Around hour 24 of my 36 hour back labor with Ellis, I turned to my midwife and said, “I can’t do this.” She held my hand firmly, locked her eyes on mine and said, “You are doing this.”
In labor, like in life, it’s the fear of what’s coming next that gets us. How long is this going to last? What if something happens to the baby? What if something happens to me? What if the pain gets worse? I won’t survive if the pain gets worse. Substitute any of these for, what if I lose my job? What if my car won’t start? What if my partner leaves me? What if my business fails? What if, what if, what if. And all the other future focused scenarios that rob us of our joy.
It took me three babies to learn how to labor. Or maybe it was Andrew. My teacher from the start, who taught me to stay adamantly present in the moment you would give anything to escape.
At one point while birthing Ellis, I begged her dad to fetch a knife from the kitchen and cut her out. The dirtier the knife, the better. I wanted to be sure to die. What I didn’t know then is that my resistance to the present circumstance was what was making it so much more painful. Surrender was not a word in my vocabulary, let alone a tool in my tool belt. So I fought, and writhed, cried, screamed, prayed, cursed, bargained, wished it all away. Eventually, that sweet girl came. She ripped me in two in the process and I was whisked away to be sewn up and monitored, but the pain was over and it’s true what they say, one look and all is forgotten.
Andrew’s birth was fast, empowering, a meditation, and a perfect ending to my birthing chapter. The difference? I surrendered fully and focused on what I could control, which albeit, was very little. Relax and breath. Don’t think about the next contraction. Stay here. In for three, out for seven, until the wave passes. Rest. Repeat.
I’ve often come back to the experience of birthing Andrew, particularly since we learned of his diagnosis. It felt like the first time I did something really hard and instead of trying to run away, I stayed. And it was the staying that made it possible.
Look at me, taking all the credit. Birthing is a partnership. Mama and baby, together. Their first of many triumphs. He showed me then and he continues to show me, the power of the present moment. I’ve taken it for granted my entire life. Actually, a more accurate admission would be that I’ve done everything in my power to avoid it. Which is curious to me at this point because there is little else as delicious as the right now. This has felt like magic to me. A place to come home to, finally. Of course, I suppose it’s worth noting that I’m an overachieving, perfectionist, adult child of an alcoholic, who has spent her life trying to control the uncontrollable so I would find something like surrender magical.
You are doing this. This, right here, is all there is. Mom always tells me, “Dorothy, the past is dead.” And the kids always tell me, “Mom, let’s play,” which is code for, the future doesn’t exist but this moment does. Let’s live!
Joy Practice 