The pregnancy and birth of Tara is nothing short of a miracle.

At 45 years young and after a few early pregnancy losses along the way, I’d made peace our beautiful nine year old daughter Maya, would be an only child.

So in spring 2020 when I started feeling consistently nauseous I became concerned.

My inner hypochondriac wondered whether I had a serious illness.

I’d recently had a light period- and thought my nausea could be another sign of perimenopause, since my cycle had become irregular lately.

This led me down the rabbit hole of Dr Google, searching ‘does perimenopause make you nauseous?’

As the nausea increased over a few weeks I became more worried and decided to call my GP for some screening tests.

The day I’d intended to make the appointment, on a hunch I bought a pregnancy test.

I’d noticed a few other physical signs that I’d only ever felt with the pregnancy of Maya.

And besides, I rationalised, at least I could rule one thing out before the GP visit.

When I did the test I couldn’t believe it when I saw the two lines.

I instantly did a second test to double check. But it was true- I was pregnant.

What a miracle-surprise!

When I shared the news with Viv he was cautiously excited- three early pregnancy losses can have that effect…

We decided to keep it between the two of us and our midwife Janine O’Brien (Ibirth), for as long as we could.

And each day after that I became grateful for the nausea, knowing it was a good sign.

There were more surprises in store when we went for what we thought was our 12 week scan only to be told we were at least 14 weeks along- the light period I’d thought was the start of perimenopause was an implantation bleed!

Knowing there are no guarantees, we waited until we were 16 weeks along before we started sharing the news.

By this time the nausea had subsided and I was feeling great.

Most people were excited and pleased for us. Some shared their quiet concern about my age.

Others couldn’t hide their shock and fear when I answered their ‘where will you have the baby’ question with ‘at home’.

I was even told a few horror stories of over-40 births gone wrong and why hospital is the only place I should give birth (!).

Because I had enough of my own fears and concerns to overcome, Viv and I decided from then on we’d only inform those we’d be regularly seeing (and who we couldn’t hide the pregnancy from!).

Meanwhile I worked on my mental game- reading, researching, visualising, attending workshops with leaders like Rhea Dempsey, Min Mia and Jane Hardwicke-Collings plus curating our birth support team.

I worked on my physical game by continuing to teach and practice Japanese yoga combined with regular chiropractic and acupuncture sessions.

Feeling fantastic, I was so grateful my body could receive and grow a baby ‘at my age’.

Something I never forgot was how privileged I was to be able to consciously create my support team, which made such a difference to my level of care and self-belief.

I believe all birthing women deserve and should have government funded access to the same support and resources I did, as well as the option to homebirth if they’re healthy, low risk and willing.

It was only in the final month of the pregnancy that I paused my yoga practice- I felt more comfortable walking and I really enjoyed being out in nature.

At 37 weeks our midwife Janine organised a red thread ceremony to welcome in the baby.

Our doula, Kathryn Belle and birth photographer Anna Todd were there as well.

At this ceremony we shared our intentions and fears for the birth.

It was so comforting to hear Janine share she had no fears at all for me- she said she knew I’d put in the work, was physically strong and mentally ready.

I shared my only fear: that I wouldn’t believe in myself.

Then we burnt our fears and celebrated with chai and cake- it was the perfect blessingway- intimate and raw – just as I was hoping for my birth.

And so began the waiting and nesting game.

Ever since I’d learnt at Jane Hardwick-Collings’ The Shamanic Dimensions of Pregnancy workshop that babies are often born on full moons, new moons and in storms, I’d penned into the calendar the Super blood moon of May 26^th as ‘Bubba’s birthday’. I had a strong sense she/he would arrive on this date.

You can imagine my excitement when, on May 25^th at 10.30am, my waters broke.

I’d just arrived at Maya’s sports carnival and had briefly squatted to take some pressure off my back.

Without warning I felt a ‘pop’ sensation and my inner thighs became warm and wet.

I bolted to the bathrooms and also noticed the bloody show.

Discreetly I gave Maya the choice: she could stay at her carnival or come home with me.

I reassured her there were no waves yet so I didn’t think baby would come immediately.

She decided to stay so I evacuated the lively sports ground- grateful for the disguise of my dark coloured leggings and extra jacket around my waist.

On the way home I rang Viv at work but there was no answer.

Then I rang Janine and Kath, who gave me some tips and signs to be on the lookout for.

When I reached home I showered to freshen up, then lay outside in the sun while listening to a hypnobirthing track.

There were still no waves and I wondered whether this time tomorrow I’d have met my baby.

After a few calls and texts I was still unable to reach Viv- I started to worry what would happen if the waves started and I was all alone.

As if sensing my feelings, my cat Rana came and curled up next to my belly, something he never usually does.

It was so comforting to feel him purring and keeping me company- animals are so wise!

After what felt like ages (but was actually only about an hour and a half) Viv called me to let me know he was on his way- he’d left his phone in his bag at work and hadn’t heard my calls.

Finally I could relax and enjoy the sun with my cat cuddles.

When Viv arrived home we ate lunch, then he drove me to my routine acupuncture appointment with Sue Booth booked for 2pm.

Sue took my pulse and said my body was already primed for birthing action.

Almost as soon as the first needle went in I felt a light wave and could sense my baby was getting close.

It was a nurturing, nourishing session and when it ended Sue wished me the best with a knowing smile.

I felt regular, light waves on the drive home – enough to feel excited but not enough to need to drop everything and focus.

Once home I lay down for a nap and when I woke it was just getting dark.

The waves were still regular but not too intense- I put on the TENS machine so I could acclimatise to the different sensations.

Viv, Maya and I ate dinner together, lighting a candle to welcome in our new family member.

I put Maya to bed around 8.30pm, letting her know our doula, Kath would wake her up for the birth (we’d talked about it lots and Maya had said if it was a night labour she wanted to be left to sleep for the labour but woken for the birth)

The waves started to pick up around 9pm, where I needed to pause, move and breathe through them.

I was feeling a bit tired and considered trying to sleep- but I could tell by the waves I’d need to get up and move through each one so instead Viv and I listened to another hypnobirthing track.

After that we went outside and basked in the full moon light, taking a moment to pause and savour the moment- the moon was big, bright and close!

By now it was about 10.30pm and we decided we’d like our doula to come.

We called her and she asked to speak with me- I knew it was to gauge how far into my primal brain I’d gone.

We had a pretty standard conversation so she suggested she hold off coming over for about an hour to give the labour a chance to get established.

We said we’d stay in touch as I settled in to the waves.

I found it helpful being on my knees with Viv squeezing my hips through each surge.

I must have gone into the birthing zone around this time because what happened after that is a bit of a hazy blur in terms of time.

I remember noticing our doula arrive and hearing her say she’d called our midwife and birth photographer and they were on their way.

Meanwhile I stayed mostly on all fours, burying my face into a nest of pillows with each wave as Viv squeezed my hips.

I felt fully present, safe and trusting in my body and baby.

Having Viv by my side with each wave made all the difference.

At one point during a big surge my other cat Zen gently rubbed against me- I felt so held and supported- not only by my cats but by Viv and all my ancestors.

I moved into a phase where I felt very irritated.

Irritated at the discomfort in my body and the ‘slowness’ of the endorphins to kick in; irritated about the rustlings around me (my support team filling the pool); irritated at feeling abandoned when Viv wasn’t with me for one or two waves (I learned afterwards there was a ‘complication’ with the hose for the birthpool and he was desperately trying to help get it filled!); irritated my doula couldn’t read my mind and offer me my labouraid drink and specific essential oils at the precise moment I wanted them;-) (she was also helping with the pool debacle…)

Wise words from my friend and spiritual teacher Yantra came to me: ‘it’s not a choice between irritation or peace. Let the irritation be the doorway to peace’.

Letting the irritation be, I doubled down on my breathing and upped the setting on my TENS, which all seemed to help enormously.

Although I didn’t realise it at the time, I must have been getting close to transition because soon after that Janine gently suggested I get in the birthing pool.

‘Already?’ I thought to myself- remembering our birthing plan was that I’d ‘save up’ getting into the pool until the end and the birth was close.

I felt a combination of surprise we were at pool time, relief everything was still feeling ‘bearable’ and denial my baby would be coming soon. I had no idea was time it was – I learned later it was just after 2am.

I reluctantly removed the TENS machine –my new best friend- and slipped into the bath.

The warm water felt so soothing and warm.

From there it felt like a switch was flicked and things intensified very quickly.

I felt an uncontrollable pushing sensation and the waves started coming on thick and fast.

My breath become shorter and I started vocalising involuntarily.

I longed for the ‘rest and be grateful’ phase I’d read can happen between transition and second phase…

The pushing feeling intensified and felt overwhelming to the point where I cried out ‘help!!’.

While I clung to Viv for dear life, Janine reassured me I’d be meeting my baby soon and Kath suggested sending my breath down to the baby.

Despite the intensity I felt safe, present and connected to my baby.

I asked how she/he would like to be born and sensed it was the position I was in–on my knees, arms around Viv and legs apart.

An extra strong pushing surge rippled through my body- and with a few more breathes the head emerged, soon followed by the body ejecting. It was 2.54am.

I was sure I’d been torn from head to toe (I didn’t tear at all!) but I didn’t care.

I’d birthed my baby!

In a split second Janine whooshed baby and cord out from between my legs and I was holding my baby in my arms.

Words can never do justice to the feeling of holding your baby for the first time but I’ll try; it was a mixture of extreme joy, pride, relief, thankfulness and pure ecstasy all at once.

I held her up and Maya proudly announced she was a girl. A little sister!

After cuddle time in the bath I was helped to the couch where she latched on to my nipple like a seasoned pro and soon after I birthed the placenta.

The soft, jelly feeling of the placenta coming out felt so relieving and soothing.

Maya immediately jumped into her big sister role and was keen to decide on a name- our favourite two girl names were Aurora and Tara.

Kath mentioned some friends of hers had recently named their little girl Aurora and she was being called Rory for short.

We’re not really nickname people so that helped us decide.

Welcome to the world Tara!

We all celebrated with homemade fruit slice and bliss balls.

Soon afterwards the birth team tucked us up in bed and we were ready for our moon cycle birth bubble and gentle start as a family of four.

Karenna's Bio

Brave! Crazy! Highly irresponsible! Controversial!

These were the themes of the many responses posted when I published my son’s birth story  15 years ago on a UK mums forum.

So, what was so inflammatory about his birth, my first child, what compelled me to share it, and why would anybody birth their baby in this way?

It was a warm, sunny August morning, even in the far north of England. I had been planning my birth for months- if not years- discovering what positive birth was, refusing anything that let my mind wonder into the “what if’s” and believing in the birth wisdom that had been passed down by the women in my own family.

But now, my baby was 10 long days “late”, even later by my calculations, and I was hot, itchy and fed up.

I woke up to a strange feeling, I couldn’t quite explain. There was excitement, mixed with adrenaline and some “braxton hicks” type contractions going on. I ran myself a bath, added a couple of drops of clary sage and breathed in the strong, energy boosting scent. Just as I did so, a pain seared through my uterus, like being stabbed with a huge knife! I felt the adrenaline rush and my heart start pumping hard as the beginnings of panic set in. No, Rachel! I settled myself. If that was labour I’d have to relax to handle it, and anyway nothing else was happening, perhaps it was a muscle spasm or trapped wind…

So with that I put on my hypnobirthing relaxations there in the bathroom, and breathed. After a while I got out of the bath. I felt emotional, and irritable. I went for a walk around our tiny flat. Anger, frustration and irritation flooded my brain as I stomped around. I still don’t know why! I was feeling contractions that I was all too used to after the trillions of braxton hicks my body had prepared me with. I stamped, marched, sat on the toilet and wondered when ”proper labour” would start. All the movement made me hot, and suddenly I had the urge to fill up the sink with cold water and dip my face in it.

By now it was about 8.30 am. It took a moment to recognise the wet face and wild hair in the mirror above the sink were mine. I sat on the toilet again and heard a growl emerge from somewhere deep within my soul. What was my body doing now? I wasn’t in agony, I didn’t need help, so a quick checklist of my rational brain confirmed that this must be very early stages, if anything. 

At some point during the past 2 hours, my then husband had phoned the labour ward to say that he thought labour might be starting. The home birth kit (a huge suitcase full of terrifying objects from the hospital) was already in place in the hallway, and daddy had laid out a couple of plastic shower curtains to protect the cream carpet in the rented flat from any birth related mess. We were ready… baby was just coming gently, taking his time. More growls and then a sudden urge to get off the toilet…

Seconds later, I remember squatting down and watching in amazement as my son’s head was born, turning to face my left thigh, almost frozen in time, waiting for the next surge. His hair was red. I remember laughing! There was no pain. Instinctively I dropped to the ground on my hands and knees. Labour ward was on the phone, but we still had a phone with one of those curly wires, and as daddy dropped it, the receiver bounced into the other room. “The cord” I heard myself say, “loop it off his neck”. Now from my hands and knees position I had no idea my son’s cord was around his neck, but something enabled me to know and as his dad looped the cord loosely over his neck, our son was born straight into his hands. 

I turned around to see my baby, startle like a star fish, on the blue towel we had ready to receive him on. He did a huge sneeze, and then his first poo! “Give me the baby” I said and held out my arms to reach for my meconium stained, red haired, loudly wailing, beautiful, perfect son. And there we sat, on the bathroom floor, staring in total amazement at this brand new human.

Though I had made up my mind to free birth my baby (that is to birth without any medical assistance or practitioner present which is a fully legal option in the UK) I just could not, in my wildest dreams, have imagined how peaceful, healing, and yet intensely powerful the experience could be. Until…

  A midwife was banging on the door and bustled into the flat bringing with her disbelief and anger at what she saw.  “How did this happen?” she demanded to know “oh, and congratulations”. She asked a load of questions, cut the cord (it was thin and white) swaddled the baby, and passed him to daddy.  Then she pushed me to the floor and yanked on the cord in attempt to pull out his placenta.  Luckily it came away easily, then I was whisked into the bath, baby was kept in the other room where another midwife had come, and I was scrubbed fiercely by the first midwife.  Every second without my baby seemed like an eternity even though he was only in the next room. Strangers rummaged through my drawers and dressed him in the most mismatched outfit they could find, completely disregarding the little yellow suit with Simba on it, laid out and ready for the baby. The midwife was rough and rude, making derogatory comments when I refused her offer of stitches… the birth might have been straight forward but a world of pain was engulfing me by that point. All I wanted was to be snuggled in my bed with my baby, and something to eat would have been amazing too!

Once the fuss was over, and I lay cuddled with my son I took a moment to reflect on what had happened. I couldn’t believe how fast everything had happened and how even though I had believed birth could be this way… I also couldn’t believe it.

My longing for a simple, physiological birth had come about primarily from an intense fear of what I perceived labour and childbirth to be. That fear had led me on a quest for truth, to find out how women had ever survived such a terrible ordeal, whether all births more than 100 years ago really did result in mothers dying from the pain- as everyone seemed to say!

 I secretly wondered: would triggers from my own past allow me to go through such an intimate event in front of strangers without warranting a panic attack the scale of which would have never been seen on a labour ward before and would have ended in my being sedated by general anaesthesia! Or by me, escaping the hospital setting, all gowned up, being chased by registrars wielding needles full of sedatives behind me!! The way the midwife behaved towards me after the birth further convinced me that could have actually been the case, had I gone into hospital!

Now, I’m not naive, and I had carefully kept my birth plans from anyone who knew me, so as not to be discouraged, or pressured into doing something that I didn’t feel comfortable with.  Even after the birth, I was unable to share my experience with other mums for fear of causing upset.  I expected an uproar when I decided to share my story on a mainstream forum a few months later, and I was not wrong.

 Parents were outraged, and were suggesting that I was irresponsible with my baby’s life! A few used words like “brave” to describe what I had done and yet, I didn’t feel I had been brave at all. In fact in my mind, the idea of entering a hospital to have my child delivered by masked strangers would have required a type of bravery I imagine soldiers have to muster when being tortured in enemy prisons. If, at any point during my labour I had feared for my baby’s life or mine, I would have had to dig deep to find courage like that, and would, of course have handed over our care.

I chose to share my story because I believed there were women out there who felt like me. Women who were told that in hospital we would have no choice but to undergo examinations and monitoring that complied with the policy of the area.  That our cervixes would be measured and our bodies expected to birth within a time frame that correlated to that measurement.  That we’d be monitored on our backs, and if that caused us pain, we’d be quietened with medicines that took away our dignity and our ability to make decisions.

I chose to share my story because I believed there were women out there who needed to hear that they too, could birth their babies gently, in peace, fully conscious in whatever position they needed.

Controversial though my story may be, I believe it is still as true and relevant today as it was in those days. Women have a right to know what our bodies are truly capable of.

Seren’s Birth Story really begins with her sister Clara’s, who was born two years earlier by emergency Caesarean section after a classic cascade of interventions; overdue induction, epidural, failure to progress, and ultimately surgery. 

After three days and nights lying on my back being constantly monitored; feeling lonely, scared and isolated as my husband wasn’t allowed to stay with me at night;  desparately hungry and weak because I'd been advised not to eat or drink… surgery seemed the only option.  Through the  numbness I felt  terribly grateful to the hospital for saving my baby from her failed mother’s body.  Yes, I felt I'd failed and I wasn't ready to process my disappointment, or the shock and trauma. I didn't even recognise that it was trauma for some time. It lay buried beneath the joy and relief of finally holding our beautiful baby daughter.

The surgeon found me on the ward afterwards to tell me that 75% of women who have Caesareans go on to give birth naturally - the first time I heard the term VBAC. “Why are you telling me this?” was all I could think. Reeling from major surgery and a mother for a matter of hours, another baby was not on my horizon, let alone her manner of birth. 

But her words stayed with me and I became grateful for this snatched 20-second conversation that she had bothered to come back and have with me.

Fast forward a year and a half, and my husband and I are sitting in the hospital coffee shop after our 12 week scan. Seren is officially on the horizon. I am explaining to him with some force - people are looking - that I plan to do things differently this time. That there is no question I’ll be having a Caesarean or coming near this place again. He looks bewildered. His belief was, and to some extent remains, that the doctors saved our baby.

I am surprised myself by the force of my conviction. It is coming from deep inside me.

I get home and start Googling.  I found an article about a beautiful home birth helping to heal the scars of a traumatic first birth and I just begin to cry and I don’t stop for some time. This is me beginning to understand. You see, I didn’t even realise I had experienced that hospitalisation as traumatic. It’s something I unpack over the six months that follow.

I throw myself into preparing for this birth in a very different way. I stand my ground when a consultant tells me “It would be safer if all babies were born by Caesarean”, that I am selfishly thinking of my own experience at the expense of my baby’s, and as a parting shot, “Well, I’m the one who sees women coming back with bladder problems in their fifties.” At the time I feel frightened to death that she might be right. She is the expert, isn’t she?

At this point, with terror dominating my experience I discover the work of Charlotte Kanyi whom I'd met recently at a baby signing class. I was inspired by how she birthed her two boys (three at the time of editing!) at home, the second without assistance as he came so fast and booked her Birth Confidence Package to unpick in depth what had gone wrong. She takes me on a deep dive and helps me to acknowledge and clear past experiences and welcome in new ones.  I clear the all consuming fear, the trauma, and the underlying imprints and patterns that were actively preventing me from believing in myself and my body.  I change my care providers, my birth place and  I hire a doula, Jane Jennings. She listens with skill and without judgment to mine and my husbands very differing viewpoints. It helps - we’ve been at loggerheads for weeks with no progress. He now feels heard, and we realise we both want the same thing fundamentally.

On the advice of Charlotte and Jane, I surround myself with positive birth stories. I take up meditation. I read Ina May Gaskin. I eat healthily, borrow a birth pool, and arrange to go to the local midwife-led centre, Serenity, whose hands-off approach I am eternally grateful for. 

Seren was keen to be born at home - I could feel her head before we embarked on the car journey to the midwife centre. I held her back till we got to Serenity and they filled a pool there. She was born seconds after I stepped in. The cord was wrapped twice around her neck, and was unhooked without drama.  We were able to rest at Serenity before journeying home to be reunited with her sister, our now expanded family complete and feeling whole.

Seren’s birth has left me feeling not only healed but empowered. I hear and trust my instincts so much more. I realise that the meditation, breathing and being in the now exercises I used during birth, are vital to me in the daily challenge of parenting a toddler and newborn. I have tools including The NPA Process which I can use whenever I feel out of sorts, blocked or frightened.  I feel less scared of dying. Some part of me has understood and confronted a place of inner strength where birth and death happens. This was without question the most wonderful experience of my life and taught me precious life lessons. 

It makes me sad beyond words that this opportunity is becoming so hard to come by.  As I reflect on why this is. I feel that our medical system is beyond wonderful when birth goes wrong, but it mostly runs on a model of intervention, and sometimes causes the emergencies it solves. I have seen so many women have similar experiences to me resulting in undermining of already fragile confidence; midwives measure bumps big, growth scans follow giving a “diagnosis” of a big baby. The seed of fear is sown, and often the woman is already well on her way to a Caesarean, believing she can’t possibly give birth to such a monster. Often there is much surprise when the enormous baby is born weighing a very average 7lb. Rather than encouragement and positivity at the moment she needs it most, a woman starts to encounter fear and an institution more concerned with covering its back than with helping her bring her baby into the world in the best possible way. “Safety” statistics don't even start to take into consideration effects on mother and baby, PND, delayed trauma, interrupted bonding, lack of transfer of beneficial bacteria and flora, and breastfeeding problems, caused by interfering with the process of birth.

For myself I needed a lot of support and education to overcome the fear and trauma from the first time, and to reassure me that it was safe to ignore the “experts” without being a potential baby murderer. I put a lot of resources into birth preparation, to clear the trauma and the roots of the imprinting and patterns that had led to me experiencing a very disemowering birth where I felt out of control and ignored, isolated and not able to voice my own desires. I also hired a doula.  The healing experience of my second child has transformed me in a deep and long lasting way and I wish that all women would take heart and inspiration from this story and find their own inner strength and joyful place.

If you liked this story you may enjoy the Birth Story of Jasmin, written by Gulara Vincent here

Try out the NPA Process for free here and find out about a rare opportunity to use and learn the tool live with the founder in Birmingham June 8/9th here