What is the ideal birth?

Some additional thoughts on elitism, safety, and sacredness

Last weekend, I was blessed to participate in a panel for The Guiding Star Project’s “Fearless Future” Conference, answering the question: “What is the ideal birth?”

It’s a loaded question, especially when you only have 10 minutes to answer. The following is some of what I gave, fleshed out by the thoughts of others on the panel (including

Serena Sigillito

, who I hope shares her thoughts at some point as well, as they were wonderful!). It’s a loaded question primarily because it’s a sensitive topic, and a discussion in which it’s easy to find oneself siloed. This was actually a lot of the conversation at the conference—how can we heal the divide surrounding birth and women’s healthcare in general? It was really cathartic to be a part of.

The question “what is the ideal birth?” is a hard one, because to me, the answer that first came to mind is “the one the mother chooses,” but that’s also loaded. Mothers do have the ability to choose things that might harm their children or themselves, especially when under pressure to do so. But, at the same, maternal autonomy is a factor of ideal birth that I couldn’t shake—but I think the further question is, autonomy for the sake of what?

As I shared in my first piece on birth, I experienced a lot of judgment for choosing to pursue a medicated hospital birth after my unmedicated birth outside a hospital resulted in a lot of trauma for me. The comments section on that piece revealed many similar stories, where women shared their experiences of shame, isolation, or feelings of defeat for having births that weren’t considered “ideal.” I think it is safe to say that the slant of young Catholic mothers is toward unmedicated birth, definitely not away from it, especially unmedicated birth outside a hospital. This slant is for a multitude of reasons, including traumatic experiences in hospital settings and disdain for the over-industrialization of birth that doesn’t often hold reverence for women. But it’s a slant, nonetheless, and one that can treat those who do choose hospital births—or find themselves having one out of necessity—that their experiences are inherently less sacred, even if to those women, it fits their personal ideal.

Conversely, women who have understandably discerned that for them, birth is best experienced unmedicated or outside the hospital setting, can be wrongly treated like they are forsaking safety for themselves and their babies. I pointed out on the panel that ironically, both “sides” of the ideal birth discourse can sell the same lie: that women choosing the opposing side are foolish and putting their baby in harm’s way, in some capacity. More deeply, both sides can make mothers feel like they are forsaking something fundamental to the rite of passage that birth is, whether that is safety or sacredness.

To me, this is where maternal autonomy comes into play: we need to be able to respect women’s autonomy in birth for the sake of both safety and sacredness in tandem, and those aspects are not limited to one kind of birth. To treat women as foolish for their desires and needs in birth, in any setting, is insulting. On the panel, I shared the difference of my experiences in birth and how I made the choices I did for my second out of a desire to be fully present to welcome my son. After being so shaken during my first birth, I felt my ability to welcome my daughter from a place of peace was harmed—a reality I didn’t want to experience again. To me, choosing a medicated hospital birth was choosing both safety and sacredness, therefore producing that sense of peace. Safety goes far beyond the physical—it’s about locations, attendees, etc. that make the mother feel psychologically safe, as well. The birth of my son felt ideal because I made decisions from a grounded, autonomous place, and was supported not just in my choices, but emotionally by those who were attending that birth (something I did not experience during my first labor and birth). When, in conversation, people acted condescendingly towards these decisions as if I was weak, or inconsiderate of my son or my own body for these choices, I justifiably felt insulted. Though I experienced less pushback for my choices in my first birth, I felt the same way when a couple of people questioned whether or not my choice of a birth center was safe.

It’s also common for sacredness in natural birth discourse to be tied to cooperating with pain, or even assigned spiritual significance because of a particular read of God’s curse for woman at the Fall. This is something I briefly touched on in the panel discussion, that I think is really fascinating. Pain in birth absolutely does have spiritual significance, but I no longer believe it’s the locus of birth’s sacredness (hence the acceptance of other non-medication pain-reducing methods in birth, such as hypnobirthing). Part of this comes from a closer read of Genesis 3:16, where the curse of pain in labor is found:

“[…]‘I will greatly multiply your pain in childbearing;
in pain you shall bring forth children,
yet your desire shall be for your husband,
and he shall rule over you.’” (RSVCE)

It was my own mother who pointed out to me, in the process of writing my first piece on birth, that in her Bible translation (I can’t remember which), the word “pain” was actually “sorrow.” I remembered this when preparing for last week’s conference, and found the textual evidence for this. In Greek, the word used is lypas, from the root lypē, which means “sorrow” or “grief” and is often used to describe emotional distress in Scripture, not necessarily physical pain. The Hebrew word used is itsabownek, which means “your sorrow,” or “toil” or even “worrisomeness.” It’s derived from the root word atsab which means “hurt” or “grief.” The original languages of Scripture, per usual, give us a much richer understanding of what’s being spoken of when it comes to pain.

Motherhood is inherently painful, not just to the body, but to the soul. This is crucial for answering the question: “What is the ideal birth?” The ideal birth is the one in which the mother feels both safe and sacred—where she is most prepared to enter the reality of what motherhood is, and give a peaceful “fiat” to it. The pain of bringing forth and rearing another unique, free soul goes far beyond the pain of the body—the ideal birth makes both the unique soul of the mother and her child the focus. It’s my belief that this can truly happen in any setting, depending on each mother’s story and needs.

To me, it is also the responsibility of women of faith to end this divide for each other. It is incredibly diabolical, in my mind, that the main source of judgment about our birth preferences and experiences is other mothers. This conference stirred hope in me that this can end: that we can unlearn the ways online discourse has taught us to think about certain topics, birth included, and instead be the first to receive each other’s stories and their fullness, even (and perhaps especially) when they look different than ours.