It’s funny how little many of us know of our bodies. I wonder just how surprising that actually is when you consider that many of our bodies have been fetishised, demonised, experimented on, abused, and viewed as exotic exhibits, vessels for sex and birth.

It is hard to remember when first we viewed our bodies as our own. We draw so much of our opinion and internalise messages from the media about how they should look. Size, colour, shape, made up with cosmetics, hair or not, different chemicals altering us inside and out. To bleed or not to bleed.

I work as a birth keeper, and as such I have seen women’s bodies do the most incredible things as they change and stretch in pregnancy. As they writhe and turn in labour. As they open and give forth life with the birth of their babies. I’ve seen these same bodies sustain the new life they’ve birthed as their breasts leak milk and cause small babies to grow into toddlers and children. I’ve watched as afterwards those bodies change back to their pre-pregnancy state.

I remember sitting with a group of women of varying ages. It was a baby shower. The conversations turned to birth. Most of the women there had birthed at least one baby. As I talked about the gloriousness of birth, because as a doula and birth keeper, what else would I do, some of the older women began to shake their heads in disgust. Talking about the mechanics of birth, the fluids, and the placenta caused them to grimace and say, “There’s no need to talk about those things. These girls,” (many of whom had children), “don’t need to hear that stuff.”

Is it any wonder that birth is seen as an ordeal to get through, or barely seen at all? And small wonder that we do not love this which we were blessed with.

One of the keys to being a birth keeper, in my opinion, is the ability to sit still and be. This is difficult when we are primed to spring into action and often have become birth keepers because we want to help and do. But when we do sit still and hold the space for our clients we learn so much about them, birth and ourselves.

I’m a natural talker. My mother says that they will bury me talking, and she’s probably right. Once I enter a birthing room though, my words slow and cease. My volume decreases and moves to silence. When I do speak, it is normally words of encouragement that have a hypnotic quality about them. I have learned that I am able to move with the ebb and flow of the room. Sometimes leaning forward to stroke an arm, rub a back, comfort a mother and/or partner.

I watch as, when left alone, her body sways and moves and finds its own dance. No need to teach this woman how to move in labour. Her body teaches her. As I watch, I find myself matching that dance. If I have done my work well before labour, her partner also recognises and matches this dance. As her breathing rises and falls, and slows and speeds up, we all begin to breathe as one. She is not alone in this dance. She leads, we follow. As healthcare professionals enter the room, those with eyes to see, see this dance and join with us. It is a group dance. All are included, the birthing woman and her child are the centre.

To trust your body, you need to know your body. To know your body, you need not fear her. She is there for your exploration. Every bump and curve, every inlet and outlet. Her fluids, her sounds, her personal dance. To support a birthing mother, and encourage her to trust her body, we need to not be afraid of our own bodies. We are encouraged to love ourselves as our neighbour. We cannot love our neighbour until we love ourselves.

When we witness birth, we witness the emergence of a Goddess. We learn the way she shifts and changes to bring forth life. If we are wise, we will learn about her in all her glory, long before she turns to the birthing room, so that the dance is one of trust, belief and joy.