When you look into the eyes of a laboring woman, it’s hard to recognize the woman you once knew. There’s an absent gaze of desperation that comes in the middle of a contraction. With that you know the woman is traveling in between realms, bouncing from reality into laborland and back again. She’s fearful, hopeful, powerful, excited, nervous, anxious, and exhausted all within the same breath. Her body trembles and head sways as she lets out powerful moans and groans. Her body intuitively sways or rocks or folds in half with each strong sensation.

The song/cry of a birthing woman is validated, welcomed, and deeply personal. 

And then there is a pause. Suddenly the intensity comes to a standstill. Her eyes are closed and forehead is soft and lips are rested in their neutral state. She finds the natural rhythm of her breath and she finds a break. You can feel her presence now, it’s both peaceful and powerful. 

In this moment she is birthing, dying, and rebirthing. 

She’s making space for her baby to move through the vaginal canal- birth. Making space for her former self to shed- death.  Making space for herself to step into role as mother- rebirth. 

Surrendering into transition. 

Surrendering into birth. 

Surrendering into rebirth. 

Unbecoming to become. 

It’s raw and vulnerable and extremely painful. 

This is motherhood and it’s so damn beautiful. 

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