To Speak and Hear: Sharing the Common Experience of Childbirth

The mid-spring morning sun shone through the perfectly clean windows of her living room.  Seven mamas arranged in plush sofas and rocking chairs around the perimeter of the room, forming a circle.  The center of the circle, covered by a floral area rug filled with babies. Seven four- month-old baby boys wiggled and squirmed under the careful watch of their mothers.

Seven baby boys!

The last time we gathered in this living room all babies were still on the inside. Mentally, I compared the then and now: before and after. 

Flush faced and smiling they visited easily. Topics of discussion ranged from baby feeding, baby sleeping/waking, where to get the cheapest diapers- all about the baby.

Next we ate together. The main dish a breakfast casserole, a large dish containing eggs, cheese, hash-browns, gravy, bacon, and sausage cooked together. Buffet style we filled our plates with baked goods, salty snacks, and fruit. Every chair at the oak dining room table held a place for us, our Styrofoam plate, and steaming cup of coffee. The mothers ate and continued the polite chit chat of new motherhood. I anticipated the birth stories waiting to be told. I checked my watch, only 15 minutes into our gathering. I needed to be patient. I wanted to hear their stories.

This childbirth class reunion is held under the guise of “meeting the babies”. And it is that, but also more. It is a chance for the women to speak their experiences of birthing and breastfeeding in a setting free of the rigid social limits of their Amish culture. My role is the facilitator and my presence creates a context where they feel free to speak their mind.

Sometimes they do. Sometimes they do not. I can’t ever really predict HOW a reunion will go. 

One of the talking points in my last childbirth class is discussing the “range of normal of labor and birth.” The pregnant couples listen as I list the various ways labor and birth can unfold and still be normal. The list includes things like: how labor starts, how long labor lasts, weight of baby, gestation of baby, etc. They hear my words, but I suspect they don’t really GET what I’m talking about. The goal of the talk is to prepare them ahead of time for the unpredictable nature of the labor they soon face, but also to emphasize that in the end HOW a labor/birth plays out is not a direct reflection of the woman’s strength or weakness. I want to lay a foundation to ease the guilt and shame that is inevitable when a woman’s labor is not as she imagined it would be.

I politely waited until we were done eating, all seated back in the living room babes in arms, before I launched in. “So I’d love to hear your birth stories- as much as you are willing to share.” I want them to sense they are free to talk about whatever they need to. “Things like: how it started, was it what you expected, how did nursing go, how was your recovery?” The list of questions is long, leaving room for the women to find something they feel comfortable sharing. 

The conversation unwrapped itself like a spool of thread spinning to empty. My role as facilitator faded into the background. Each took her turn recalling from beginning to end, the birth of their first child. Bravely they shared about the hardest parts, the desire to give up, the doubt, the injury, the plain hard work of it all.

Their heads nod in recognition, “me too” in chorus. Before my eyes they transitioned from individual birth stories to a communal connection. Community is a place Amish are familiar with, but not so much when it comes to the intimate details of labor/birth/recovery. And in this community group setting I observed healing. Trauma relived and relieved by the telling. 

“I didn’t get to hold him for the first whole hour while they stitched me up.” Anna stated with a clenched throat, tears welled behind her glasses. 

Or “I pushed for four hours. I didn’t think I could do it. I didn’t think I would make it.” JoAnn stated flatly. Her son rested his fuzzy head on her shoulder as she spoke she patted his bottom. 

The woman sitting next to her reached out and gently grabbed JoAnn’s elbow and squeezed. “I know they kept telling me to push and I didn’t have anything left. It was three hours for me.” Gina relieved at the idea she wasn’t the only one. 

And then there was Lorriane, “I feel so guilty. I got the epidural; I wasn’t brave like you all.” 

Before I could open my mouth, someone else assured her that her bravery and effort to deliver her son was enough, with or without an epidural. I sat in awe, a witness to these women. HOLY CONNECTION HOLY MOMENTS.

This continued for hours: Breastfeeding success and failure, stitches, baby blues and postpartum depression, colicky babies, and stubborn husbands. For four hours. 

THIS IS WHAT NEW MOMS NEED! A SAFE PLACE TO OPEN UP AND BE HONEST AND VULNERABLE WITHIN THEIR COMMUNITY. TO BOTH SPEAK AND LISTEN TO THE COMMON EXPERIENCES AND JOYS OF NEW MOTHERHOOD. TO KNOW YOU ARE NORMAL AND NOT ALONE.

I was the first to leave, wanting to stay. I drove away wondering how to replicate this experience. What do I need to do to make this happen every time I gather for a childbirth class reunion? The further I drove from her house the more clear it became. I can’t MAKE this happen. I can gather, facilitate, model empathy, listen and affirm the mothers. But I can’t force the organic element that is essential to reach the deep levels of sharing and healing that I just witnessed. It has to come from one of them.

The gatherings that yield a sisterhood kind of feel are ones where there was a woman willing to go first, willing to admit her struggle, willing to hold the others to the same level of sharing. I keep a mental list of those women, Amish women who would be great therapists and teachers. I wish I could take them with me every time I had one of these groups.

So I’ll not give up. Every gathering I’ll do my part: gather, lead, listen, normalize and affirm. And I’ll not give up hope that by holding this space there will be connection and healing.