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HOME - a Mother's Journey to BIRTH | A Birth Keeper’s Diary, Cyprus August 2024


Preparing for a Deep-Dive


water birth - a woman holding her baby after birth

The birth story I’m about to share belongs to an extraordinary woman who reached out to me when she was already a mother of four, now expecting her fifth. She told me right away,

“I want a home birth, and I know exactly why.”

She explained that her previous births had felt traumatic, lacking autonomy and dignity. She wanted this birth to be different - a way to reclaim her experience and, perhaps, to heal.


I was eight months postpartum myself, just beginning to feel ready to support women again. Witnessing a woman’s transformation as she prepares for birth always fascinates me, but I was especially curious to see how my own experience of giving birth would shape my role as a 'space holder' in birth.



Her decision was clear and firm, despite her fear of pain;

“This is my chance to experience birth as it’s meant to be. I want to heal from the trauma of those past experiences.”

As we spoke, I shared how I work with women in pregnancy to prepare for birth, guiding them toward trust in themselves and the natural process. She replied right away, “So, when do we start? I’m due in about a month.”


Journeying to Birth


Each time we met, I saw her dive deeper into her process, questioning the fears and doubts that had crystalised in her root over the years.

What if my birth takes too long? What if the baby is too big? What if I can’t handle the pain?

In one of our sessions were we focused on pain perception, I guided her in a simple exercise, asking her to slowly slide her fingers down her arm. I wanted her to observe both the sensation of touching and being touched, the giver and receiver of that feeling.


“You are both,” I explained,

“just as you are both the waves of the ocean and the surfer who rides them.” Birth, is much the same. The ‘contractions’ are the waves that are starting from your body. Your body is the ocean.
So you are both the source and the experiencer of each wave. All you need to do is surf the waves without forgetting that you are the ocean! 

When we finished she looked into my eyes with confidence; “I’m ready,” she said. “I’ll now wait for my baby to come.”




The Birth - Homecoming


The evening her birth began, I was about to go out for dinner. Her message arrived just as I was leaving, a gentle asking: Any plans tonight?” I called her, and she told me she was having mild cramps but wasn’t sure if they would lead anywhere, so she encouraged me to go to dinner, promising to keep me updated.


Just after midnight, her husband called. “Come, she needs you.”

As I arrived, she asked; “Did we call you too early?” Another wave brought silenced in the room. “I’m here now,” I reassured her. “don't worry about me you’re doing great.”


Then she looked at me and said;

“I wish I could put this in a timeline to know when it will end.”

I smiled. “Every wave brings you closer to your baby.” She raised an eyebrow and laughed. “You sound like a politician.” We laughed together, a shared breath that softened the air in the room.


Another woman was there, sitting quietly in a corner; I sensed it was her mother. She hadn’t mentioned that her mother would be joining, but there was no mistaking the connection. I could feel her mother’s quiet determination to 'see it through.'


We were all sharring space in deep silence and presence - the kind that is necessary for birth to unflod. I found myself drifting into to 'birth zone' where time desapears and moments are counted wave by wave.


“I see colors!” she said between waves. I smiled and said, “This is beautiful", recalling a birth story where a mother had described seeing kaleidoscopic colors. But she shook her head. “No, it's not beautiful, It’s because of the pain.” I reminded her, “This is birth; what we miss out to remember is that it guides you to a power you never knew you had.”


At one point, I noticed she was holding her breath, so I gently suggested she keep breathing.


“It’s more painful when I breathe,” she said. “Breathing is letting go,” I replied. “It’s going with what your body is doing.”

She took that in, then, with the next wave, whispered to herself;


“Breathe—let go.” She continued, softly: “Don’t complain…just keep letting go.”

Later, she explained that she’d realized if she resisted, it only made the sensations worse. But when she welcomed the pain, it hurt way less.




Deeper into the Cave


Am I doing it “right,” ? She asked. How do I know when I will need to push?

“You don’t need to ‘do’ anything, I reassured her, your body knows. Just keep letting go.”


There was such simplicity in the silence that followed each wave.

Eventually, she turned to me. “How will I know when to get into the pool?” I encouraged her to use the pool as her last tool, only when she felt she couldn’t continue without it. “Just stay connected,” I said. She waited a little longer and decided she was ready.


I loved the words she later used to describe her transition;

"Moving from the living room to the kitchen, where the pool was, felt like a descent into a deeper part of myself; a quiet, dark, soft cave. I could feel every part of my pelvis, aware of precisely where my baby’s head was".

When she settled in the pool, she began speaking in her mother tongue, and though I didn’t fully understand the words, I could follow the primal, universal language of birth - the instinctual sounds, gestures, movements that speak directly through the body’s wisdom. Every time a wave was coming, she was leaning over the thick walls of the pool, reaching for her mother. Her mother held her hands, impecably present, transmitting strength and love in a way only a mother could. At one point, she whispered, “Sorry, mamma, sorry if I’m hurting you sorry if i am holding you too tight.”


There were moments I wished I had captured through a picture - the intergenerational bond between mother and daughter, the essence of the mother archetype in full expression.  I felt humbled by this timeless birthing scene; women being around another woman giving birth at home, in deep instinctual knowing. I was a witness of the maternal instinct to protect and care, intertwined with the birthing woman’s power in embracing her own journey that brought her to her limits as she was crossing her own 'bridge' to motherhood. My eyes teared and I smiled in gratitude, once again, being touched by the magic of the birthing field.




The Arrival


"I want a break", she said, "just for a few minutes"!

"You are having one right now", I said, as she was having a pause of the waves in that moment.

"NO I don’t" she said, explaining that her back was still hurting in between the waves and massaging her was a relief…


I wondered if what I said made her feel unseen and I recalled how desperately I wanted a break when I was giving birth myself…


"I see you" I said and we dived back to silence.

As she moved through each wave, the primal language deepened.


"If you need to open your legs, just open them, take off your bikini bottoms, don’t be shy!" her mother's voice softly pierced the silence.

After a while, she turned to me with her eyes wide open, saying, “Something is about to pop out.” Her expression of reverence, surprise, and disbelief was unforgettable. It was the sac emerging. Her hands moved down towards 'the gate of life'.


Moments later, another wave came, and her baby was born, gently emerging into the warm water. She immediately looked around. “Where’s my baby? Where’s my baby?” I gently encouraged her to reach for him. “He’s here.”

Her partner joined us, and I stepped aside, feeling the significance of giving her space in this sacred moment. Her baby boy lay calmly on her chest, peaceful and undisturbed. He didn’t cry, just rested, reassured by the righteousness of his mother's embrace. She looked at her partner and proudly said, “I did it all by myself.”




Birthing the Placenta


Once she was on the sofa, her mind started to shift away from birth,  social mannerisms kicking in as she asked her husband to to serve drinks. I reminded her that birth wasn’t over yet. She’d need to focus and use this surge of hormones to birth the placenta. “I don’t know how,” she said.


“You just birthed your baby! Of course, you know how”; I reassured her and invited her to feel her womb, smell her baby, and ground herself in her body.

How des your heart feel? I asked? I am fine, exhausted, I never  in my whole life, wanted to sleep as much as I do now!   "I have a strategy", she said after about an hour and a half. "Lets cut the cord - I want to pass the baby to my husband and focus".


I noticed that I was not conscered about how long the placenta would take - nobody had an agenda! I could see that there was a process taking place, a closure that was needed and way more to 'let go' than just the placenta.Two hours later and a few moments of deep focus the placenta was born.




Reflections


Every birth re-births something in me as well. This birth gave me the gift of putting words on what I do in birth; It is simple, yet in its simplicity it is an art that needs mastering. This experience clarified for me what it means to hold space: guiding a woman back to her own strength rather than stepping in to “save” her.

In moments when she doubds herself, I mirror her power back to her, allowing centuries of disempowerment to melt away.

In birth, I am there not to direct or impose my ideas but to respond to what is needed with awareness, gentleness, and respect for her vulnerability and her trust in me. Holding space means staying with what is, without trying to control it.


With each birth, I witness the legacy of disempowerment lifting as a woman steps into her sovereignty, ready to lead a new generation. In this space, judgment has no place; only reverence for her journey and awe for the sacred transformation that unfolds.

If you’re looking for support during your pregnancy or are preparing for birth, I’m here to journey with. Please feel free to reach out to me for more information or to schedule a DISCOVERY CALL. Your journey to motherhood deserves to be honored and supported.


Yours,

Stefanie Nicolaou


Stefanie


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