We all know that giving birth is a rite of passage; an initiation. For birthing women and for families, birth is a
transformative event. It is nothing less than life-changing. We know this.
What often goes unacknowledged is that we as doulas are also initiated by birth-- and then reinitiated by each
pregnant woman with whom we work, and every birth that we attend. The American Heritage Dictionary defines
initiation as 'a ceremony, ritual, test, or period of instruction with which a new member is admitted to an
organization or office or to knowledge.' (Italics mine.) To me, initiation is a perfect description of what we are
invited to experience, in our service to women and families.
We bond, we share, we learn about each other. And then we pack our bags, we leave our families, and we go
off to be in sacred space with a laboring woman, her loved ones, and her caregivers. Each time we are
present at a birth, we learn something new. We are invited deeper into the mystery and the power and the
miracle of birth.
My own original initiation as a doula continues to inform me even now, many years later. Each subsequent gift
has built from that foundation.
I was fortunate to receive my doula training from a traditional midwife, and to attend homebirths with her, as
well as the hospital births to which my childbirth students and friends invited me. My first opportunity to actually
witness a birth was a homebirth, attended by my midwife, my friend, and my mentor, Gretchen.
At the time I began working with Gretchen, we didn't know that she was teaching me to be a doula. We'd never
heard the word. This was 1987, five years before DONA came into being and eleven years before CAPPA was
formed. I had just been certified through the American Association of Husband-Coached Childbirth (AAHCC),
and was beginning to teach childbirth education classes. I worked with women during their prenatal
appointments with Gretchen, in both 'doula' and midwifery assistant capacities, and I had even done some
labor assisting on my own. But I had never attended a birth prior to the November day when Kieran was born.
Jill was in her thirties, and her husband was in his fifties. This would be their first and perhaps only child. On
the morning that Jill went into labor, I arrived at their home as the sun was rising, and it was my job and my
privilege to stay with her during the early process. Jill labored gracefully and powerfully, and she progressed
quickly. Gretchen arrived perhaps two hours later, and very shortly afterward, Jill was in and then through
transition. That's when her labor just seemed to stop.
Although I was a rank amateur as a doula, I'd heard of labor plateaus. I just hadn't ever seen one at this phase
of labor, much less controlled my concern, my eagerness, and then my admitted impatience through one.
Meanwhile, Jill certainly didn't seem eager or impatient. She was clearly in what we call the 'rest and be
thankful' stage. The eye of the hurricane. Contractions had completely ceased, and the house grew quiet.
The afternoon sun filtered in around the blinds, and the lazily spiraling dust motes dancing in the glow were
suddenly a great deal busier than we were.
In spite of this slightly disconcerting fact, Gretchen-- whom I'd learned to read very well by this point-- was
serenely relaxed. So I took my cues from her, and banished my concerns and impatience. We waited. We
laughed and talked, feeding Jill, encouraging her to rest or putter around as her body guided her. The baby
was happy. Why not enjoy this break?
Perhaps an hour passed, or maybe two. I began to wonder if this had been a dress rehearsal. Was Jill going
to be one of those legendary (mythical?) women who walk around at 10 cm for days before finally giving birth?
As I began to let go of the idea of seeing a baby born that day, I heard Gretchen quietly ask Jill if anything was
bothering her.
A long silence followed: a prickly, charged silence. My attention snapped to Jill's face, and I realized she was
worriedly frowning. Slowly, she began to explain that she was concerned about how this baby would affect her
and her husband's lifestyle. She just wasn't sure it was such a good idea to be pregnant now, at
thirty-something, with a fifty-something husband. Nor was she feeling confident that they could handle a baby
at this stage in their lives.
My immediate reaction was startled amusement. Complete dilation at term is a bit late to have second
thoughts! Still, I sat and silently waited to see how Gretchen would handle these revelations. For a long time,
she merely listened and nodded her head, making quiet sounds of understanding and empathy once in a
while. She never did offer much in the way of reassurance; not verbally, anyway. She just listened and
validated what she heard, her hand gently resting on Jill's arm.
I saw the shift when it happened. It wasn't Gretchen who engineered it, either. It was Jill, who reached the
decision for herself, on her own and in her own time. Gretchen shot me a Look, capital 'L,' when I tried to pipe
in with comforting words at the critical juncture.
With sudden grace, Jill squared her shoulders and stood up straight. Her stomach rounded into a taut ball and
her uterus rippled powerfully. She went with the urge and bore down hard. The anxious, frustrated woman of
a moment before simply vanished, and I saw her reach out to claim the mantle of motherhood, however it might
play out in her life. For better or for worse, she'd decided to go forward.
"Too late now," she quipped when the contraction ended. We all laughed. Relief and delight flooded through
me, and perhaps, through us all. Once her doubts were heard and then laid to rest by her own hand, Jill
proceeded to push out her baby son without any further hesitation.
Kieran was born on my father's birthday, in the late afternoon, and I will never forget the fierce, ecstatic look on
Jill's face when she lifted him up onto her abdomen. I cried. Gretchen nodded approvingly and stopped me
from surreptitiously trying to wipe the tears away.
I'm still learning from that first experience with birth, and I'm grateful to the women who taught me so well on
that November day. It was sacred. It was joyful. It was powerful and real.
Our initiations have such a great impact on our lives. Even the difficult ones can empower us, if we let them.
Years after Jill's birth, I had the honor of being with Gina and her partner while they labored and birthed their
beautiful daughter. We arrived at the hospital with Gina already 6-7 centimeters and, although the baby was
posterior, things seemed to be going smoothly.
Many hours later, with no change in dilation and the baby still posterior in spite of our best efforts to turn her, a
shift change brought us a different and very aggressive doctor. Gina was still going strong and the baby was
fine, so I was very startled when she abruptly agreed to the doctor's suggestion of a Cesarean birth.
Two weeks later, at a postpartum visit, I admitted to Gina that I was feeling terrible about not having been able
to protect her from this difficult doctor. She surprised me once again, suddenly sharing with me that she had
been sexually abused as a child, and that her parents had never been able to say what I had just said.
Harkening back to Gretchen and Jill, I sat silently and just compassionately listened. Gina continued,
explaining that this doctor had triggered memories of her past experiences. His manner was spiteful and he
hurt her, unnecessarily and without apology, each time he did an exam.
So she had decided, in the midst of labor and in the midst of concern for herself and her baby and her
husband in the face of this new threat, that this time she was not going to let a man hurt her vagina. She said
no. She took control. This time, she had won!
She chose the Cesarean. She chose. Her tone of voice was glowing as she said this, and she was earnest
and quite sincere. She wanted me to understand.
She was empowered by her Cesarean birth. In choosing as she had, she protected herself-- both her adult
self, and the hurt little girl part of her she still carried around inside. Through her birth experience, difficult as it
was, she began to heal from her past.
She learned that she could protect herself, and she didn't need me-- or anyone else-- to protect her.
Next time, she said, determination and strength resonant in her voice, she was going to have a homebirth with
a midwife. Because now that she'd learned what she needed to know, she could do that. And she could
protect her daughter, too.
The scales fell from my eyes and I did understand. Initiation. I learned another huge lesson.
I'm eternally grateful to Gina for giving me a whole new perspective on things I only thought I understood. And
I'm so thankful that, years earlier, Gretchen taught me how to really listen. When the time came, I knew how to
hear Gina, and that allowed me to fully absorb the gift she gave me.
Each of us who is present at a birth-- family member, laboring mom, caregiver, or doula-- each receives a gift
of wisdom, of knowledge. Each of us receives a sacred initiation. And this is true, no matter how the birth
unfolds.
I invite you to remember, to treasure, and to honor this priceless gift.
Eileen Sullivan is a Certified EFT (Emotional Freedom Techniques) Practitioner, childbirth educator, doula and
doula trainer who lives in Charlotte with her husband and their four children.
transformative event. It is nothing less than life-changing. We know this.
What often goes unacknowledged is that we as doulas are also initiated by birth-- and then reinitiated by each
pregnant woman with whom we work, and every birth that we attend. The American Heritage Dictionary defines
initiation as 'a ceremony, ritual, test, or period of instruction with which a new member is admitted to an
organization or office or to knowledge.' (Italics mine.) To me, initiation is a perfect description of what we are
invited to experience, in our service to women and families.
We bond, we share, we learn about each other. And then we pack our bags, we leave our families, and we go
off to be in sacred space with a laboring woman, her loved ones, and her caregivers. Each time we are
present at a birth, we learn something new. We are invited deeper into the mystery and the power and the
miracle of birth.
My own original initiation as a doula continues to inform me even now, many years later. Each subsequent gift
has built from that foundation.
I was fortunate to receive my doula training from a traditional midwife, and to attend homebirths with her, as
well as the hospital births to which my childbirth students and friends invited me. My first opportunity to actually
witness a birth was a homebirth, attended by my midwife, my friend, and my mentor, Gretchen.
At the time I began working with Gretchen, we didn't know that she was teaching me to be a doula. We'd never
heard the word. This was 1987, five years before DONA came into being and eleven years before CAPPA was
formed. I had just been certified through the American Association of Husband-Coached Childbirth (AAHCC),
and was beginning to teach childbirth education classes. I worked with women during their prenatal
appointments with Gretchen, in both 'doula' and midwifery assistant capacities, and I had even done some
labor assisting on my own. But I had never attended a birth prior to the November day when Kieran was born.
Jill was in her thirties, and her husband was in his fifties. This would be their first and perhaps only child. On
the morning that Jill went into labor, I arrived at their home as the sun was rising, and it was my job and my
privilege to stay with her during the early process. Jill labored gracefully and powerfully, and she progressed
quickly. Gretchen arrived perhaps two hours later, and very shortly afterward, Jill was in and then through
transition. That's when her labor just seemed to stop.
Although I was a rank amateur as a doula, I'd heard of labor plateaus. I just hadn't ever seen one at this phase
of labor, much less controlled my concern, my eagerness, and then my admitted impatience through one.
Meanwhile, Jill certainly didn't seem eager or impatient. She was clearly in what we call the 'rest and be
thankful' stage. The eye of the hurricane. Contractions had completely ceased, and the house grew quiet.
The afternoon sun filtered in around the blinds, and the lazily spiraling dust motes dancing in the glow were
suddenly a great deal busier than we were.
In spite of this slightly disconcerting fact, Gretchen-- whom I'd learned to read very well by this point-- was
serenely relaxed. So I took my cues from her, and banished my concerns and impatience. We waited. We
laughed and talked, feeding Jill, encouraging her to rest or putter around as her body guided her. The baby
was happy. Why not enjoy this break?
Perhaps an hour passed, or maybe two. I began to wonder if this had been a dress rehearsal. Was Jill going
to be one of those legendary (mythical?) women who walk around at 10 cm for days before finally giving birth?
As I began to let go of the idea of seeing a baby born that day, I heard Gretchen quietly ask Jill if anything was
bothering her.
A long silence followed: a prickly, charged silence. My attention snapped to Jill's face, and I realized she was
worriedly frowning. Slowly, she began to explain that she was concerned about how this baby would affect her
and her husband's lifestyle. She just wasn't sure it was such a good idea to be pregnant now, at
thirty-something, with a fifty-something husband. Nor was she feeling confident that they could handle a baby
at this stage in their lives.
My immediate reaction was startled amusement. Complete dilation at term is a bit late to have second
thoughts! Still, I sat and silently waited to see how Gretchen would handle these revelations. For a long time,
she merely listened and nodded her head, making quiet sounds of understanding and empathy once in a
while. She never did offer much in the way of reassurance; not verbally, anyway. She just listened and
validated what she heard, her hand gently resting on Jill's arm.
I saw the shift when it happened. It wasn't Gretchen who engineered it, either. It was Jill, who reached the
decision for herself, on her own and in her own time. Gretchen shot me a Look, capital 'L,' when I tried to pipe
in with comforting words at the critical juncture.
With sudden grace, Jill squared her shoulders and stood up straight. Her stomach rounded into a taut ball and
her uterus rippled powerfully. She went with the urge and bore down hard. The anxious, frustrated woman of
a moment before simply vanished, and I saw her reach out to claim the mantle of motherhood, however it might
play out in her life. For better or for worse, she'd decided to go forward.
"Too late now," she quipped when the contraction ended. We all laughed. Relief and delight flooded through
me, and perhaps, through us all. Once her doubts were heard and then laid to rest by her own hand, Jill
proceeded to push out her baby son without any further hesitation.
Kieran was born on my father's birthday, in the late afternoon, and I will never forget the fierce, ecstatic look on
Jill's face when she lifted him up onto her abdomen. I cried. Gretchen nodded approvingly and stopped me
from surreptitiously trying to wipe the tears away.
I'm still learning from that first experience with birth, and I'm grateful to the women who taught me so well on
that November day. It was sacred. It was joyful. It was powerful and real.
Our initiations have such a great impact on our lives. Even the difficult ones can empower us, if we let them.
Years after Jill's birth, I had the honor of being with Gina and her partner while they labored and birthed their
beautiful daughter. We arrived at the hospital with Gina already 6-7 centimeters and, although the baby was
posterior, things seemed to be going smoothly.
Many hours later, with no change in dilation and the baby still posterior in spite of our best efforts to turn her, a
shift change brought us a different and very aggressive doctor. Gina was still going strong and the baby was
fine, so I was very startled when she abruptly agreed to the doctor's suggestion of a Cesarean birth.
Two weeks later, at a postpartum visit, I admitted to Gina that I was feeling terrible about not having been able
to protect her from this difficult doctor. She surprised me once again, suddenly sharing with me that she had
been sexually abused as a child, and that her parents had never been able to say what I had just said.
Harkening back to Gretchen and Jill, I sat silently and just compassionately listened. Gina continued,
explaining that this doctor had triggered memories of her past experiences. His manner was spiteful and he
hurt her, unnecessarily and without apology, each time he did an exam.
So she had decided, in the midst of labor and in the midst of concern for herself and her baby and her
husband in the face of this new threat, that this time she was not going to let a man hurt her vagina. She said
no. She took control. This time, she had won!
She chose the Cesarean. She chose. Her tone of voice was glowing as she said this, and she was earnest
and quite sincere. She wanted me to understand.
She was empowered by her Cesarean birth. In choosing as she had, she protected herself-- both her adult
self, and the hurt little girl part of her she still carried around inside. Through her birth experience, difficult as it
was, she began to heal from her past.
She learned that she could protect herself, and she didn't need me-- or anyone else-- to protect her.
Next time, she said, determination and strength resonant in her voice, she was going to have a homebirth with
a midwife. Because now that she'd learned what she needed to know, she could do that. And she could
protect her daughter, too.
The scales fell from my eyes and I did understand. Initiation. I learned another huge lesson.
I'm eternally grateful to Gina for giving me a whole new perspective on things I only thought I understood. And
I'm so thankful that, years earlier, Gretchen taught me how to really listen. When the time came, I knew how to
hear Gina, and that allowed me to fully absorb the gift she gave me.
Each of us who is present at a birth-- family member, laboring mom, caregiver, or doula-- each receives a gift
of wisdom, of knowledge. Each of us receives a sacred initiation. And this is true, no matter how the birth
unfolds.
I invite you to remember, to treasure, and to honor this priceless gift.
Eileen Sullivan is a Certified EFT (Emotional Freedom Techniques) Practitioner, childbirth educator, doula and
doula trainer who lives in Charlotte with her husband and their four children.
| Birth Initiates Us All by Eileen Sullivan published in The Quarterly Journal of the Childbirth And Postpartum Professional Association (CAPPA) Summer 2003 |
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| CHARLOTTE, NC * HUNTERSVILLE, NC * CONCORD, NC * GASTONIA, NC * SHELBY, NC * HICKORY, NC * STATESVILLE, NC * ROCK HILL, SC * FT. MILL, SC |
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