Reflecting on My Peaceful Home Birth: One Year Later
It’s been a year since I gave birth to my third daughter, and as I reflect on our birth story, I’m surprised by how joy and grief coexist in me. I’m overflowing with gratitude—and quietly carrying grief. A soft, unspoken grief that seems to come with motherhood. It lives in my heart and lingers in my eyes as I watch my daughters grow up.
The Pace of Motherhood: Grieving What Flew By
I wasn’t prepared for this year to go by so fast. When I pause and think about her birth, my body returns to that tub of lukewarm water—holding my sweet baby girl, feeling the contractions slowly melt away.
So many little details unfold in an eight-hour birth. I’m endlessly grateful I filmed it, so I can return and feel the nostalgia of that precious moment. In the days immediately after, I was on cloud nine—filled with peace. Even now, a year later, I still feel that peace. I love my birth story. It taught me things I couldn’t have learned any other way. But with 365 days passed, I now see it with different eyes—eyes that have grown in wisdom and understanding.
Following Intuition in Pregnancy and Birth
During my pregnancy, especially in those final weeks, I felt a deep and steady peace that everything would be okay. Yes, there were moments I feared surrendering to the unknown—but something inside me knew it would all unfold safely.
And it did.
When I gave my final push and saw my baby gently float from womb to water’s surface, I was in heaven. There are no perfect words for that moment. I pulled her to my chest, overwhelmed with love and relief. In our home video, I’m showering her with kisses and telling her how much I love her—how glad I am she’s finally here.
The Moment I Knew She Was Okay
She didn’t cry or open her eyes immediately. She looked limp, yet peaceful—almost as if she were still between heaven and earth. Her heart rate was steady in the 150s, but she made no sound. I didn’t feel fear. I felt love. I knew she was with me.
I whispered, “I love you so much. Mama’s here.”
My midwife said calmly, “Give her some breaths.”
So I did. I placed my mouth over her nose and lips and breathed love into her. After a few breaths, she let out a little growl that felt like, “Stop bothering me, I’m sleeping.” I laughed and kept breathing her into wakefulness until she started to stir. She finally cried when I kissed her neck and whispered, “You are so beautiful.”
Processing a Birth Story Without Trauma
I’ll never forget those sacred moments of breathing life into her again. Her mother, her guardian, her protector—intuitive enough to meet her with gentleness.
I’ve asked myself again and again why she didn’t come out crying. Maybe it was because she came so quickly after I hit transition. Maybe she didn’t have enough time to push out all the liquid—she was here in just three pushes. I don’t know the exact reason. And I’ve accepted that I don’t need one.
Maybe I needed to trust her and my own intuitive ability to read what she needed.
I’ve realized I don’t need to understand every “why” to process my birth. Processing takes a lifetime. My birth story lives in my body—and always will. It’s an honor to hold it. And I feel deep respect for myself, for the body that brought my children into the world, and for the home I continue to protect for them.
A Gentle Invitation to Revisit Your Story
As I carry this story, I carry it with love—for my body, my babies, and the sacred work of motherhood. My hope is to honor it always—with love, intention, and gratitude.
If this resonated with you, I’m creating something special—an online birth story reflection course to help you return to your own story with care and intention. Your story is worthy of being held.
