Ten things I want my daughter to know about being a woman...

1. The world, in the form of media and/or religion, will try to define for you what it is to be a woman and what femininity means. The answer however, is much simpler. If you are an adult and you have a vagina, you are a woman. Being feminine doesn't mean you can't be a feminist. Expecting equality because you are a person is not throwing away the femaleness of your being. Femininity is a matter of perspective, if you are a woman who enjoys being female, you are feminine.
2. Modesty is not about apparel, it is a matter of the heart, period. You can be modest and wear a bikini. Modesty is also overrated. I'd rather you be a strong, kind woman in a low cut top and daisy dukes than a toxic, hateful woman in a loose fitting turtleneck and floor length skirt. Basically, don't let your wardrobe define you, let you define you. Virtue is a character trait, not an outward manifestation in your choice of clothing or the state of your virginity.
3. Beauty is not the end all, beat all thing to desire out of life. You'll get much further with a sharp wit, good education, supportive friends, and well trained mind. I happen to think you are gorgeous, but most importantly, I know you are brilliant, assertive, and strong!
4. Using your judgement is not the same as being intolerant. It's ok and good to make non-bigoted judgments about people, places, and things. Using good judgement can keep you safe and sane.
5. Men are not the enemy. You are not responsible for their thoughts or actions, you are responsible for yours. Men are, by and large, absolutely wonderful. They are however, generally bigger and stronger than you. Don't underestimate them. As best as you can, use your judgement to surround yourself with men who are like the safe, respectful men that you have grown up with. However, if you find yourself in a situation where you are hurt, don't blame yourself and please get help immediately! Call me, call your brothers, call your father, call your stepfather, call the cops, just call someone you trust and we will help you.
6. Question everything. Just because you've heard a certain thing or read a certain thing, doesn't make it true. More why's always equals more wise (I can't take credit for that, I first saw it on a David Hayward post). Dig deeper, understand more fully!
7. Embrace your spiritual nature. Humans are made up of more than just a physical body, mind, and emotional state. We also have a spiritual side. I believe in a higher power in the form of Jesus Christ and He has helped me through many hard times, I wish the same comfort for you. If however you come to a time of spiritual awakening and do not believe in Jesus as I do, I will still love you and accept you unconditionally. But as your mom, I will continue to pray for you no matter what your beliefs. If nothing else, it is my way of always having you in my heart.
8. Your body is your own and no one else's. No one has the right to touch you unless you want it to happen. Also, your pleasure is your own business. Don't let anyone make you feel guilty for doing things that make you feel alive, well, beautiful, passion, relaxed, energized, and/or loved. Just be sure that you are mature enough to accept the consequences or rewards of whatever you do. This includes more than just sex, it includes drinking, body modification, and medical procedures among other things.
9. Be independent, fiercely independent, yet willing to be vulnerable with safe people. You can usually count on yourself to have your best interests at heart. Don't depend on any other person for money or happiness IF you can help it. Work hard, save as much as possible, and set aside money for things that you enjoy. If you become a stay at home mom, make sure that you are an equal partner with your husband/significant other when it comes to money and possessions. If you find yourself in a bind, ask for help. We've all been there and it isn't weak or foolish to ask for help. Be willing to be vulnerable to the one you love and who loves you. The rewards are bigger than you can imagine and the right person will lift you up and not tear you down.
10. Be generous but not a doormat. Just because you are independent doesn't give you license to withhold your time, money, or talents from those who have less and need more when you have the means to be of service. Give to charity when you can or volunteer your time and talents. However, feel free to say no to those who could help themselves but don't, or to those who you genuinely can't help. And say no without guilt or apology. You can't help everyone, and that's ok.

But above all, know this, I love you and I believe in you, always.

It was my birthday...

I had a birthday a couple weeks ago. I turned 38. It was a nice day, my son Joseph got to attend his first semi-formal, and my younger two went to their dads for the weekend. A good day, and my husband took me shopping the next day to buy me some new sundresses and summer shoes. He spoils me and treats me like his queen. He's a keeper.

I'm going to open up on here a bit on my past abuse history to hopefully explain why I hold the views I do on the patriarchy movement within the church, my inherent dislike and distrust of the IFB (Independent Fundamental Baptist Church), my disdain for the purity movement, and why I hold the church accountable for not only allowing, but fostering abuse within its confines. 

I also want to make it clear that although I am highly suspicious and often triggered by the corporate church (just attending church is often difficult and I do not do it often anymore) I am still a believer. Sinful, errant, evil people hurt me, and have hurt others. The message of fear, control, and shame is not Jesus' message, it is man's. I want to tell some of my story so that others can recognize the pattern of abuse, how the grooming starts, and some red light moments that should make a parent take pause and investigate if something untoward is happening.

My birthday is a trigger. I have had many great birthdays, many memorable birthdays. My surprise sweet 16 is a great memory (I have the best girlfriends in the universe, we are still friends, some 20 plus years later). Going into labor late at night when I turned 30 and giving birth to my youngest early the next morning is a great memory. My tenth birthday though, is memorable for another reason. It was the day the abuse started. It coloured all of the birthdays I had after that with a dark cloud of shame. I have never had a birthday since that birthday where I didn't remember the events of that day.

Doc was a member of our Baptist church in Ohio. He was an upstanding member of our community. He was a former deacon. He was in his early 60's. He gave generously to the church and was involved in missions trips there. He always donated five lbs of carrots to any church fellowship (Why? I don't know. Carrots were his thing and when his hand would shoot up during the church service asking for food donations often other church members would yell out that he was donating 5lbs of carrots as we all knew that was coming before he had a chance to reply.) He was at every service. His wife was the school nurse. He and his wife were best friends with my parents. He was a great guy. He had a large family, six kids, all of whom had left the nest, with his youngest attending a well known bible college in Ohio, and one of his sons was a missionary. He was exemplary.

He was also a pedophile.

He was sick.

He was evil.

We had moved to Northeastern Ohio in the middle of a January blizzard from our home in Maine. My Dad felt called by God to go to Ohio. He felt that God wanted him to give up being a pastor and to dedicate himself to christian education. In Ohio was a small Bible College that our church ran. Our Dad worked on his masters in Christian Education and was the academic dean of the college while we lived there. My mom was his secretary. We lived in a small two bedroom trailer when we first arrived, and lived there for about a year while my parents tried to find a house to purchase that we could afford. It is important to note that for most of my life, we lived at or below the poverty level. My parents worked hard, and sacrificed much to give us the illusion that we were not poor, but we were poor. The hand me downs, no health insurance, and crap cars didn't lie. I give mad props to my parents for raising my sister and I in as much comfort as we enjoyed, I don't know how they did it. We never received government assistance. That was sinful, people in our church were taught not to accept medicaid, welfare, or food stamps. It didn't matter how poor you were. Also, you tithed ten percent of your paycheck to the church,and that ten percent was to be calculated from your gross before taxes.

We met doc in March. I was nine. I was sick. Really sick. I had the flu and we had no health insurance and hadn't yet established ourselves with a family doctor. I got such a high fever that I became delusional. I had watched Moby Dick earlier that day and I had visions of Moby Dick coming through my wall at me, attacking me with Captain Ahab waving at me from his back where he was tied to him by the harpoon that he had impaled that white whale with. It was terrifying. Tylenol and ice water, cool cloths, etc. had not brought my fever down. My mother was frantic with worry. My Dad came and stood in the door of my room with my mother sitting on my bed and told her to take me to the ER. They'd figure out how to pay the bill later. God would provide.

She took me to the local community hospital and Doc was there. He was a cardiologist, but occasionally he was in the ER when the staff was low. He recognized my mom from church. She was relieved to see a familiar face. An IV was started with antibiotics in case it was bacterial pneumonia and they put me on a cooling blanket to bring down my fever and gave me some Motrin. 

By the time we left, I was smiling, the fever had broken, and I had coloured Doc a picture and given him a hug. Weeks later I saw that he had that picture on his fridge and it made me feel so special. I wanted to be a nurse when I grew up, and he told me that I should think of being a doctor instead. He believed in me, he encouraged me to think beyond nursing and to dream bigger. I loved him instantly. Men in our churches never encouraged women to do things outside of the home. Nursing was "ok" but being a doctor was unheard of. He sent us home with some antibiotic samples and told my mom to bring me to his office, no charge, for a follow up and he'd do what he could to help with the ER bill. My mother thought he was a Godsend. We all did. My mother had a heart condition, so did my sister. I had one but I had mostly grown out of it. But, I was sick a lot. I have rheumatoid arthritis which brings with it a compromised immune system. Doc helped us with free or deeply discounted care and lots of samples over the next three years. Within a few months, he and his wife and my parents were fast friends.

Doc would play chess with me and introduced me to a show called Star Trek. I loved this show. Star Trek would become a huge part of my life, and was key to my survival over the next few years. I hadn't been exposed to sci fi much before this. I do remember watching some Buck Rogers at one point when we lived in Maine but that's about it. Most fantasy or sci fi things were questionable in the IFB church, too much humanism, too much evolutionary talk, too much magic. But because Doc watched it, and we would go to his house after church frequently, and then every Friday night, I started watching it. Also, since it was a "classic" show it was passable.  Doc treated me like a little adult, not like a child. He would compliment my golden hair, my deep blue eyes, and how tall I was getting. He would compliment my love of learning, my good grades, my addiction to reading everything I was permitted to. He would take me for rides in his Mercedes Benz. He would hug me when he saw me and hug me before he left. He was like another grandfather to me.

And then it was my birthday.

I turned ten. Doc and his wife came over, along with his daughter, home from college. She and my sister were only a couple years apart in age, we had spaghetti and meatballs (a family favourite, my mom's crock pot meatballs are the best!). Doc and his family always did the sacrilegious thing of putting sugar on their spaghetti sauce. Blech. I blew out my candles, opened my presents (More barbies, my little ponies, and a dictionary, yay!) and we all sat around and chit chatted for a bit. My sister and the daughter went to watch TV. For some reason, I needed to go get something out of storage, probably some toy that would go with my new barbie. We had a large storage porch off of the front of our trailer, it was freezing in the winter, and hot in the summer, but we had seriously downsized in our move and our stuff needed a place to stay. I went out to storage and in the back of the room, found what I was looking for. It was in a box near the floor, so I had been bending over to get it. When I stood up, Doc was there. He took my face in his hands and he kissed me. He held me tightly to him and put his tongue in my mouth.

I was frozen.

I was disgusted.

I was ashamed.

I was confused.

If I could go back in time I would tell that little girl to scream, to bite the offending tongue, to push at him, to yell No! I would tell her to run to her Daddy and tell on that disgusting man!

But I can't go back in time, and that little girl was me, it wasn't someone else. I very often relate to what happened to me in the third person. It's easier to handle that way. It's also how much of my experiences felt. Out of body experiences while he abused me was commonplace. It was easier to watch than to feel it happening.

When he stopped kissing me, he wrapped his arms around my trembling frame and told me not to be afraid, but not to tell anyone what had happened. He said no one would believe me anyhow. He said that he loved me and that others would not understand our "forbidden love". "I did love him after all, didn't I?" he asked. No, I hadn't lied about that I affirmed to him. But I didn't mean it like this. I didn't want this. I didn't even understand what the hell had just happened. He smiled and looked at me up and down appreciatively and told me that he was so glad that God had brought me into his life.

He left then, and I was standing there, motionless, dazed, watching him walk back into my house, he was getting his family together and leaving. I felt nauseated. I had just done something awful. I wasn't supposed to date until I was 16, no kissing until I was engaged. I had kissed a couple of boys before this, and a couple of girls, but they were childish, innocent kisses, pretending to get married or date or just see what the fuss was about. But I knew the rules. I was ten. I had just broken the rule. "Obedience is the very best way, to show that you believe. O- B -E- D- I- E- N- C- E" (sing along with me there, I bet many of you know that little ditty.) I had just disobeyed, with a grown man old enough to be my grandfather. I didn't mean to disobey, but I had just done it. But I had disobeyed with an adult man, who was in authority over me. So had I disobeyed?

Obedience was very important. It was imperative. Men were in authority, and parents were the absolute authority. Think I'm overstating or oversimplifying this? Take a look at some of the comics that were in my christian school curriculum at this age.

I thought briefly about telling my parents. But it was a fleeting thought. I highly doubted they would believe me over him. I was a kid. And worse, I was a girl. He was a man, he had position and power in the church, and in our community. I was nothing. I was no one. I knew what happened to girls who were promiscuous in our church. They were sent away to "homes" or "camps", or worse, they were completely shunned and kicked out of their homes. I didn't want to be sent away. Fear kept me silent for years. Shame kept me compliant for years. Lack of knowledge about sex and what was appropriate touching kept me confused and suffering.

Kissing before engagement meant promiscuous. That I knew. Kissing meant you needed to get engaged. Doc was married. I didn't want to marry him anyway. Eww. Was I an adulterer? That was even worse. I'd heard enough about adultery to know that was the ultimate sin, and adultery was almost universally painted as being brought about by the woman's wiles over the man. I remember looking at my oversized t-shirt and beyond the knee length culottes and wondering if I had somehow tempted him by my appearance?

I got myself together and came back inside said goodbye to Doc as he left, then buried myself in my new dictionary. Websters, dark blue, hardbound copy. Word to look up: "forbidden". Adjective; not permitted or allowed. I already knew what forbidden meant, but now that word was stuck in my brain. See also, "illicit". Yuck.

My mind was whirling. Had God brought me to him? Why? Why would God do that? It must be true though, since my Dad had said that God called him here, He had called us to move to Ohio. Nothing happens to Christians that is not of God's will. That much was true right? Right?! Was God trying to teach me something? Was I being tested? I didn't know. I didn't know how to process this, how to respond. I just felt sick. I could still smell him, could still feel his hands on my face, then my body against his. Shudder.

I pondered the possibility of asking my sister what she thought about what I had experienced. She was 7 and a half years older than I was though, and at this time we were not all that close. I was still the annoying little kid sister that she put up with. So that was not an option. I needed to remedy that, I needed to figure out how to get closer to her, to find a way to convey to her what was happening in a manner that she would not judge me. I had a new mission.

Happy Birthday Jeney.

The do's and don'ts of a doula for a homebirth

I love doulas. Truly, I do. I am a formally trained doula and have attended more than forty births in the capacity of a doula. I only attend maybe one birth a year in this role now, as honestly, hospital births are exhausting to me physically, mentally, and emotionally. I remember well as a doula, loving to attend birth center births and home births, as they were so much nicer and less intense than a hospital birth. 

Now that I am on the other side, in the role of the primary birth attendant/traditional midwife, I can well understand why some midwives don't like or see the need for a doula in a homebirth. I can also see why some midwives insist on a doula being present for a homebirth. I'm just going to lay out here the pros and cons of a doula at a homebirth. Realize that I am making an assumption here that the homebirth midwife you hire is willing and able to support you physically and emotionally during your birthing time, that they bring an assistant with them, and that they are mostly hands off when it comes to interventions. I realize that not all midwives are like this, but let's start with that typical scenario.

Pros:

1. A doula will be with you from the very beginning of your labor, if you want them there, your midwives most likely won't be hanging around with you if you are only a centimeter or two dilated.
2. A doula is often willing to help your significant other set up the birth pool or can be there for you while your partner is doing this, making sure you are not left alone during a contraction.
3. A doula is there for support only, and has lots of specialized training in comfort measures for various stages of your birth.
4. A doula can transfer with you to the hospital if the need arises, allowing for a continuity of care with someone you know and trust in the position that you hired them to be in, some midwives can't or won't transfer in with you.
5. A doula can remind you of what you wanted for your birth plan, and of what you wanted to have happen in certain birth scenarios that you discussed prenatally.
6. A doula can take over for your partner for brief periods of time so that they can refresh themselves with food, drink, a bathroom break, or a nap and you won't be left without a primary support person. (Please bear in mind that your doula will also need these breaks!)
7. A doula can bring you drinks, snacks, etc. as you need them.
8. A doula can help you get breastfeeding established after the birth.
9. A doula may offer placenta encapsulation or other related services (like childbirth ed classes, babywearing classes, cloth diaper sales, homemade herbal remedies, etc.) to you at a discounted price (granted, most homebirth midwives, myself included, do a lot of this too).
10. She can often take pictures or video for you.
11. She can often help with your older children (clear this with her first, doulas are not nannies)
12. Doulas have been shown to decrease c-section rates, induction rates, pain medication need, etc.

Cons

1. There's an extra person at your birth.

Basically that's the only real "con" to having a doula at your birth, home or otherwise.

That said, as a provider, I will tell you the kinds of behaviours that I have seen from doulas at homebirths that were NOT helpful. In one case I had to warn the doula to stop acting how she was or I was going to ask her to leave. And these types of behaviours are why so many homebirth midwives don't care for a doula at a birth.

Here's what your doula should not do at a homebirth:

1. Give clinical advice or care.
2. Give herbs, homeopathics, or any other kind of medication to you without first discussing it with you and your midwife.
3. Get in the way of your midwives (don't make me trip over your doula or make me push her out of the way).
4. Treat a homebirth in the same way that they would a hospital birth (being aggressively proactive for the client as if their midwife is not also their biggest advocate!).
5. Try to tell the midwives what they "should" be doing (suggestions or questions are welcome, commands are not).
6. Tell you to do or try something that is the exact opposite of what your midwife just told you to do or try (see point one).
7. Smell badly.
8. Eat in front of you without asking first.
9. Talk loudly or about inappropriate subject matter.
10. Deliver your baby (see point one, unless it's an emergency, she shouldn't be acting in this capacity).
11. Persuade you that it's ok to have an unassisted birth if your midwife is unavailable or if you don't want to go to the hospital (see point one).

When doulas are good at what they do and don't bring an aggressive mentality with them, it's great. When they are bad, they are bad. Homebirths don't generally require a doula to be micromanaging and looking over the provider's shoulder to be sure an unnecessary episiotomy is about to be done, for example. A doula should be more laid back in the homebirth arena. Homebirth is much more chill, much less medical.

And yes, like it or not doulas, at a typical homebirth, if there is not a doula present, I am doing what you would be doing, AND doing all the charting, fetal heart tone checks, etc. So in that way a doula is superfluous to a homebirth. However, I do like having a doula there for my clients when possible. 

"So, are doulas at homebirths necessary?" No. 

"Are doulas at homebirths a good thing?" Almost universally Yes!!!

"Should I get a doula for my homebirth?" I'll answer that with a question. Can you afford one? If yes and you want one, get one.

"Is a doula worth the extra expense?" Yes, every penny, and if you can, tip her. I bet she's undercharging you. Most of us do, both as doulas and as homebirth midwives.

"My midwife says she won't work with the doula I hired." This is tricky, the birth world is fraught with politics and less than "sisterly" behaviour. Find out why she won't work with that particular doula. She may have good reason, like the points I addressed above in what is bad behaviour in a doula. Or, she may not like doulas in general. If it is a general dislike or she has a personal vendetta against the doula, either find another midwife or if you love your midwife, you'll have to drop the doula. Honestly, it's a red flag to me if any provider, be it doctor or midwife doesn't want you to have a doula.

I hope this was helpful. When looking for a doula, be sure to ask lots of questions about her training, experience, birth philosophy, etc. just as you did with your midwife to be sure that you are a great fit.

By the way, the photos here are by sweet moments photography and niki torres, respectively. I highly recommend either of them for birth photos, maternity, family photos, etc. They are both excellent and very professional!

A tribute to my father, the man who encouraged me to question everything...

Yesterday was Father's Day. Father's Day is bittersweet here, being the twice divorced mom of six children with two "dads" in my chlidren's lives who are mostly absent. My first husband gave up his rights to my oldest three sons when I married for the second time, and my second husband adopted them. We went on to have two more amazing children, another son and my baby girl (she's 8 now). My second husband and I separated three years ago and our divorce was final two years ago on my birthday (Happy Birthday to me! Seriously, it was the best gift that year.). My first husband talks to my older three on the phone on occasion and has a long distant relationship with them now, but since he lives several states away that is about all that he is able to do. My second husband sees the younger two children for regular visitation and my younger two love spending time with him and he enjoys a good relationship with them. However, he doesn't see the older three. The reasons why are long and complicated but in a nutshell none of them get along and at this juncture it's better not to push the issue. (They are 19, 17, and 15 and haven't had any visitation with him in about two years.) 

There are two additional men in my children's lives who do fill the role of father figure, my father, and my husband Blake. My Dad lives about three hours away so we don't see him very often, though we see each other as much as possible. He and my second son Taylor love to dive into deep philosophical discussions and although my atheist son and my IFB pastor father wouldn't agree on just about anything Biblically, they have a mutual respect that enables them to discuss all things Bible without anyone coming to tears or to blows. My husband Blake brought with him into our marriage lots of love, compassion, grace, kindness, laid back expectations, and a proclivity to get our mutual children out of their comfort zone and out into the world for new experiences. He has been just what we all needed, and has become friends with my children and someone who they have come to respect and love.

But this post is about my Dad. My Father, a man who makes the term "patriarch" palatable.

My Dad, the most amazing, flawed, and wonderful man that any girl could have for a Dad. Yes, I include flawed as a good thing. Who wants a perfect parent? I don't, and Lord knows that I will never be a perfect parent. My father did his best, and his best was what I remember most and love. His best was, and is, more than enough.

My father is one of six children, born into poverty at home, he was number five and the youngest son. His mom was one of fourteen and had married my grandfather when she was still a young girl, I believe she was 14 or so herself? Maybe fifteen, but not much older. They lived on the southwestern part of PA and her husband worked in the steel mill. Everyone in that area worked either at the mill or in the coal mines. There was nothing else. No one went to college, few graduated high school. It wasn't necessary. You grew up, you worked in the mill, you continued to live in poverty or paycheck to paycheck. That was life. My grandfather was a hard man. He had an apartment in the city where he worked and stayed there five days a week, sometimes longer, only coming home to he shack where his wife and children lived when he had to. My grandmother lived the life of a single parent for the most part as my father grew up. My dad and his brother often hunted for their supper, rabbits or squirrels otherwise there wasn't much meat to be had. My dad had one toy, a stuffed bear, and one book. They didn't have running water and had an outhouse for a toilet. The shacks they lived in were drafty, always neat as a pin due to my grandmother's diligence, and sometimes had dirt floor or clapboards. This was in the late 1940's through the fifties/sixties. 

My grandmother didn't work outside of the home, this was unheard of. My grandmother, a few years before she passed away and before the dementia took over most of her mental faculties, told me that her husband had gotten an std that she had to be treated for during the time that he worked at the mill and was away from home. She was quite pissed about that, even many years after the fact and the annoyance that she had for needing to be treated as well was still palpable as she related this to me. My grandmother was basically mother and father for my Dad, he had no good role model to show what a kind, loving father looked like. He had his mom, a stalwart little lady who did her best with absolutely nothing to care for her brood.

My father was, and is, a quiet unassuming man. He joined the Army after he graduated from high school and just days after he had joined he got his draft notice. Vietnam was starting to rev into high gear. He was dating my mother and I don't know if they were engaged at this time or not, but they did marry in May of 66. My mom came from a different type of family, the only similarity being that her father also worked in the steel mill. But her family was close, there were three children, my mother being the oldest, and my mother grew up with her father being there for her, her grandparents living just down the road or across the road all of her life. They never had a lot of money, but they had a lot of love. My mother's father was a man dedicated to his family, he had built their home with his wife as his fellow construction worker. He had put aside his dreams of leaving rural West Virginia to become a doctor to stay home and care for his family. He became a father figure and good friend to my dad. They had so many great times together while my papaw was alive.

My father worked in computers when he got out of the army, but moved back to western PA after having been stationed in California with his new bride. There's a picture of him somewhere in one of those rooms with the huge reel to reel computers lining the walls and my dad hard at work fixing one. He was there for several years during which time he became involved in his local church and became a christian. My sister was born and my Dad found that he loved being a father. 

He wanted to go into the ministry, feeling that God had called him to be a pastor. Now this was a man who had a hard time talking to people he knew, much less speaking to total strangers. He enrolled in college in Lynchburg VA. His parents didn't understand why he would go to college. So unnecessary, they didn't get it. They didn't understand his new found faith either. My father was not brought up with any sort of faith background.

I was born while my Dad was at Liberty and a few years later we moved to Maine where my Dad was the associate pastor of a small church in Monmouth, then they moved the church to Winthrop. We lived there for almost seven years. I loved living in Maine. I loved my Daddy. My mom always worked, at least part time, and went to full time once I started school.

My kindergarten year of school, in 1980, something big happened. Our local sheriff (who was also our neighbor) came in with some local township officials and put a notice on the door of our small school that operations were to cease and desist immediately. They warned my dad and the pastor and all of the teachers that the school was operating illegally (there were no laws protecting religious schools or homeschoolers at the time) and that they would be facing arrest if they continued operating. My father sat me and my older sister down with my mother at the dinner table, explained as best as he could what was happening and that he and the pastor had banded together with other churches to fight this legally. They told us what to do if the sheriff came to arrest him and my mother. Who to call, and where we would stay, and what to say and not say. Now this is heavy and scary stuff for a five year old. It also seemed contradictory to my parents insistence of obedience to those in authority. My father explained that sometimes man's laws aren't just, and when that was the case, it was the right thing to do to fight to change those laws. Over a year later, and after taking their case to the state supreme court (they lost on the local levels) they won and protections were put into place for religious schools and homeschooling families in the state of Maine. This landmark case had a ripple effect across the nation, making way for other states to follow suit.

This event at such a young age imprinted itself on me and how I grew more than almost any other single experience. I admired my father for taking a stand, and I still do. He's the man. He taught me as I grew to question everything and everyone. He didn't mean to do that exactly I don't think, but he did. 

In Church and school, I found it oppressive, and repressive. The IFB church I grew up in was not liberating or full of grace. It was full of judgments and hypocrisy. There were some good people there and good experiences, but a lot of it was awful and I wouldn't recommend it to anyone. My parents still attend and are involved in their IFB church. That's fine, that's their thing, they love their church and feel fulfilled there. My father in all things, did his best to model Christ for me. I never saw Christ in my Pastors, I saw Him in my Dad.

In the IFB, women have very specific gender roles. Wife, mother, possibly nurse, church secretary, or teacher is all that they do. Despite this environment of women having very set gender specific roles, my Dad taught me how to change a tire, change my oil, repair windows, taught me to measure twice and cut once for carpentry projects, supported my mother working outside of the home and taking college courses, gave me a love of power tools and yard work, insisted I get a job at 16, and instilled in me a protestant work ethic that I am forever grateful for. He wanted me to never have to depend upon a man. He taught me how to be a feminist. He'd balk at that, but he did. Yes Dad, you taught me that I can do anything I set my mind to and have a talent for. ANYTHING. You believed in me when I didn't, and had faith that God had a greater plan for me always, even if you didn't understand what the heck I was doing or why. You allowed me to ask you a million questions as a child and teen, and always took the time to answer me.

In church and school it was expected that girls be chaste, modest, and could go to college but really marriage was the goal, not career. Women were to be submissive (read subservient), but my mother was not subservient. My mother is submissive and is proud of that. But my father is not oppressive and his wife, my mom is his partner and has an equal voice in everything. I appreciate the love, the adoration, that my father has for my mother, his wife of nearly fifty years.

My parents helped to send my sister to college, and she is a christian school teacher. She did find a husband at college, but that was never the goal put to her by my father. He wanted her to get an education in something she loved doing.

I was the difficult child. I put up with church, and christian school, but I was counting down the days until I could escape. And I proceeded to make some really awful life decisions as an adult and also make some really great ones. But through it all, my father loves me. That may not seem like a big deal, but remember, my dad did not grow up with a father who showed love. He grew up with an emotionally distant, and abusive in many respects, father. My Dad told me once that he never heard his father tell him that he loved him. That breaks my heart for my Dad. He deserved to be loved, to be told how amazing he is, how smart he is, how talented he is. But he never heard that. I did. I heard that. I still hear that today, thank you Daddy. When I was younger he sometimes had a hard time showing this, but he did his best, and as I grew older and understood more of where he came from, I understood and appreciated every little effort he made to be a good Dad.

My dad doesn't say, "I love you" a lot. It's  not his thing. His love language is acts of service. I'm the same way. When my dad comes to visit, he fixes something at my house. Every time. Without fail. I don't even ask. He just does. He wants to. Every time he hangs a curtain, changes a spark plug, paints a wall, he says, "I love you kiddo". I have so many "I love yous" in my home and in my life. His way of saying "I love you" lasts longer than words.

My father, to this day, is an educator and has been a school administrator since 1980. He's in his seventies now, but is still going strong. He is the principal of a Christian school in Hanover PA now. I've tried to convince my mom that she and dad should retire, but they will have none of that. It's not a part of who they are.

Dad, I love you, I love all of the lessons that you taught me. I love how you stepped in to help me with my boys and my daughter as they grew and to be a steady man in their lives. I love how you have laughed with me in times of joy, and held me close when my world was crashing down around me. We have both made mistakes along the way and have regrets, but having you as a Dad makes me such a blessed daughter. Thank you Dad, for being you.

No, I don't think that Unassisted Childbirth is a safe birthing option

Let me preface this by saying that I will always support a woman's right to chose her place of birth, whether it be hospital, birth center, or home. I would support a woman making an informed decision about having an induction, having a planned c-section, or having an epidural for her hospital birth if she is aware of the chances that she is taking. I support a woman's choice in going to a birth center for an out of hospital birth experience if she is aware of the chances that she is taking. I support a woman giving birth at home with her choice of midwife, direct entry or certified nurse midwife if she is aware of the chances that she is taking. I even support a woman who chooses to have an unassisted birth, or UC, or freebirth, if she is aware of the chances that she is taking.

However, being supportive of her ability to make the decision to freebirth as an adult and being tolerant of her choices are different than believing that it is a safe choice. Planned c-sections come with their own risks, and many in the natural childbirth world are quick to tout statistics about that, but are often quiet about the risks associated with an out of hospital birth (even with a midwife attending there are risks as we are not surgeons and do not have a nicu at home) and even going so far as to promote unassisted birth as a better option than a planned surgical delivery. I often see a lack of balance in both the medical world and the natural childbirth world. Both downplay the risks and upgrade the safety of birth within their realms (medical professionals will often not tell mothers about increased risks of hemorrhage and death in a c-section and the impact it can have on her future fertility). Truthfully, birth is not something that can be controlled in any setting. It is wild, it is fierce, it can be gentle, it can be orgasmic, and it is unpredictable. It is also the most amazing and beautiful thing that I have the privilege to be a part of. 

I'm a direct entry midwife, I practice pretty much hands off unless the mama and her baby need me to be otherwise. And the majority of the time at homebirths, and births in general, moms and babies do just fine. They may need emotional support, physical support, mental bolstering, but really they do all the work and do just fine on their own. But the minority of the time, either mama or baby need a little help. That's why midwives and doctors spend years training and learning and never stop learning their craft. We midwives are not accessories to birth, we are an integral part of the process and are there to watch out for times when intervention or transport to a medical facility is necessary. 

When a mama is in labor, she is in "labor land". She's focused solely on the task at hand, she is bringing forth new life, and she is working the hardest that she ever will on the most fulfilling event she will ever experience. This is how it should be, all the focus is on her and her baby's well being. She is vulnerable, she is raw, she is fierce and she is magnificent. 

But while she is in labor, she also should not be expected to be fully aware of how her baby is doing. She can't be aware of any large changes in her own blood pressure. She can't be aware of how her baby's heartbeat is speeding up or slowing down  or staying steady as she labors. She is usually unaware of whether or not she will need assistance getting her baby's shoulders to deliver when she pushes. Those are the things that her midwife or her doctor is to be monitoring. I believe in mother's intuition, but even that has it's limits. Mothers haven't been schooled in all the nuances of pregnancy, birth, and delivery. Their provider should be encouraging them to learn as much as they can and be providing her and her partner with information along every step of the way and not glossing over possible complications and yet not using scare tactics to get their way. Balance is key and the mother is always in charge. Her choices must be respected and if the provider disagrees, they can call EMS or another professional to take over for them if they don't feel that the situation is safe for them to continue on in her care.

There is a difference between scare tactics and true reporting. We don't have great numbers on unassisted birth and mortality rates. The only study is one from many years ago, focusing on a religious community in Indiana.  http://www.cdc.gov/mmwr/preview/mmwrhtml/00000345.htm The rates of death are high, more than twice what was reported in the state during the same years. In that case, the women not only had no one to attend them during their births, but also no prenatal care. Prenatal care is important, Providers can find out through testing when something is wrong in most cases. Not in all cases, sometimes testing does not reveal when something is wrong, but you have absolutely no way of knowing about certain defects without blood work and ultrasounds. 

You have no way of knowing if you may possibly have GBS without a vaginal culture at the end of pregnancy. GBS does not always result in problems of course, but it can cause a respiratory infection that spreads quickly.

And if you are having an unassisted birth, you do not have someone there who knows how to handle somewhat common occurances like shoulder dystocia, neonatal resuscitation, and hemorrhage. You likely don't know what constitutes normal bleeding and what is abnormal during labor. You likely don't know what is an acceptable amount of time to wait for a placenta to birth, or how to check to see if all of it is there. You also may not know how much is an appropriate amount of traction to place on a cord to get the placenta to slip out of the birth canal and how much resistance means it hasn't detached and it's better to wait. You may not know what to do in the rare instance of the dreaded prolapsed cord in order to save the baby's life. You may not know what a well contracted uterus after birth feels like versus a boggy uterus.

I have attended over a hundred fifty births in the capacity of traditional homebirth midwife. I've attended another forty plus as a doula and a few dozen more as either an apprentice or assistant midwife. Most births go smoothly and without a hitch. But sometimes, even when the mama has had a low risk, uneventful pregnancy with nothing showing up in her ultrasounds or blood work as being off, shit happens. I have been at births where the mama was up and walking around, beautiful calm music playing, eating and drinking as she pleased, no internal exams or very few, her every wish being supported and nothing seeming to be off, and then suddenly the baby's heart rate drops and we have to transport asap, or she is pushing and the baby gets stuck and needs a lot of assistance to be born, or the baby doesn't start breathing right away, or the mama starts bleeding like a faucet. 

I may be accused of fear mongering by saying that, but it's true. My job, my calling, for the most part is highly rewarding and does not include intense situations, it's mostly hard beautiful work. But occasionally, it's scary, it's intense, and I have to call upon my training to try and save lives. An unassisted birth does not have that sort of safety net in place. Most unassisted birthers have educated themselves as much as possible about the practice, but they do not have years of experience in dealing with emergencies in their background. They also can't make and should not want to be in a position to make heart wrenching decisions about their spouse or baby's well-being, becoming responsible for all of their actions or inactions during that time period. In those instances having a lesser emotional attachment and a more professional outlook can help. I believe that unassisted birthing is irresponsible on the part of parents. Wanting to have a peaceful homebirth is one thing, taking chances with your child's life and the life of the woman is entirely another.

I have given prenatal care to a few families who were planning an unassisted birth. I don't have a problem with this. Often these families eschew any prenatal care at all or are scared of all health professionals. I feel it is the right thing to do to help them during their pregnancy, with the understanding that if I find anything that is a problem or could be a problem that they must get further care from a medical professional. If they are ok with this, and so far no one has had a problem with that, then we can have a few prenatal appointments and I will go out to see them after they have had their baby for a checkup on both mom and baby. 

Most unassisted birthers are very well educated about their choice and understand the risks, or at least they report that they do. I have however have one client who was obviously oblivious to any risk and even after she had fired me as her midwife, opting for an unassisted birth, tried to pump me for answers on some very basic questions that she should have known if she was seriously considering this option. I felt she was taking a big risk and since she was involved in a state run program for her insurance where the insurance company would call me to check in on her periodically, I called them and told them that she was no longer receiving care from me and that she was planning an unassisted birth and that I wanted to be on record that I had nothing to do with her or her birth plans. She had not informed them of this and had in fact called them after she had fired me and had told them she was still receiving care from me.

There are times of course, that a woman has precipitous labors and has no choice. A woman can't help that. Sometimes a baby comes before I make it there, it happens and usually all is fine. That's not the kind of Unasssisted childbirth that I am talking about.

I say all of this out of love, because I want mamas and babies to come into this world safely, peacefully, and with lots of love and joy surrounding them. As with anything, do your research, and don't drink the kool aid without checking out the ingredients.