seed planter, the doula. We got her on the phone, and I told her this wasn’t what I expected, that I was searching for peace, and I asked her to pray over me. She immediately said she was on her way. I got out of the birth tub to head back to bed again, and I felt the huge gush of my water breaking on the way there. I got back to the bedroom, and I really really thought I needed to have a bowel movement. As I sat on the toilet, my friend that I had called showed up, ran over to me, threw my hair in a bun and began speaking life over me, declaring truth, and rebuking fear. Whatever lies I had been believing earlier in the day fled instantly at that moment.
Praise God.
It was like somewhere between all my exhaustion and surrender, heaven was breaking through. I finally got off the toilet to get into bed although I still kept exclaiming that I needed to have a bowel movement. As I neared the bed, excitement filled the room, as my birth team announced they could see my baby’s head! There was no bowel movement, it was my baby! Joy came rushing through me as I began to squat and push with my contractions. Everyone quickly got the bed ready for me (I never thought I’d birth my baby in bed = no extra sheets!). My husband was praying over me and my best friend got her camera ready for the long awaited moment. It felt like there was a sacred pause as the holy spirit filled the room. I laid on my side in bed and was pulling back against my leg as my daughter’s head was emerging. Baby Juniper made her earthside arrival into my husband's hands at 3:47 pm, just less than two hours after I almost gave up. With my daughter on my chest, I was in awe and disbelief of what I had just experienced. The battle of labor was over. I nearly forgot what it was meant for– it was meant for this.
The pain had given birth to beauty.
It had given birth to life.
I never could have pre-written my first homebirth experience. Nothing could have truly prepared me for the real thing. Through my utter weakness in the depths of this labor, God’s strength showed up. And through the turmoil of defeat warring in my mind, God’s peace prevailed. He never failed me. There was surely a holy breaking of me that happened during this birth, but it gave way to the beautiful transformation of becoming a mother.
-Amanda, First-time Mom.
Birth Narrative captured and written by WholeWell Writing