| PROFESSIONAL PRE- AND POST-BIRTH ASSISTANTS OF CHARLOTTE, NC & SURROUNDING AREAS |
| CHARLOTTE, NC * HUNTERSVILLE, NC * CONCORD, NC * GASTONIA, NC * SHELBY, NC * HICKORY, NC * STATESVILLE, NC * ROCK HILL, SC * FT. MILL, SC |
| Charlotte Doulas |
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 an EFT (Emotional Freedom Techniques) Advanced Practitioner, childbirth
educator, doula and doula trainer who lives in Charlotte with her husband and their four children.
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 an EFT (Emotional Freedom Techniques) Advanced 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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