The Power of Sharing Our Birth Stories: A Journey of Healing

There’s a certain magic that happens when women share their stories—especially birth stories. Sharing can be a form of healing, an act of reclaiming our narrative. It’s a practice many of us aren’t used to. We often keep these deeply personal experiences to ourselves, tucked away. But I believe we need to change that. We need to create a space where women feel safe to share their stories and find community in our shared experiences.

I have to admit, it took me a while to reach this place. I haven’t yet been able to write about my firstborn’s birth because I’m still unraveling the trauma it left for me. Looking back, I realize that my first birth experience was more traumatic than I initially thought. I suspect many mothers might feel the same. The first time we go through this intense rite of passage, we are so open, so vulnerable, and it’s all so new. We don’t always know how to process the experience, and often, the joy of holding our little one overshadows the trauma. It’s only later, as time passes and we reflect, that we start to understand the layers of our experience.

Today, on the eve of my second-born Jasper’s birthday, I’m reminded of his beautiful entrance into the world. As I sit here reading the story of his birth, I feel compelled to share parts of it with you. Not just to tell my story, but to illustrate how sharing can be a healing process.

Jasper's Birth: A Journey to Trust and Intuition

Jasper’s birth was everything I had hoped for—a natural home birth in Costa Rica that felt both serene and empowering. I felt prepared and confident, having learned from my first experience. This time, I knew exactly what I wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it. I felt a deep trust in my body and instincts, which had been missing during my first birth. With my husband, Jason, by my side, I faced this new chapter with a fearless heart. We were determined to create the birth experience we desired, guided by intuition and a deep sense of inner knowing.

But this journey began long before the contractions started. It involved decisions that required careful consideration and reflection. Jason and I weighed the choice between staying in Costa Rica or returning to Canada. I was torn, worried about navigating a different healthcare system and the potential lack of support for the natural birth I envisioned. I wanted a home birth with minimal intervention, especially after feeling pressured into unnecessary interventions during my first birth. I was committed to doing things differently this time.

In the weeks leading up to Jasper’s birth, I worked through many fears and emotions. I let go of the trauma from my first birth, the fear of not being “on time,” my care team’s lack of trust in my body, and the anxiety of being forced into interventions. I realized this was a different birth, a different story. Finding the right support team was crucial. I needed a team that aligned with my holistic approach and respected my desire for a natural birth. Yet, because we decided relatively late in my pregnancy to stay in Costa Rica, finding the ideal support was challenging. At one point, I worried I wouldn’t have the doula or midwife I envisioned, or perhaps no doula at all. This forced me to confront a lingering fear: that without the "perfect" team, I might not have the birth experience I so deeply wanted.

Then it dawned on me: the essence of birth isn’t about having the perfect setup or team; it’s about unwavering trust in myself and my body. I realized that my confidence and connection with my own intuition were the most important factors. I began to let go of the fears and expectations that had been holding me back and embraced the belief that I was capable of bringing my baby into the world, just as I was.

The Day Jasper Arrived

On the morning of Jasper’s birth, I woke to the rhythmic pulses of contractions around 3:30 a.m. I felt an intense clarity and readiness. This was it—the moment I had been preparing for. Despite the birthing pool we’d set up developing a leak, I wasn’t disheartened. Instead, I took it as a sign that I didn’t need the pool to bring my baby into the world. All I needed was to trust in my body and the process unfolding.

As labor intensified, I found myself craving solitude. I asked Jason if he and our daughter could leave the house so I could labor alone. I needed to retreat inward, to shed the lingering shadows of my first birth. The fears, distrust, and anxiety all needed to be released. I wanted to carve out a new space for this birth, free from the echoes of past trauma.

With each contraction, I embraced a deep sense of calm and openness. I moved through various positions, visualizing each wave bringing me closer to meeting my baby. I hoped for a 5 p.m. birth, envisioning it as the perfect time—dusk, cool temperatures, fewer labor hours, and a chance for everyone to rest afterward. The sensation of labor was intense but manageable, like a powerful tide pulling me forward. I was fully present, grounded, and confident.

Toward the end of the process, I called Jason, the doulas, and the doctor to join me. I wanted them there for the final stretch, but the labor was progressing swiftly. Jason and the doulas arrived first. By the time they arrived, I was deep in the process, fully immersed in the experience. This birth was unfolding beautifully. Even as I worked through some last fears with the doula, I felt an empowering sense of control. I wasn’t rushing or overwhelmed; instead, I was savoring each moment with patience and grace.

As the doctor arrived, I knew Jasper was nearing his entrance. The contractions were powerful, but I felt unwavering support from my birth team and, more importantly, from my own inner strength. The urge to push was overwhelming. To my surprise, Jason decided to passionately kiss me right at the crowning point. He must have intuitively known that this would shift my focus away from the physical sensations and help me surrender to the process.

With a rush of warmth and light, Jasper was born at 4:50 p.m., just ten minutes before my visualized time. Holding him close, I felt immense love and peace. His birth was a significant accomplishment and a healing experience—a beautiful closure to a chapter I didn’t even realize needed to be closed. The placenta followed, and while the process involved shedding a bit of lingering fear, it was a final, affirming step in this transformative experience.

The Importance of Sharing Our Stories

Both of my children’s births are beautiful in their own ways. Even though my first birth holds trauma associated with not being in control, it was an incredible experience to birth my daughter. Each birth experience is unique, just like each child is unique. Jasper’s birth was a continuation of the healing process that began with my first. I believe every birth story deserves to be told.

Sharing our birth stories can be a powerful way to heal. It helps us process the experience, make sense of it, and find peace. It also creates community—a circle of women who understand, who have been there, and who can offer support and empathy. Birth is a rite of passage that is deeply personal yet universally shared among women.

So, I encourage you to share your story. Whether with a friend, a partner, or in a journal, let it out. You might find that in the telling, there is healing. And in that healing, there is strength. Birth is not just the arrival of a baby; it is the birth of a mother—a transformation that deserves to be honored, shared, and celebrated.