My first birth was great.
I had the midwife-assisted-unmedicated-hospital birth I had hoped and
planned for. My son was 10.6 pounds. He nursed easily. We asked to be discharged less than 24 hours
after he was born and our request was honored.
We felt respected and cared for. I didn't experience postpartum depression,
post-traumatic-stress-disorder, or even the blues. All was well.
When my son was 7-months-old I became a doula. When he was 1-year-old I went back to school,
already having a master’s degree, to work towards my doctorate. I had been working in the mental health field
as a therapist and was passionate about the primal period (pregnancy, birth,
and the first 3-years of life). When I had
to define my area of emphasis in graduate school it was clear to me that
focusing in this area made the most sense.
The first study I conducted was a qualitative study exploring
maternal experiences with pregnancy and birth.
Some of the statements really stood out to me. Many women shared a similar response when I
would ask them why something occurred during their births or why they did what
they did. They would say, “I don’t know, it’s just what you do.” This left me puzzled. How could so many report such a lack of
information and understanding about what had happened to them, their bodies,
and their babies during their pregnancy and birth experiences? So I set out to find the answer to this
question: how did “just what you do” become well, just what you do. Basically, I started to explore the history
of birth in our country. How did we get
here? My research in this area and the
implications on modern-day families became the focus of my dissertation
project.
It was because of my research, the science, that I decided that if I was
experiencing a healthy pregnancy (meaning I was low risk) home birth was the
option I would chose for any future births I would have. I was 12 weeks pregnant with my second child
when I successfully defended that dissertation and earned my doctorate. About 6 months later I had another great
birth experience. I had the
midwife-assisted-unmedicated-home-birth I had hoped and planned for. My 2nd son was a 9.2 pounder. He nursed easily. We felt respected and cared for. I didn't experience postpartum depression, post-traumatic-stress-disorder, or even the
blues. All was well.
I feel it is important for me to communicate that I did not come to this movement because I was hurt. I’m not angry. I’m not seeking some redemption from a bad experience.
I am here because I know the truth about how we got
here. And I know what it means for moms
and babies that we are here. I am here
because I know that if we stay on this current course things are not going to
get better, they are going to get worse, much worse. Most of all I am here because everyone
deserves to have experiences like I had.
No, not because I think I did it “right” or that everyone should make
the same decisions I did. No, not because
I think I’m better than anyone, but because EVERYONE – EVERYONE – deserves to feel
respected and cared for during their births.
And when I say everyone I mean the mother, the partner, the baby –
everyone. The truth is my experiences
are the exception not the rule and
that is not okay with me.
I am here, a part of this movement to improve birth, because I know that it’s not too late. I am here because I know that it wasn't long
ago that we veered off course, and I believe that it’s not too late to STOP,
backpedal, and get back on track. I am
here because just one woman saying that she felt disrespected, silenced, or worse assaulted is
one woman too many. I am here now because I know that
one person can make a difference. I am
here because I know that my voice matters.
Most of all I am here now because I know that we can do better, but only
if we demand better. I am here to demand
better.
I am improving birth because I know the truth and I know that
we need change now.
Photo by the amazing Andrea Shandri of Blessings Photo and Birth
~ Mandi Hardy Hillman
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