animal instinct + birth

Once upon a time, I unexpectedly freebirthed a beautiful baby boy in hospital a month prior to his anticipated dates. And in the process, I very nearly physically fought the on-call OB. I remember telling Isaac afterwards that if he (the OB) would have touched me again without my consent, my reaction would have been to turn around and bite him. Like my old red heeler, Purdy, would have done to a stranger with poor intent.

Literally.

I remember so fiercely my physical inclination was to whip around and bare my teeth at him and his intrusive, unwelcome hands. And mind you, this is a locally well known and even renowned obstetrician.

Is that crazy? Or is touching a birthing woman, that you’ve never met, without consent, and thinking this is warranted and excusable what is actually crazy?

The training and the system that this way of “caring” for women is gives these people the impression that they’re doing us a favor, that without them we would surely fail in some way, and completely ignores the reality of how disruptive and counterproductive it is to the natural process we’re working through.

Modernized birth practices have done a really efficient job of separating us from the basics of what our physiology knows. We’ve been led away from our ancient instinctual animal ways — from the ways of our ancestors that were not muddied by politics in the birth space, that were not governed and judged by policies and procedures, or threatened with cascades of interventions in the ways women are today. The women that came before us had an entirely different set of dangers in birth, whereas today though our physical body can feel them… what is dangerous to us now isn’t so easily identified or willingly called out. And even more, we’re spoon fed the perception that the very things that we should be further informed on and skeptical of, that directly influence the outcome of our birth experiences, are the “right”, “safe”, and socially accepted options.

But before we even reach this point in life, we are conditioned in every way from our youngest years to listen to the authorities, to not rock the boat, and to not cause a scene. Even the basic needs of our body like needing to eat, get a drink, use the bathroom, or take a rest, we were taught to ask permission for.

And when a woman faces birth for the first time… she has a choice to make.

Will I honor my knowing, even when I can’t explain it, or will I resist it?

One of the biggest conundrums of birth is the issue of safety. As the saying goes, “Birth is as safe as life gets.” Meaning, there are no promises to be made in the act of the unknown. There are no guarantees. And yet, modern birth practices strive to sell women on this idea of safety while completely failing to recognize the basic things that allow our bodies to feel safe.

Do we feel safe when we are watched? Do we feel safe in bright lighting? Do we feel safe with people in and out of the room, not knowing who is outside the door, or in the next room over? Do we feel safe with unidentified noises all around us?

But particularly in the vulnerability that birth is, in this moment of our lives when our senses are turning on in unprecedented ways, safety isn’t limited to our outward physical environment or resources. Sure there are things, tools, people, skills, that may paint a picture of perceived “safety.” But this is where logic can’t talk us through, where our stories will surface, and our opportunity to lean into instinct and trust it as truth will rise.

Sounds, smells, lighting, even the thoughts of the people in our proximity — every single thing is relaying to us subtle clues that inform us if we are safe enough to stretch to our fullest capacity and receive this brand new life we’ve carried, nourished, and come to know in ways only a mother can know.

And through it all, the entirety of our being is working to determine the answer to this simple and essential question:

Is this a safe place for my baby?

Witnessing the cows do their work this calving season has been a beautiful reminder of the original design of birth.

They don’t shy away from their instincts, or try to quiet them for the sake of compliance. If they are unsure, they respond. If they perceive a threat, they rise to the occasion. They move and position themselves, unapologetically reposition themselves, walk, circle, hold their tails up high, eat, drink, beller, paw, push, breathe, pause, rest. What they feel called to do, they do. Without explanation or resistance. They’re not in it for the title or the bragging rights, and they surely didn’t take any birth classes.

They are led by their innate instinct.

So while there tends to be so much emphasis on cervical dilation, effacement, and physical preparedness, I want to invite you to consider the things that bring you feelings of safety and create opportunity for you to relax and surrender into the expansion required to bring your baby through your birth canal and into your arms.

What are the things that cause your alarm systems to blare?

What parts of your story might need love and acknowledgement to prepare you for this process?

How can you prepare your people to honor your timing and space?

Who do you trust completely, without question?

Where is your safe place?

While it may seem harmless, this whole thing of being supported or influenced in our birth experience in ways that we didn’t want, need, or appreciate, I want to also just say that the impact of this whole experience is measurable in the early days of mothering — and even years of mothering.

From breastfeeding to bonding, the birth story lays the foundation.

Just as a cow may reject a calf, women too can feel this disconnection and rejection of their newborn. It’s not pretty to admit, but the feeling of dissociation is a real thing. And when it’s not remediated, think of the impact of this disconnect on the formative years of the child’s life, and on into adulthood. The long term… it’s huge.

What an opportunity to get honest with ourselves, to tap into our instinct, our knowing, and to welcome this newness of the mother archetype to surface and lead us in the journey we must walk moving forward.

As we embrace our innate instinctual responses through our birth experiences, we give ourselves permission to do the same in our practice of mothering these children.

We turn on our power and awareness that will guide us as we move through the unknown that life is, with our child by our side.

Ready to call out the bullshit and rise to the occasion, even when it goes against the grain or isn’t the comfy choice.

This is the mother that the upcoming generations need.

And as we begin to say yes to this truth within us, it gets easier and stronger each time.

You can. I can.

We can.