From Medicalized to Empowered: My First Birth and the Awakening It Sparked

Estimated reading time: 5 minutes

Topic:
A personal reflection on my first birth experience, the impact of medicalized care, and the postpartum unraveling that led to deep inner questioning.

Key points:

• How I prepared for birth but neglected to consider postpartum recovery

• How the hospital setting did not alight with my birth vision

• My first birth became the doorway into conscious motherhood and self-trust.

Growing up, I believed that birth belonged in hospitals. That’s what I saw on TV, in books, and that’s where my mom went to birth my younger brother when I was 10 years old. 

I heard my mom labor at home. I remember her moaning and pounding the bathroom sink to indicate when she had contractions. My stepfather tracked her labor from the bedroom. On that Sunday morning, we were told to get dressed to go to my grandparents’ house while they continued onward to the hospital.

I heard that my brother was born quickly, and I was taken to see him that evening in the hospital nursery. But birth still was quite mysterious to me. Even as a nursing student in my teens, the births I witnessed were blurry. Whether vaginal or surgical, there was something very confusing to me about why birth– something so natural– required so much management and monitoring.

It wasn’t until I was studying abroad in Yemen, volunteering with a midwife, that I started to grasp birth– the unpredictability, the intensity, and the relief that follows. But even still, I had never witnessed what happens when a mother returns home after birth and this is where I was blindsided when I became a mother.

Prepared for Birth, But Not for What Follows

My first daughter was conceived shortly after joining my husband to work in Algeria and by the time I was at the end of my pregnancy, we were moving again. We settled into a small desert town where all we had was each other. My husband taught at a local university with a majority of female students. Each of his students were eager to meet me and when they noticed my pregnancy, they would ask him: “Who will take care of your wife after she gives birth?”.

He confidently responded, “I will!”. “Miskeena”, they replied. Poor girl. They pitied me that I had no one other than my husband to help me. Even though to me, he is my best friend and rock, it was implausible to others that a man could help a woman recover from something he could never experience.

Shortly after, the offers came in one by one. “My mom said she will take care of your wife for the first 40 days!” “My mom will keep her!” “We’ll take care of her!” Looking back, their invitations were so sincere and sweet, but I was highly offended. 

Why would I leave my husband and my home for 40 days? How weak do they think I am that I need to be mothered? We politely declined and focused on our birth plan.

I was told homebirths were not allowed in Oman. Yet, in my whole body, I knew home was where I would feel safest. If only I could find a midwife, a mother, or a wise woman to support me, I would feel capable. But I never found anyone willing to attend my birth with me. So, I reluctantly prepared for the hospital. I did prenatal yoga daily, practiced ujayyii breathing, and went in prepared to breathe my baby down and receive her in my arms.

But instead, I was told to hold my breath, grit my teeth, and push as hard as I possibly could to birth my daughter. It was an ungrounded feeling to have a moment so sacred be treated so hastily and robotically. And because they believed my daughter was in distress, I was in an operating room and my husband was prevented from joining me.

Eventually, our new family of three was reunited and finally the realization of everything I endured to hold this sweet baby girl in my arms finally hit me. And I wept. I felt relieved to know that she was here and safe. And was so grateful to have her.

The nurses were kind and so tender in how they cared for my daughter. But I didn’t feel that tenderness. The care I received was rushed, forced, and cold. The food was horrible. I was sent home with no instructions or support.

The Need to Mother Mothers
I felt a wave of panic on the hour and a half-long ride home. How do I care for this little girl? How will I know what to do? How will I know what she needs?

But then I felt her tiny fist grip my pinky finger and I remembered that she fought hard to be here too. She’s not fragile– she’s resilient and meant to be here.

The days that followed were blurry. My breasts became engorged with milk. My days melted into nights and days again. I had a hard time keeping track of time. And I was ravenous all the time.

While trying to feed my baby and myself, I had no idea how to support my recovery. And silently, I felt mutilated. My most tender parts were sore and sitting upright was a struggle.

It wasn’t until my mom arrived that I felt a shift in my recovery. She guided me in how to prepare a sitz bath. She wrapped a scarf around me to bind my belly. She held my daughter so I could eat a meal without interruption. I really did need to be mothered after birth, and I’m grateful that my own mother answered the call. 

After my mother’s stay ended, there were so many other stages of healing that would follow. It left me wondering: How does everyone talk about birth, but nobody talks about how to heal from it– in my body, mind, and soul. How to feel whole after splitting open? How to feel like yourself with a little one constantly tethered to you? How to be with your partner when your most private parts have been altered by birth and mothering.

And yet, this unraveling was the beginning of my awakening.

I began to read. To question. To listen. And slowly, I began to understand that birth is not just a medical event; it’s a spiritual rite. It’s not meant to be managed. It’s meant to be moved through with presence, choice, and support.

What I learned from that first birth was this: you’re the only one who can birth your baby, but you need community care to be birthed as a mother.

🌷 Closing Reflection:
Birth is a rite of passage and postpartum is a time of transformation and reclamation. Mothers don’t need self-care after birth, they need community care.

Our first birth doesn’t define us. But it does open something. And from that opening, a deeper path begins.

When you are ready to step into this sacred season with community and guidance.... Join the Honored Womb Circle, a live community space where real-time guidance and sacred sisterhood help you live in tune with your cyclical design.
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