My Journey as an Awakened Birth Worker Through the Maternity System

As I embarked on my seventh pregnancy, I was filled with a blend of excitement and trepidation. Having navigated the realms of pregnancy and birth six times before, I thought I had a solid grasp of what to expect. But this time was different. This was my first pregnancy post-training as a birth keeper—a title I wore proudly. With eyes wide open, I was ready to embrace both the joys and challenges ahead.

Looking back on my six previous pregnancies, I recognised how fortunate I’d been. Each experience was mostly positive, yet my training as a birth worker revealed some glaring shortcomings within the maternity system. What had set my earlier journeys apart? Was it sheer luck, or was it my passionate and fearless approach to birth? In truth, while I savoured those experiences, there were certainly things I would have changed if given the chance.

Fast forward to today: it had been four long years since my youngest was born, and I was excited and nervous dipping a toe back into the maternity system. To my surprise, I discovered many things had shifted—not all for the better. The first glaring change was that my initial midwife appointment didn’t happen until I was 16 weeks along.

Sure, I had some phone contact with the team, but when they questioned my choice to take folate instead of the standard folic acid, my optimism began to wane. The second contact was also over the phone, during which I was asked to share my family history with a stranger—it felt impersonal and cold.

Another significant change was the shift to electronic notes instead of traditional paper.  I was immediately wary. Upon inspecting the app, I found inconsistencies that I flagged to the team and then asked for them to be corrected. Inaccuracies can lead to problems later on, and I was agitated by lack of control over my own medical records now they were confined to the digital realm.

During my first in-person appointment, I felt an indifference with the allocated midwife. I tried not to reveal all of my plans and choices right away, but the few informed choices I did mention were met with a hint of resistance. Was it just me being too cautious? I decided to let things unfold.

Thankfully this was short lived, as soon I was blessed with the support of an incredible midwife who not only respected my choices but championed them.

I attended both my 12 and 20 week scans, both of which showed no issues. But after the 20 week scan, I was called in to see a consultant regarding my decision to decline blood products, including Anti D. I knew what was coming —the standard “dead baby talk.” Armed with research and resolute in my decisions, I stood firm, politely rejecting their directives while asserting my right to make informed choices.

The subsequent midwife appointments felt smoother, but one comment lingered in my mind: “I need to document anything outside of the norm.” When did a natural, no-intervention birth become anything but normal?

The system's hesitance regarding my desire to birth naturally at home was largely based on having had six previous children, my age of 38, and a few trivial checkboxes that didn’t reflect my reality. In truth, I was a low-risk candidate for home birth: no previous complications, good health, and an understanding of my own body that many might lack. I trust my body and love the process of birth; I refused to let a system instill fear or dictate my experience through unnecessary interventions.

At my 32 week appointment at home, my fundal height measurement was slightly off the scale, which typically triggers a growth scan. Understanding the limitations of these scans and how easily measurements can be influenced by location and position, I confidently declined. My midwife supported my decision, and, as expected, all subsequent measurements returned to normal, allowing me to successfully avoid another unnecessary intervention.

One of the biggest challenges was the possibility of a breech birth, which leads to being labeled as high risk. I remained unfazed by the idea of delivering a breech baby and was committed to my homebirth plans, more concerned about the pressures from a system wary of any variation. I agreed to a presentation scan at 37 weeks purely for my own benefit, enabling me to plan my birth. Meanwhile, I practiced daily moxibustion and took the homeopathic remedy pulsatilla. By the day of the scan, I felt confident and at peace with my baby’s position. Thankfully, baby had turned head down, allowing me to sidestep yet another push for interventions.

My first baby was 10 days overdue, which is typical for first pregnancies. However, my next five children all arrived on or before 40 weeks. So, I was surprised when I reached 40 weeks and still had not gone into labor. After feeling incredibly uncomfortable and experiencing weeks of inconsistent tightenings, I accepted a stretch and sweep at 40+3 weeks, making an informed decision based on its pros and cons and my previous experiences. I later declined further procedures, trusting my body; I didn't want to be touched at that point. I listened to my intuition that labor was imminent.

On the Sunday afternoon of 40+6, I began experiencing intense shooting pains in my bottom that didn’t ease with rest or a bath. With a busy household and dinner to manage, the pains subsided. Trusting my instincts, I felt my body was waiting for the peace that night would bring. After getting the children to bed, I put on my favorite film and ordered my favorite food. By the end of the movie, my contractions became regular and intensified. I asked my husband to start filling the pool, already inflated in the kitchen. When I got into the pool around 11:30 pm, my contractions immediately eased, spreading out for the next hour.

By about 1:30 am, they became fast and furious with no breaks in between. At around 2 am, I really wanted some gas and air, and though I hadn’t planned to call a midwife unless necessary, wanting an undisturbed, peaceful birth, I agreed to my husband calling them. Unfortunately, my husband was informed that no one was available and to call an ambulance. After expressing my feelings (With some choice words!) he politely declined. They advised us to call back once the head was out.

Realising I was likely in transition and that the baby was almost here, I asked my husband for a comb. With an empowering grip, I squeezed that comb tightly as I roared through the contractions, waking all six of my children with my primal noise just in time for them to witness the arrival of their surprise baby brother at 2:20 am.

The familiar burning sensations accompanied the head’s emergence, and before I knew it, the body followed without pause. Calmly, I brought our baby out of the water, enveloped by love in our family home. He was serene, alert, breathing easily, and glowing with health. We lingered in the pool, soaking up the magic of that moment before I stepped out, pleased to see no signs of blood—so different from the postpartum hemorrhaging I had been told to fear!

I gently laid the baby on a towel-covered lounge floor, still attached by his cord as I birthed the placenta. In that blissful moment, we reveled in family togetherness, introducing baby to the breast for his first feed while the placenta rested safely nearby in a bowl. We cherished uninterrupted skin-to-skin contact before finally cutting the cord almost two hours after his birth, allowing for a gentle transition from his life source over the last nine months.

We stayed wrapped in our little bubble of peace until the sun rose.

When my midwife called at 9 am, she asked how we were doing and if the baby had arrived. After sharing the night’s incredible events, she joyfully said, “I told the team you were likely sat there with your baby,” offering nothing but unconditional support and congratulations.

In the afternoon, a member of the team came to us, and when the baby was weighed, we discovered he was a robust 9lb 11oz. I felt so grateful that I hadn’t gone for that earlier growth scan; I’m sure they would have brought up the “big baby” concerns. Another swerve!

Day three brought my own midwife back, eager to see our birth video, accompanied by a student midwife who seemed captivated by our surprising birth story—so different from the clinical scenarios presented in midwifery courses.

As I thanked my midwife for her support, she humbly replied, “I didn’t really do anything!” But her presence meant everything. She was my cheerleader in this unpredictable game of dodgeball, embodying the true spirit of what a midwife should be—“with women”

Looking back at my pregnancy and birth, it was truly magical. For the first time, I wouldn’t change a single detail! This birth experience was uniquely mine—done my way, guided by my intuition and trust in my body while surrendering to the beauty of birth. I hope that others hear my story and feel a sense of empowerment. You don’t have to accept interventions that don’t resonate with you. Policy doesn’t overshadow your right to choose. Stand firm in your power and embrace YOUR birth. And if you ever feel disconnected or unsupported by your midwife, don’t hesitate to ask for a different one!

People often express amazement over my birth story, and while yes, it was! In essence, it was a “textbook” physiological birth. The most surprising part is how bewildered others seem by that fact. The maternity system has changed so much since my last baby, and it continues to decline. Yet, the most significant change has undoubtedly been within me! Finding my tribe and acquiring new skills, knowledge, and wisdom has given me the confidence to embrace my birth fully. That’s where our focus should be—not on fixing the broken system, but on transforming ourselves.

Let’s embrace birth without fear and find our peace.

Wishing you all a blessed birth and so much love!

The topic for my next blog will be coming to terms with having your last baby and healing the emotional wounds associated with this.