Sovereign Womanhood and the Misappropriation of Reproduction

We DO have so much power in us. So then how do we end up filing into our hospitals with our birth plans and coming out cut or broken, with a baby in our arms?

All over the world, and especially all over North America, women are finding new ways to birth in their own sovereign power. This can be terrifying. It can be fulfilling. It can be both.

I am speaking to old women who are attending birthing mothers as Traditional Birth Companions. I speak with younger women, mothers of young children themselves, who are devoting their time to attending the births of the women in their communities. I am speaking with women who have said "No!" to the maternity care system we have installed in our countries, and who are giving birth alone or with their families. I see sisters helping sisters. I see communities that are thriving, attending each other in birth, as in life.

Here in Canada, we have very strict regulations about what constitutes someone's right to provide care to a woman during her childbearing year. If you perform any of these restricted practices, without an officially regulated midwifery license, and without being employed by and liable to the health services establishment, then you are practising midwifery without a license.

Billie Harrigan is a Traditional Birth Companion in Ontario. She does not perform restricted practices, and she does not call herself a midwife. She says that Vaginal exams are rude, but also that they constitute a very clear message that our reproductive life and our bodies are not our property: they are the property of the state, and only people mandated by the state can invade them. Number 7 of the Ontario Midwifery Act states that vaginal exams are a restricted practice. In other words, you cannot put "an instrument, hand or finger beyond the labia majora or anal verge during pregnancy, labour and the post-partum period."

Ok, don't get me wrong here. I don't actually WANT to do vaginal exams. I also think they're rude. Not only that, my doula students have heard me say for years that the only reason for so many endless vaginal exams is that medical professionals are not taught about how sexual birth is. The sexuality and the mind-blowingness and the all-out intensity of birth is sublimated into rituals such as vaginal exams (actually, it is absolutely amazing to feel a baby's head in someone's vagina. Just saying. But I keep my hands to myself.)

But my point is, that women have been regulated for far too long. Our bodies have been misappropriated by a maternity system that pretends it is doing things to us for our own good, and it is not. Why do you think many a woman going into the hospital wants (or discovers she needs) a doula by her side? Because the doula can try to prevent some of the grosser abuses from taking place. But not all. And certainly not enough. Not enough to make the difference to so many, many women who feel that they have been violated (and they have!) when all they wanted to do was to give birth to their child.

So, what is happening? Just when the pandemic started making our lives more restricted and difficult, women started wanting to birth away from Covid-infested hospitals. We all, as our lives changed, started to take deep breaths and realize that we don't actually want to go back to the old "normal". I am getting weekly calls and emails from women who want to learn about new ways of birthing. I'm connecting with women around the globe who are moving forward to change the face of birth; to change the world, starting with birth.

Want to come on board? Come along!

“Come, come, whoever you are. 

Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving. 

It doesn't matter. 

Ours is not a caravan of despair. 

Come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times. 

Come, yet again, come, come.” 

Rumi

And, if you are one of us who has indeed experienced trauma, abuse, and despair during your birthing, even more reason for you to move away from that reality, bring your scars and hold your head up high and cry out: "Enough!"

What is to be done?

You can listen to the Baby Magic Podcast for inspiration.

You can join my Traditional Birth Attendant seminar.

You can reach out to me or to any of the fine women on our podcast for community, information, wisdom.

You can reach deep into your womanhood and remember that you are strong! You are magical! I love you!

For those of you who have a legal interest:

Here are the restricted practices in Quebec:
"Any act the purpose of which is to provide the professional care and services required by a woman during normal pregnancy, labour and delivery and to provide a woman and her child with the professional care and services required during the first six weeks of a normal postnatal period constitutes the practice of midwifery. The professional care and services concerned consist in
(1) monitoring and assessing a woman and her child during pregnancy, labour, delivery and the first six weeks of the postnatal period, and include the provision of preventive care and the detection of any abnormal conditions in the woman or child ;
(2) conducting spontaneous deliveries ;
(3) performing an amniotomy, performing and repairing an episiotomy and repairing a first or second degree perineal tear or laceration.


In addition, in an emergency, while awaiting the required medical intervention or in the absence of medical intervention, applying suction, conducting a breech delivery, performing manual placental extraction followed by digital exploration of the uterus or performing resuscitation procedures on the woman or newborn also constitutes the practice of midwifery."
(http://legisquebec.gouv.qc.ca/en/ShowDoc/cs/S-0.1
In Ontario, they are much less vague:


"1. Communicating a diagnosis identifying, as the cause of a woman’s or newborn’s symptoms, a disease or disorder that may be identified from the results of a laboratory or other test or investigation that a member is authorized to order or perform on a woman or a newborn during normal pregnancy, labour and delivery and for up to six weeks post-partum.

2. Managing labour and conducting spontaneous normal vaginal deliveries.

3. Inserting urinary catheters into women.

4. Performing episiotomies and amniotomies and repairing episiotomies and lacerations, not involving the anus, anal sphincter, rectum, urethra and periurethral area.

5. Administering, by injection or inhalation, a substance designated in the regulations.

6. Prescribing drugs designated in the regulations.

7. Putting an instrument, hand or finger beyond the labia majora or anal verge during pregnancy, labour and the post-partum period.

8. Administering suppository drugs designated in the regulations beyond the anal verge during pregnancy, labour and the post-partum period.

9. Taking blood samples from newborns by skin pricking or from persons from veins or by skin pricking.

10. Intubation beyond the larynx of a newborn.

11. Administering a substance by injection or inhalation as provided for in subsection 4.1 (2). 2009, c. 26, s. 16 (1). (https://www.ontario.ca/laws/statute/91m31)"

Unassisted Childbirth

I wrote this post about ten years ago ... nothing much has changed in the system, but we are seeing a growing number of women choosing to birth outside the medical system.

Back in the good old days, when I was a subsistence farmer in paradise, I had a friend who told me her birth story. This was before I started working with birth, but not before I had already started studying and learning, and listening to women's stories.

 

Friends Sharing Birth Stories

My friend's first baby had been a breech who did not want to get her head down. The policy at that time in Italy, as in many places, was to deliver breech babies by cesarean section, especially if the woman was a primipara.

So, my friend had a c-section, and she did not feel good about that birth at all. She thought that it was probably possible to give birth to a breech baby vaginally, and she felt pushed into making a decision that did not feel right to her. She decided she didn't want to go back to the hospital again to give birth.

She became pregnant again, and decided to stay at home this time and give birth on her own terms. She looked for a homebirth midwife but at that time in Italy they were a rare breed, especially if you were living in the hills as all us organic subsistence farmers did. She prepared by reading about natural birth, and she made sure she had methergine in the house - they always had it on hand for the goats.

Labor started and she sent her husband and child out for the day. She didn't want her daughter present for what she knew was going to be an intense and possibly scary event.
This was before cell phones, and they didn't have a phone, so he planned to come back around suppertime. She labored on her own and late in the afternoon, gave birth to a healthy baby.
"Were you scared?"
"Yes, I really wanted to have someone else around. I remember when I started pushing, and I felt a cervical lip, and I gently pushed it out of the way - I really wanted someone to be there with me. But I knew everything would be okay - I had a feeling. And if it wasn't ok, then it wasn't. I did it my way."

There is a growing movement that promotes unassisted childbirth as a way to regain control over your own birth, and there are many valid reasons for not wanting anyone at all from outside your circle of family and loved ones to be present at the birth of your child. It is, after all, a natural event, more like lovemaking than like a medical procedure. The presence of a stranger, even a well-liked one, can change and disturb the process. Midwives can be regulated by laws that perhaps don't agree with a woman's perception of how she wants her birth to proceed. 

I often get calls from women who are planning to give birth without attendants. They want information, or they want to find someone to be a "fly on the wall" - who can be there "just in case". Most of these women are women who have not been able to find a registered midwife - either they didn't call early enough, or they live in the wrong area, or they are considered too high risk for a homebirth. They don't really want an unassisted birth, but they are committed to not wanting to go to the hospital unless they really have to, so they are left with unassisted birth as their only option. Because we Canadians are used to free health care, cost is also a consideration. Unregistered midwives charge around $2000 for prenatal, birth, and postpartum care (that works out to about $10.73 an hour, in case you're wondering). Many women do not feel that this amount is an option, and, again, make the choice to give birth "unassisted".

I firmly believe in a woman's right to choose what's best for her body, and for her life. If a woman chooses to give birth on her own, or just with her partner, or her sister, in her own home, then power to her! She is making an adult choice, and she is accepting responsibility. But I do feel sad when women want to have the care of a midwife and cannot.

No woman should have to give birth on her own if she doesn't want to. Midwifery care should be available, really available, to any woman. Homebirth should be an option for us all. Unassisted homebirth is only one option, but it should be an option that is actively chosen and not decided on for lack of other plans. Equally, hospital birth is only one option. Health women carrying healthy babies should not have to go to the hospital to give birth unless they actively want to. Informed choice should be a reality - it should be informed, that is, women should educate themselves and each other, and they should ask for informtaion from their care providers. And choice should be a real choice with real options - unassisted, home birth, midwifery care, hospital birth.

Let's work together to bring the woman and child back to the center of maternity care!

She's Too Radical

When I look in the mirror these days I see a caricature of Mrs. Tiggywinkle. My body changed over the past ten years. Even though I still run four kilometers three or four times a week, and I feel quite fit, more or less, my shoulders have changed shape, my waist has thickened, my grey hair is down to my bum but no one ever sees it because I wrap it in a scarf, and...well, I feel different.

Mrs Tiggywinkle, however, is a laundress. She is an independent female: round in shape, granted, and she is a little perhaps neurotic, but she takes care of herself, of her small house, does other people's laundry AND makes friend with a little girl in distress.

And she's got fearsome prickles.

Is she radical?

I met a prospective client the other day. Lovely woman, nice partner. She had heard about me through one of the long grapevines that eventually lead my way. I'm not big on advertising, publicity, I never wanted to be on Oprah, and I don't have a fan club. So people usually hear about me from other women in a round about way.

But this lady had gone through a list of doulas in Montreal, found them wanting, and came to me. And she expressed one doubt, which was that I may be "too radical".

Radical has its root from root: from Late Latin "radicalis" ("of or pertaining to the root, having roots, radical"), and from Latin radix (“root”).
And the definition is: Favouring fundamental change, or change at the root cause of a matter. 

What is the root cause of the birth matter? I believe the root cause of abusive maternity care shares its root with woman abuse in every aspect of our lives. So, in "favouring fundamental change", I am going to go to the root of the matter. I am not going to spout empty slogans and run other women's lives according to my agenda.

The root of birth abuse is a culturally useful and familiar disrespect for women in general, and for birthing women in particular. If I am going to practice as a radical doula, then my priority will be respecting the birthing woman. To this end, I will not persuade her to make choices that conform to me agenda. Ever.




The woman I met may have been imagining a furie, a Roman goddess of vengeance, guarding the door of the birth room with an eye to exacting payment for past wrongs.

The furie would insist that the woman follow her rules: no interventions, under any circumstances; upright positions throughout; lots of vocalizing required; partner hands-on at all times.







But radical doulas are not furies. We respect the desires of the women we accompany. We melt our egos and support the woman's choices. Our agendas stay at home. We are just and fair, possibly to a fault. It is a fine line between supporting a woman during childbirth and feeling like you are witnessing, indeed apologizing for, an abusive act that should be named. But in the naming, the birth process is damaged. Our role is to bear witness, to take notes, and to love the one you're with.

Rest, Recovery, Reflection, Renewal?

I am sitting on a hilltop in northern Italy, rather completely on my own. My dog is here. I'm surrounded by insects, animals (deer, wild boars, the odd wolf, badgers, and all that). I planned for a very active summer, running at least 40 k a week, which I love doing - running long distances is literally my happy place. But then some stuff happened and I got Covid and now I just feel cellularly tired. So every day I spend quite a few hours just sitting staring out at the view. 

And what I've been asking myself is that difficult, age old question: Who Am I?

When you spend hours alone, especially in a spot where silence is the overwhelming sound, you get a chance to really "dig deep" and find out what your questions are. I can't really believe that I have been inhabiting this body and mind and soul I guess for nearly 66 years and I still don't really know who or what I am. So, let me start at the beginning, well maybe not that far back but ... 

Names

I guess you all know the story about how Toni Morrison got her name. Toni she decided on herself, after converting to Catholicism at age 12 and naming herself Anthony. Morrison was her husband's name and she was stuck with it because when her first novel was published she was still using it as her legal name even though they were already divorced. There's an quote floating around from 1992 that goes like this: 

"I am really Chloe Anthony Wofford. That’s who I am. I have been writing under this other person’s name. I write some things now as Chloe Wofford, private things. I regret having called myself Toni Morrison when I published my first novel, The Bluest Eye.”

Well, the same kind of thing happened to me. I'd always been Niki, or Nicky when I was very young. Or Nicola when my parents were mad at me. Then in my forties I had a brush with religion - not Catholicism - and I was persuaded to change my name. So I changed it to Rivka, a name I don't even like that much, but who gets to pick their own name. And then my work as a doula, birth companion, teacher, author and my whole birth persona grew wings under the guise of Rivka Cymbalist and there I was, and here I am, just like Toni Morrison (ha!).

So, for now, Niki is reserved for my family and people who knew me before the Great Name Change. But I'm kind of getting tired of inhabiting two separate lives so I may just change my name again.

Bodies

Who knew? Bodies change. I thought the biggest change would be that infamous time when I grew breasts and got my period. Pregnancy was fun. I didn't have such a tough time with it, in fact I enjoyed growing babies. Birthing them was tough, but I really loved having little babies and children around, and breastfeeding, and those body changes didn't really bother me. Some fibroids, a touch of hyperthyroid. Nothing serious. 

Menopause was kind of a relief, no more monumentally Niagara Falls cycles. No more fertility, and I was ready for that, because I was happy with my five children. Did I think I'd overdone it? No.

But then, the thing is, everyone goes on about menopause because it's when a woman is no longer fertile and I guess biologically speaking no longer useful. But the body changes more dramatically and more quickly after the whole menopause thing is history.

I've written about this before, and I have to point out, it's not specific ailments that bother me - thank goodness - I'm healthy. But just like during puberty and adolescence, and I'm imagining anyone with body dysmorphia, I just don't feel right in my skin. Its like my clothes don't fit me right, except they do. My clothes fit, I still take the same size more or less, a medium. But it's my skin that doesn't fit. It feels weird, it's too loose, it's floppy, it doesn't feel like its mine. I look funny in the mirror, who's that old lady? Why is her skin all dry? damn it, why didn't I wear sunscreen for all those years? 

So that's the tunnel I can fall down when I don't remember to center and use moisturizer every morning. Yes, it is my body, yes indeed I am very grateful and proud of it, it's like an old car, just keeps on chugging. But I can't help it, it feels weird.

Profession

Oh goodness, could I just say I'm a witch? I guess not....but this is weird too because I think I studied witchery and magic my whole life, and science too of course. And poetry, and of course I learned all about having kids and all when I went ahead and had five of them. 

But my professional label doesn't exist, because I'm not a registered midwife. I'm a birth companion or whatever. My Impostor Syndrome kicks in frequently; sometimes I think my actual profession is "Impostor".

I've mostly been a mother. 

And the renewal part of this whole exploration? It's a deep, deep sense that change means pain, and from pain comes change. Life just doesn't stop, until it does. So, in a sense, my resting, my recovery, my reflections ... lead to a renewal of sorts which is a kind of an acceptance of the continually changing nature of my life: child, young woman, mother, older woman, mother, older woman, grandmother, mother, birth attendant, peace keeper, rebel, anarchist, runner, crone...

Safe Birth?

These days, we have all become experts at reading articles in medical journals, or studies, and we casually use words like "exponentially" and "virus shedding" and "evidence-based". So, I am not going to go that route again, and quote this or that Cochrane review that will further convince you that I'm right. I don't even want to think in terms of who's right and who's wrong. I want to go deeper than that. Way deeper. I want to explore what makes birth sacred, and what keeps it sacred, and therefore safe.

I have witnessed three newborn deaths in my doula practice. Two in particular stand out for me. One took place in a birthing centre, and the birth was attended by midwives. I was the doula. When it was clear that the baby was in serious trouble, the midwives, in their fear and panic, became insensitive to the mother's emotional needs. They told me, the doula, to leave. Mother felt isolated, abandoned, and traumatized even more than she had to be. These midwives, don't get me wrong, did everything they should have done medically, to try to save baby's life. But they completely ignored the spiritual, emotional, transcendent nature of birth. Conversely, I was present when another baby died soon after birth in the hospital. The medical staff provided a space where the parents could hold their child and say goodbye. The parents wanted me there, so I hovered, as a good doula does. The fact that they even had spiritual needs was fully honoured by the doctor, the nurses, and the orderly. 

Both mamas lost their babies. Both mamas grieved. But both mamas were not traumatized for years. Because one mother felt safe during her birth experience, and the other did not.

So, what can we do to keep birth sacred? I believe if the sacred nature of birth is remembered at all times, then the attendants will be naturally drawn to keeping the mother safe at all times. Sacred. Just play with the letters a little bit. Scared. Being scared during childbirth is something that has a physiologic root. When our bodies release the stress hormones that initiate the "ejection reflex", our busy brains interpret those feelings as "scared". I have attended the most natural, undisturbed, physiologic births where I have seen the mother become afraid at that moment. It passes, it's transient because it's just a reaction to a physiologic event.

But I've also attended too many births where the birthing mother was actually afraid. She was actually made to feel afraid by the words or actions of her attendants. I often found my job as a doula to be one of shielding, holding the sacred space, creating a human sound barrier between the abusive staff and the birthing mama. Scared destroys sacred. It degrades sacred, pulls it down, tears it apart. Scared does not belong anywhere a mother is giving birth. Even if you're the primary attendant, and you are scared because of something that's happening, your priority is to keep that fear from entering the space.

If a birth attendant doesn't believe that birth itself is sacred, then we run into problems. If you think it's just another medical procedure, then it makes it more complicated. But every doctor knows that a happy patient heals quicker and better than an angry or lonely one. So even if we're not talking "sacred" because some people are scared by the word, we can still try to keep the birthing mother happy, right? And a happy mother feels safe.

Our maternity care system is broken. Too many women go into the experience with no understanding, and they trust their medical caregivers of course, because why not? And they are sadly betrayed. They're told all sorts of scary things: your baby is too big, you're too old, you have a something percent of this or that horrible thing happening, you won't be able to stand the pain, your baby is too small, you live too far for a home birth, there are no midwives, you have to pay $10,000 before you can even think of birthing here, and on and on. Many, many women give birth just fine within the medical system, often with the loving attendance of a doula. These women are a testament to the strength of the birthing mother. But too many do not give birth just fine. They leave the hospital or the birthing centre traumatized and confused. Some traumatic birthing experiences literally take years to recover from. Other women live their whole lives with feelings of inferiority and a damaged sense of worth. Still others spend their whole lives to make the birth experience sacred and safe for other women (Yours truly!). 

There is a growing number of women who are taking the situation into their own hands, and their own homes. They are saying "no" to maternity care that is based on fear, and they're giving birth on their own terms, in their own homes, with people around them who they trust. Keeping birth sacred. 

I don't believe a normal pregnancy and birth belongs in a hospital. Hospitals are places where you go when your health is at risk, or you need surgery. Normal birth is sacred and belongs at home. The undisturbed mother feels safe, and everyone around her participates in the sacredness of the event. This has become clear during the current crisis, where the role of the hospital has been clarified by the event. 

But if we bring birth home, where it belongs, then are we sacrificing another kind of safety? If we don't have midwives who are trained in the art and science of attending Sacred Birth, then every home birth will be a "freebirth". Which is fine for those mothers who want that. But many birthing women want to have someone present, who knows about the things that can and do happen during birth, when it is important to have someone attending who knows how to respond.  

I'm asking questions. I don't have practical answers yet. I am grateful for you doulas out there who are still attending births in the hospitals, and I strive to support you as much as I can. I am grateful to the birthing women I attended throughout my practice, who taught and continue to teach me so much about Sacred Birth. 

Let's talk this out! Let's strive for answers! Let's change birth and keep it Sacred!

Ladies Pee in the Woods

A reasonably long time ago, when I just had two babies, we moved to a small village in Umbria, Italy, and lived for a few years in a medieval tower that was in the center of the village. 

Life was good. I hung out with the ladies of the village, the crones, and I learned Italian. One story that was told was about a very devout, good-hearted woman who was a child during the Nazi occupation of that area of Italy. A young German soldier came to her and asked her what the best leaves were to wipe with after having a crap in the woods. She carefully led him to a patch of stinging nettle and assured the poor young man from Heidelberg or some other urban center that this plant was definitely the best for bums. Luckily, there was no retribution, I imagine the young man was just too embarrassed.

But the takeaway is: be careful what you wipe with! My funniest peeing accident was when I was on a fantastic cross country ski trip. We were in a little glade so I told the group to go ahead as I had to pee. No wiping was happening: it was cold as balls and I just needed to get the job done. What I hadn't counted on, however, was the irritating fact that my pee would become a slippery slushy as it hit the cold snow, and so my skis became as wings and I shot off down the hill with my pants around my knees. Great hilarity!

About a month ago I got a call from an absolutely lovely woman who was consulting with me during her late pregnancy and birth. She had gone camping with her partner around her due date, and had wiped with poison ivy!!! I basically never wipe with anything that has a three-leaf pattern. Well, actually I'm more of a drip dry gal, but more of that later.

Poison ivy or any of the poison oaks are NOT something you want to irritate your vulva with, ladies! 

If we are talking poo, then learn about some of the common leaves you might want to use. Make sure you are hiking or camping with a latrine trowel, and if you're packing in and using toilet paper then you have to pack it out or burn it (depending on your opinion on the matter). Leaves that are good to use are mullein, or any mosses. 

For pee, for us women, we have a few options. I don't like squatting in the forest because I'm very conscious of ticks in my area. So I like to find a rocky or sandy spot, or I'll use my Shewee. This is a handy little device that helps you pee standing up. I know there are quite a few women out there who are good at directing their urine without help, but I find the Shewee invaluable. Wandering around some foreign town with no bathrooms in sight? Your male friend can just duck behind anywhere and take a leak? On a trail run where you don't want everyone to catch sight of your behind? In a tick-infested forest and you don't feel like squatting? Also, just saying, with five sons and a husband I do find it fun to finally be able to do what they've been doing since they discovered peeing: spray urine hither and thither! Best to practice in the shower...

 Shewee↗                          ↖Kula Cloth

If you just want to squat and for whatever reason you don't want to drip dry (chafing, especially while trail running, is a big deal), then please don't pack in wads of toilet paper or kleenex! No matter how well you think you've hidden it, it will reappear and pollute and look awful.

Enter the Kula Cloth! This excellent little anti-microbial, colorful, creative piece of gear is a must for all of us who enjoy hiking, camping, trail running, or any activity where you gotta squat and you don't have the tp. Living in a big city where public bathrooms are gross? Kula Cloth! Running long distances in urban spots? Shewee! 

Remember, if you're peeing or pooping in the woods, please be conscious of others. Don't poop within 70 steps of any water source, campsite, or trail. Don't pee near smaller creeks or ponds. If you're in a bigger river, lake or the ocean, feel free to pee!

Also, for those who are thinking of others less fortunate: when I was working in the refugee camps in Greece, the portapotties were very scary places at night, and filthy during the day... could someone without a home benefit from a sheewee? 

Wherever your travels take you, home or to far off lands, you'll always have to pee! Please, avoid the poison oaks, avoid throwing your tp around, and have fun!

Belonging and Ur: Thinking about Home

"You finally leave home, the Ur of we, and you find another we? Another place that's just like that, the substitute for that?" *

I know so many people who are drawn to a place. They consider it their home. I've never had that feeling about a place. Yes, I loved the smell of the market in Kampala when I returned 20-odd years later. I'm guessing it stimulated something in my amygdala that my lizard brain appreciated. And I do love the Rockies, as you all know. I love remembering the feeling of being young and fearless, and I love the feeling of recognizing how tiny I am in the bigger scheme of things. Oh, and I love hanging out in my house in Montreal, I love the couch, I love the smell of patchouli in the air from my morning baths. 

But drawn to a place? Having roots, like a tree or whatever? Not for me. I yearned after it for years. I ran to Africa and traipsed around there for a couple of years, trying to imagine myself at home. I joined various communities: the radical feminists, the Left, the Ultra-Orthodox Jews, the underground midwives. I created a large family and I generally feel "at home" when I'm with my kids and their spouses. I always feel at home with my baby grandson!!!

And I always feel at home when I out there running, placing one foot on the ground, then the other, then the exact same thing, over and over and over again, the farther the better. And I feel at home when I'm curled up on my couch, reading a good book. Or when I'm on a trip, going somewhere in a car or a train or a boat or a plane. In the Sahara desert in a truck. In the mountains of Morocco with a young girl who's leading me to a cool mountain stream. 

But I digress. These are all the places I've been ... not really places I actually could call my home, in any true sense of the word. Although maybe .... maybe what I feel is home just ain't what you feel is home. Maybe my wanderlust is deep, so deep that only when I'm moving do I feel "at home". That's why I speak English with a kind-of British accent; French with an Italian accent, Italian with an English accent and a couple of words of Hebrew with a Canadian accent... it's why I can have wonderful conversations with people who I've never met before, and with whom I don't share a language. We use sign language, love, and a willingness to understand and be understood.

I've met many people over the years who have had to flee their homes to settle in a completely new place. I've met families with young children who left a home that was destroyed, who walked for miles only to get on a leaky boat, and if they survived that they walked some more and then had to live in a tents for months and then they could start their new lives in a new country... and they always had their old home in their hearts, even if they knew they would never go back. 

I dream about the house I spent most of my childhood years in. But I don't look back and think "ahhhh, home." But if I just remember a feeling that I had in the back of a truck in Saskatchewan when I was fifteen, and I could feel the wind in my hair and I had no idea what was coming next ... "ahhh, home". Home, for me, is the movement from one place to another. It is never "we". It is always "I" and it can get lonely. I share my home with others - my husband shares it, and my kids and their lovers and my grandson. It's a big tent, but a moveable one. A nomad's home. A snail shell.

When I'm assisting a woman giving birth, one of my many goals is to create a "home" for her, for her baby, and for her circle. I do this in many ways: sometimes with my physical presence, sometimes with my knowledge, sometimes with suggestions for her about choosing her team of support. Giving birth to another human is about one of the biggest transitions a person can make, so if I can facilitate a feeling of being "at home" through that transition, I have done my job well. To clarify, when a woman is "at home" during her birth-giving experience, she feels as if she is at the center of that experience, which is exactly where she actually is. Many maternity situations these days successfully pull a birthing mother away from that center, and away from that home. Whenever she is told that she "should" or "shouldn't" do something; whenever she is made to feel ignorant or foolish; whenever she understands that she hasn't somehow lived up to other peoples' expectations of her, then a birthing woman will feel exiled from her home and pushed out of the center of that primal experience.

And I want to make clear that I am not saying that it's only experiences that are within hospitals, or with OBGYNs that can make a woman an exile in her own birth experience. It's more common within these institutions, for sure, but then again the majority of women now in Canada are giving birth within institutions. I am saying, however, that WHOMEVER and WHENEVER and for WHATEVER reason a birthing mother is spoken to, she must be spoken to with respect, with humility, with honour. There are social media influencers who are shaming women every single minute, with "facts" about her birth choices and her life choices that are just not true. There's a whole world out there full of people who want to drive a birthing woman from her home, by imposing their own personal choices upon her. 

We all need to find a home where we can dwell with some measure of peace. When babies are born in environments of fear or anger, they don't feel that peace. Good things can come from stress and desperation: women who have been torn apart are now trying their very best to repair and heal the birth environment for others to come. I love to do a big huge houseclean every so often: where everything is turned upside-down and cleaned before it is put back in its rightful place. I air everything out, make things smell nice, repair broken things, clean underneath.... maybe we need to do a little housecleaning! 

Please reach out if you want to be part of the new birth attendant course @mbcdoulaschool!

*from Philip Roth's masterpiece The Human Stain.