I let my new client know what would happen when I arrived at her home when she was in labour. We talked about sanitation measures, spending time in the kitchen, setting up the pool, and where I could take a nap if she needed some privacy. I said I would not be doing any vaginal exams as I think they’re rude, and she wept with relief.

I specialise in trauma and the majority of my clients are refugees from the medical system, running from ritual abuse and routines that protect the industry. They want someone to mentor them through to a healthy birth without the traps and trappings of the industry that removed their choice, and violated their autonomy and their dignity.

As a traditional birth attendant, I don’t do vaginal exams.

One third of birthing parents has a traumatic birth.

“The system is broken.”

One in 8 new parents enters parenthood with postpartum PTSD from the experience.

“The system is broken.”

Depending on where you live, one third, one half, or almost everyone has a surgical birth.

“The system is broken.”

One in 6 women are abused during their births.

“The system is broken.” 

If we say it enough, we might believe it. However, the “system” is decidedly NOT broken. It is doing exactly what it was set up to do by any means available to it.

We were sitting across her kitchen table. A tissue was being nervously mangled in her trembling hands.

“I just can’t do it again,” she said.  “Can you tell me about your daughter’s birth,” I asked her?

She explained that everyone told her it was a good birth. Her doctor said it was textbook perfect. Her mother was there and repeated her version of her granddaughter’s birth to everyone who would listen. It was natural. It was quick. It was the best day ever.

And as the story unfolded, tears welled up in my eyes, finally spilling down my own cheeks. It was an awful experience. And my heart broke into pieces again.

She described a birth where she was tortured with screamingly painful vaginal exams, weeping for them to stop, thrashing to escape the confines of the hospital bed where she was tethered to the monitoring machine for policy’s sake, begging to stand up, move, sway, anything to cope with her rapidly advancing labour. Her voice buried under a gentle shush so as not to scare the other mothers.