The Birth of Luna Sage

Anything unspoken creates disconnection.

I’ve said this before, but last night it hit me differently. It’s been 6 weeks since our baby girl, Luna, was born. And it’s taken me 6 weeks to feel ok finally sharing our experience of her birth.

Why?

Because as empowering as it was, it was equally as disempowering. As magical as it was, it was equally [dare I say it] traumatic… Not just for me.

Last night was the first time in 6 weeks that Matt and I have had a chance to connect. The boys had gone to their dads for a couple of nights and Luna went to bed way earlier than usual. We sat and ate dinner and afterward, we decided to do a chakra meditation together. This is one that we have done multiple times in the past and it has always deepened our connection and created an intense energy between us.

It’s been different between us since she was born. It’s been busy with three kids among other life stuff, but it was more than that. We had seemingly lost our connection with each other. There was an unexplained and unexpected distance between us. Not only that, but Matt had also been struggling personally. He’s been more stressed and less energised than usual. I couldn’t feel HIM anymore.

Following the meditation, we held each other and kissed, but I still didn’t feel our connection. I hadn’t felt it since the night before Luna was born.

Two days before she arrived I could feel she was close. That evening I began feeling very slight contractions about 30 minutes apart. After we put the boys to bed, we looked out the window and the moon seemed brighter than usual, but we were only seeing glimpses of it as the clouds passed by. It was beautiful and we looked at each other in appreciation of the magic, pondering whether it was our baby telling us she was close (although we didn’t know she was a she at this point).

At 1:11 am, I woke up to my waters breaking in bed. Not long following, I noticed my contractions were around 10 minutes apart. We’d already set up the space with candles, crystal fairy lights, salt lamps, affirmation cards, photos, and crystals on the altar, and so all we needed was the birth pool in the center of the room.

At around 2:30 am the contractions were 5 minutes apart so we phoned the midwife and doula. They both lived around an hour away from us and we wanted to make sure they had time to arrive. My labours with my boys were quite fast, and we’d been told by almost everyone that the third would be even faster. This created expectations that I soon realised I needed to let go of.

Not long after they arrived, labour slowed and I started to feel anxious about the fact that we’d called them so soon. A part of me felt bad that they were there way before we needed them to be, especially after waking them up, and although they reassured me it was ok, I couldn’t shake that.

The boys woke at around 6 am and we told them the baby was on the way. We called their dad and he picked them up.

Over the next few hours, we had moments of bliss. We lit the palo santo, moved to music, and listened to Matt play his flutes and sound bowl. Contractions slowed right down and then it dawned on me how uncomfortable I felt having people in our space at that time. The midwife left as her shift had ended and we agreed to call the backup midwife when we needed her.

Matt and I decided we wanted some time to ourselves, so we went into our bedroom and our doula went into our spare room to nap. When it was just Matt and I, we’d kiss and play to increase the flow of oxytocin, and contractions would start again.

Although our doula was amazing, we noticed that her presence slowed the labour to the point of almost halting it. Each time it slowed I felt so disheartened. I had expectations (ps. expectations so often lead to disappointment – oops), and I had an idea of how it was “supposed” to go. I knew what I wanted this birth to look like, and as much as I tried to detach from how it would unfold, it was still disheartening. It would speed up and we’d get excited, then stop again.

The doula went out to get some lunch and left Matt and I alone at home. This time, we connected again, we kissed and he’d touch and kiss my body slowly and sensually, and made sure we got that oxytocin flowing. He held me through each contraction as they intensified. Our doula returned and again, contractions slowed. The stopping and starting was so frustrating I couldn’t help but cry.

That evening, doula still present, Matt and I went for a walk over to the beach to watch the sunset, and ground, and connect to mother earth and the ocean as she so often brings us clarity. I cried in his arms as the waves crashed at our feet, trying to surrender to how this birth was unfolding so differently from what I’d experienced with my boys. We walked along the beach up to the stormwater drainpipe where we sometimes walk with the boys. They find it fun to yell into the pipe and listen to the echo it makes. So, Matt turns to me and says, “Let’s scream into the pipe”. We both screamed our frustrations into the pipe and laughed at how crazy we must have seemed to the other people on the beach.

On the walk home, and after connecting to the earth, I felt called to say to Matt, “Do you think that bubba wants us to do this alone?”. His response was, “Maybe, yeah, actually I am pretty certain, yes.” We had both felt earlier in the day that this was what our baby wanted, and that it was what we wanted, but we both hesitated to say it until now.

We decided that we’d tell our doula that this was our wish. She was so supportive and understanding. She left and it was just us. After 16 hours, we had our sacred birthing space back to ourselves.

We looked out the window and the beautiful bright quarter moon was lit up once again but this time it was fully visible. It was as if she was telling us, “I’m coming now”.

Things intensified when we truly started connecting that night. We both got into the pool in the dimly lit living room, and I allowed myself to fully receive his touch. I surrendered my body and felt his desire for me as I felt the full contrast between pleasure and pain. Between each contraction, he’d explore my body more, and it was as if the knowing that we couldn’t have sex at that point and that it wasn’t leading anywhere (except to more intense contractions) that made it even more pleasurable. I’ve never felt so feminine. I was both giving (life) and receiving.

As we were led into the night, we became tired. I had a phone call with my midwife earlier in the day and she advised that, per policy, they were unable to attend homebirths after 24 hours of my waters breaking. With that time approaching, we phoned the backup midwife. This was at 1 am. At this point, my contractions were much more intense but they were still 10 minutes apart. She advised she couldn’t attend and that we could meet her at the hospital for an examination if we wished to, which we didn’t, and that if we chose to stay home we should try and get some rest to preserve energy, so we did.

If we’d gone to the hospital, they would have pushed IV antibiotics, as it had been 24 hours since my waters broke, and my inkling is they would have also suggested a C-section. Both of those were a big fuck no for me and I would have only agreed as a worst-case scenario. I was determined to have a natural physiological birth, as nature intended, with or without a midwife present. I believe so many interventions are unnecessary. At what point did we stop trusting the innate wisdom of our incredible bodies? At what point did we stop trusting our intuition? And at what point will we educate ourselves and stand in our power against a system that profits from our fear and disempowerment?

Anywayyy… Back to the story.

We slept for a couple of hours before I was woken up by a huge surge. Contractions were close and WAY more intense now. Active labour had begun.

This was my third drug-free birth but somehow, I’d again forgotten what it felt like to birth a baby. I have no words to explain what it’s like but as my gorgeous friend, Brydie, put it, “It’s like we’re pushed to our edge and don’t die”. That’s as accurate as it gets. It’s unworldly, as if we enter another dimension, but our human minds cannot comprehend nor put into words. It’s beyond the mind.

We phoned the midwife to tell her where we were at, and I remember her words, “It’s amazing what can happen in the next 20 minutes”. Again, this planted seeds of expectation in my mind, thinking it was almost over. I was wrong.

We warmed the water in the birth pool and I got in. This time, Matt was running around trying to keep me hydrated, holding the bucket under me each time I vomited, and trying to support me in whatever way he could. He stayed busy making sure the pool was the right temperature and that I was ok, as ok as I could be.

I was on my knees holding the handles and begging for our baby to arrive, begging for it to be over. For 4-5 hours I continued to scream in that pool. It felt like there was no relief. For anyone that hasn’t birthed a baby, 5 hours is a long time to be in active labour. For anyone that knows time, 5 hours is a lot fucking longer than 20 minutes.

Finally, I surrendered. I said to Matt, I think I need some help now, and we called the midwife to say we were going to meet her at the hospital. I think we both secretly knew we weren’t going to make it to the hospital, not at this point. I knew all I had to do was step out of that pool, but I felt paralyzed and unable to move.

Matt supported me and helped me out of the pool, he went to dry me with the towel as I dropped to my hands and knees and said, “The head is coming out”. Matt was kneeling behind me and with that contraction, I pushed and our baby’s head appeared, looking at Matt with her eyes wide open. I was so incredibly relieved at that point. I knew that I only had one more contraction to go, that I only had to push one more time and she’d be here. With the final contraction, I pushed, and Matt received her. At 7:51 am, Luna was born. He passed her to me and I held her tiny body against mine as I moved to the couch to hold her.

We called the midwife back and told her that we’d had our baby, not 10 minutes after we’d initially called to say we were coming to the hospital. She asked what we’d had, and it was at that point we found out we’d had a girl. Luna was the first name we had chosen from the early weeks of pregnancy.

The midwives attended our home not long after to check on us. Luna weighed a tiny 2.38 kg or 5.2 pounds. Because her birth weight was so low, they suggested that we go to the hospital for monitoring. We declined. Again, they would have run unnecessary tests and offered unnecessary procedures or shots. All we needed to do was trust our intuition and trust our baby, over the system’s fear tactics. We knew she was healthy and strong - she was simply just little. And… our intuition didn’t fail us.

Luna Sage was back to her birthweight within a few days (the midwives were shocked) and apart from needing a few top-up feeds, she’s been thriving since.

A memory to this day had been etched in my mind… for a while in the pool, I was on my back, belly facing up but submerged, and screaming. Contractions were longer than the breaks in between them and I was crying in pain. I can honestly say, I have never felt so powerless. I felt alone. This memory held energy that I had not been able to access and process until we connected last night.

Last night, exactly six weeks since we’d sent the doula home, exactly six weeks since we’d seen the bright quarter moon in the sky, and six weeks since we’d last connected, we finally spoke the unspoken. We acknowledged that we did not feel US. We acknowledged our fears due to that, and Matt opened up the conversation, “I think we still need to talk about the birth, we haven’t processed it yet.”

Hesitantly, I shared the memory that kept coming back to me. I told him I felt powerless. I told him, fearfully, that I felt… alone. As soon as I told him I’d felt alone, he burst into tears. He shared with me that it was at that moment that he felt he should be in the pool with me, that a part of him was telling him to be in there and present with me, but he separated himself from that voice and instead, avoided the discomfort of being present with me in a time I couldn’t be helped. He was afraid to feel what I was feeling so he kept himself busy supporting in other ways. He abandoned a part of himself due to fear. He’d ultimately lost a part of himself that morning. We cried together as we continued to process those final moments.

A relief, a lightness, a letting go. We felt our connection return at that moment. We made love for the first time since the days before Luna was born, and we finally felt US again.

Since then, all the other stresses have melted away for Matt. The physicality of them are all still present, but the energy charging them has dissipated. The emotional energy he’d suppressed from the birth was manifesting in other unconscious ways, as it does until it is felt. We both feel lighter and connected again. He feels himself again. Over those 6 weeks, I felt so helpless in supporting him because I did not understand why he felt so unhappy. As it turns out, we just needed to open the safe space to speak the unspoken, to feel the unfelt, and to bring love into where love felt lost.

Anything unspoken creates disconnection.

Anything unfelt creates disharmony.

A final note…

My wish for you is that you have a safe space to do the same… speak, feel, heal, and love. If you don’t, create one for yourself. And by being that for yourself, you’ll manifest that sacredness outside of you as a byproduct. It always starts within. ✨

Love,

Tara x