The restorative power of a healing birth

It is one year after my youngest child, Aurora Hazel, was born over Easter in a birth pool in my home. We were encircled with fairy lights in my living room, under an aurora projector, with Taylor Swift's 'Folklore' and the scent of frankincense filling the air. 

As I write this, I am sitting and watching her eating fistfuls of birthday cake in the exact spot in which she was born. I am immediately transported back to the healing birth which changed the trajectory of my life, my matrescence, and every fibre of my being.

Never in a million years did I think someone 'like me' could ever have the birth I did with Aurora, given I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) after my first birth (a syntocinon augmentation, postpartum haemorrhage and an experience of poor treatment by medical staff and those involved in my subsequent formal complaint), less than two years beforehand and at the height of Covid-19 restrictions. 

In all honesty, after my first birth I couldn't see beyond the next day and was completely crushed by the lead weight that is birth trauma. The stigma attached to those still reeling from a bad birth, those who wince when repeatedly told the old adage that 'all that matters is a healthy baby', is palpable. I retreated into myself with no 'village' to support me, and my husband was also suffering from unaddressed trauma after the birth, and like many fathers during the pandemic had been excluded from all appointments and scans as 'visitors' were banned. Visitors. 

Breastfeeding, like pregnancy and birth, became another area where I felt like my body had betrayed me on an instinctual level, and support was only available with local charities via video call. I look back at pictures of that time of me and my eldest and see strangers. My first year of motherhood is something I view as lost. 

This was until I met Kate – a consultant midwife. 

They say that sometimes people come into our lives for a reason, and I truly believe that. I met Kate on the day I received a letter from my local Trust in response to the formal complaint I submitted about my care, and it did not bring the answers or recognition I had hoped for, or deserved. I needed to speak to someone, anyone. I felt like my chest had been crushed. It had taken me six months to work up the courage to get hold of my medical notes and make the complaint. 

So, I decided to ring the consultant midwife number I had from my first pregnancy, and a lady with a calming voice answered immediately. This was Kate. She was the new consultant midwife at the Birth Choices clinic, and she spoke with such compassion as I attempted to tell her my birth story through sobs. Sometimes a stranger listening and not minimising a traumatic experience is all someone needs, and this was the first person who had truly listened to me in a year. 

I was told by Kate that, if I went on to have another child, she would make sure she was my midwife and she would see me throughout, as in my previous pregnancy I'd not had continuity of carer and had seen a different midwife at every appointment. This was incredibly reassuring to hear. Seeing so many different midwives in my previous pregnancy and birth, who did not communicate with one another led to a number of problems such as: having to repeatedly explain my rare blood disorder to every single midwife I met; and being provided with conflicting advice about my access to pain relief.

This model of continuity of carer is something which I was aware was evidence-based and improved outcomes for mothers and babies, but unfortunately the NHS has struggled to implement due to the midwifery retention crisis.

Kate also told me that if I was pregnant again she would support me to make choices about my birth, including those that might be considered outside of guidelines (such as being able to birth in the birth centre or at home despite being considered 'high risk' due to some of my physical health conditions). As someone who was given the label of 'high risk', it seemed that I was restrained from having any autonomy whatsoever in my previous birth. 

This included being 'banned' from the birth centre, which was a huge factor in my trauma. Being told I'd have continuity of carer and birth choice, two things I hadn't had in my first pregnancy, gave me the courage to embark on another pregnancy. 

And Kate was true to her word. During my second pregnancy, she came to my house for my midwife appointments from eight weeks antenatally to until a month postpartum, and put herself on call for the birth, as well as putting together a rota of experienced midwives to be there if she was not available. As someone who had previously been very distrustful of midwives, this process of building a strong relationship with a midwife over the course of a whole pregnancy was an experience which will stay with me for the rest of my life. I was able to confide in her, ask her all sorts of questions, and have her act as an advocate for me with other medical professionals who may not have been as supportive had I been alone. 

While pregnant, I also started working with a perinatal clinical psychologist through my local Perinatal Mental Health Service. I received Eye Movement Desensitisation and Reprocessing (EMDR) therapy to address the residual trauma I had surrounding my previous birth, as I didn't want this to derail my second birth. The perinatal clinical psychologist I saw also helped me address the root of my trauma, a cannula insertion without informed consent, as well as several other traumatic visual 'pinch points'. 

It took a few weeks before I noticed results as I struggled to open myself up, but then I began to feel like a weight was lifted as the weeks progressed. I had previously had multiple rounds of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) in my adolescence and early 20s for an eating disorder and severe anxiety, which unfortunately left me feeling worse. 

So, to find a form of therapy which not only worked at all, but worked incredibly well for me, at such a pivotal point in my life, was more than I could ever have asked for. My perinatal psychologist also briefed all staff involved in my pregnancy and birth on trauma-informed care to give me the best possible chance of a positive birth experience. This is an area which is only in its infancy in the NHS but is incredibly important and midwives working in a continuity of carer model are in a prime position to embody this kind of care. 

In this way I was supported to have a home birth. My home birth was beyond my wildest dreams and something which sticks with me is my emotions about going through the transition stage. During my first birth, which had been augmented with artificial oxytocin, I'd had no break in contractions during this entire time so was terrified of it this time around too. The midwife who attended my Easter birth alongside Kate (and who I'd met at a previous appointment at my house in my pregnancy), reassured me that I'd already gone through transition without even realising it, as the baby was almost crowning! 

The wave of relief that came over me when I realised that the thing I feared most had already been and gone without me even being aware cannot even be described. The care I received during my birth was truly woman-centred and trauma-informed in every sense of the term. I felt heard and held, safe and supported, meaning the hormones necessary for birth were very much free-flowing. 

The outcomes of the birth were textbook, completely physiological from start to finish, and with no suturing necessary. In so many ways I attribute this to the truly exceptional, gold-standard care I received during my pregnancy and birth, particularly from Kate but also from the other midwives and psychologists who did everything in their power to help me rewrite the narrative of my births and motherhood. 

I was encouraged by Kate to train as a breastfeeding peer supporter, starting my training at 39 weeks pregnant and completing it whilst still exclusively breastfeeding my second child. This allowed me to support women in my local community who were struggling with breastfeeding and desperately searching for their 'village' like I had been with my first child. It was cathartic and incredibly healing for me, and something I intend to do for many years to come. 

The most important thing is that mothers can get the support to follow whatever route works for them and their baby - everyone is different and it's important to remember that and to try and ignore any external pressures which might push for any particular approach.

I am still tandem feeding my daughters, who are now one and nearly three years old respectively, which is one of my greatest achievements and a huge part of how I mother my children. 

I will always be hypothetically 'high risk' obstetrically due to having lifelong low platelets, but thanks to the care I had I was not once treated like a number or a risk level. I am incredibly grateful to have had Kate by my side advocating for me through the whole journey, and it most certainly wasn't an easy one, to give me the chance to have a birth which was truly transformative. No aspect of my life has remained untouched.  

In this birth I found my vocation and my voice – to advocate for birth choice even for those deemed 'high risk' and, in a paternalistic healthcare system with ever-increasing rates of intervention but not outcomes, to spark conversations about birth centring nuance and autonomy. I am living proof of what a healing birth looks like, where I have not only survived but thrived. Every single day the ripple effects of this birth are apparent, not only in myself but also my entire family unit. This is midwifery in its purest form, being 'with woman', with birth itself being a vehicle for healing and flourishing after trauma. 

'Hope' is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
(Emily Dickinson)

Today's Maternal Mental Health Awareness Week theme is 'perinatal positivity: shining a light on parents' voices and recovery stories'. You can find out more on the Maternal Mental Health Alliance website. The MHA also has resources for anyone struggling with their mental health during pregnancy and after birth, to help women find the support and approach that works for them.