I never thought I’d be someone who would have two such dramatically different birth experiences. Looking back now, I can see how each one taught me something profound about trusting my body, listening to my intuition, and recognising the power of environment in shaping our birthing experiences.

I want to share both of my stories with you. Not to compare or judge different choices, but to show how our circumstances, fears, and understanding can evolve over time.

I grew up with a strange duality around birth. Living in Botswana gave me a very natural understanding of the process. Birth was openly discussed, I saw animals giving birth in our home, and breastfeeding was completely normalised. There was something beautifully grounded about that exposure. But there was also the South African influence. With some of the highest caesarean rates in the world, especially in private healthcare, surgical birth felt completely normal. My mother had an emergency caesarean with my eldest brother, and back then the rule was, “once a caesarean, always a caesarean.” All three of us were born this way. To me, c-sections were just another way babies arrived.

When I started thinking about having children, I began questioning that programming. But early influences run deep.

When I found out I was pregnant with my daughter Stevie, it was a beautiful surprise in the middle of the pandemic. Honestly, I didn’t give birth much thought at first. I remember sitting in the bathroom for twenty minutes after taking the test, with my husband Ryan waiting outside, just trying to process what was happening.

Like many first-time mums, I believed the hospital was the safest choice. The medical system’s voice in my head was strong. Surely the professionals would know what was best for my baby and me? Home birth didn’t even cross my mind.

Working with a doula was incredible. She gave me options, supported my decisions, and encouraged me to prepare mentally. We did visualisations, had long chats, and I read Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth. But looking back, I can see I was surrounded by fear, my own first-time mother fears, and the collective fear of the pandemic.

I was over 41 weeks and they scheduled me into an induction. The night before my scheduled induction, I took castor oil. Contractions started hard and fast. The cord was wrapped around Stevie’s neck twice, something I’d seen on a scan and worried about constantly, so I headed straight to the hospital.

The first thing I had to do was take a COVID test. I could feel the fear in the air, and now I understand how that affected my body’s ability to open and progress. Labour went on for 20 hours, and I dilated painfully slowly. The water birthing room was my goal, but I couldn’t enter until I was five centimetres. I hovered at three for 14 hours, completely exhausted. Eventually they broke my waters, but I only gained one centimetre. I was vomiting, drained, and ready for help.

The walking epidural gave me the rest I needed, and I don’t regret it. But I was frustrated when I felt Stevie’s head and told the midwife, only to be dismissed at first. Once she checked, everything moved fast.

Three pushes later, with the cord cut while she was still inside because it was so tight, Stevie was born, our beautiful surprise baby girl. It wasn’t a traumatic birth but I wouldn’t say it was magical. She was safe, and the medical team did their best. But the fear-filled environment had left its mark. I believe my body couldn’t fully relax because of it.

The two-night hospital stay felt unnecessary. The food was terrible, the postnatal care minimal, and I just wanted to be home.

Before I was even pregnant with my second, I knew I wanted a home birth. I’d experienced the hospital and felt confident I could birth at home. We had just bought our first house, and I felt deeply connected to it. I wanted our baby to arrive there.

This pregnancy had its challenges. I’d miscarried just before conceiving Arthur, and the anxiety lingered. Every appointment brought relief, but the fear something could go wrong was always there. I started daily hypnobirthing meditations, morning and evening. They helped me trust my body and connect with my baby.

I had the same doula and I also chose a male midwife, someone I’d met during my pregnancy with Stevie and felt completely comfortable with. At 37 weeks, our birth team all came over for dinner. Meeting Stevie, seeing our home, and planning together left me feeling completely supported.

From 38 weeks, I’d been having practice contractions. When real labour started at 4 AM on 10 February, I kept it to myself. I dropped Stevie at nursery, came home, and napped. The contractions were still there when I woke up.

Ryan came home that afternoon and, of all things, decided to hang pictures in the guest room. He hates hanging things. I quietly breathed through contractions, still not telling him, until I had to.

By 3 PM, I called my doula. Everyone arrived at once, Ryan with Stevie from school, and the birth team. Stevie went to play at a neighbour’s house, and Ryan went grocery shopping because we had no food. Sometimes partners just need something to do.

Stevie came home around 6 PM and wanted to help. She offered me juice (we didn’t have any) and even joined the doula in massaging my back. When the assistant ran me a bath, Stevie held my hand and told me it would make me feel better. She poured water over me with such care.

I had a playlist ready, but ended up labouring and birthing to the soundtrack of Bluey and the smell of Thai takeaway. Birth rarely follows the Pinterest plan, and that’s fine.

After Ryan put Stevie to bed at 9 PM, things escalated quickly. At eight centimetres, my waters still hadn’t broken. Mikael offered to break them, but I wanted to wait for Ryan. When he came out at 9:20, a powerful contraction broke them naturally. I felt Arthur drop into position, an incredible sensation.

At 9:53 PM, Arthur was born. I was on my side on the bed, with Lucia holding my hand, Ryan and my doula by my side, midwife at the ready, and even our dog Toby near my head as if he understood. I didn’t experience the “ring of fire” that many describe, perhaps because I felt so safe. The whole experience was empowering rather than scary. The best part was waking up the next morning in our own bed, with Stevie meeting her brother in our home. No hospital rules, no bad food, just us as a family.

Both of my births were exactly what I needed at the time. Stevie’s hospital birth showed me what I didn’t want, but it brought her into the world safely. Arthur’s home birth showed me what’s possible when fear is replaced with trust and support.

The biggest lesson? Trust your body. Lean into each contraction. Every wave is bringing you closer to your baby.

If you’re pregnant and thinking about your options:

• Trust your intuition. Your first birth is not a trial run. If you feel drawn to a certain type of birth, explore how to make it happen safely.
• Choose your cheerleaders. Whether at home or in hospital, surround yourself with people who make you feel safe and empowered.
• Surrender to the pain. Fighting it makes it harder. Lean in and let it carry you.
• Own your birth. Don’t let others’ fears dictate your choices.

There’s no single “right” way to give birth. There’s only the way that feels right for you and your baby.

Stories told by Zora