Reinventing Our Birth Stories

by Rosalia Pihlajasaari



I trained as a doula in 2003 while expecting my second child, Skyla. I had a previous birth by necessary caesarean for my son Davin so I was aiming at having a VBAC (vaginal birth after caesarean). Upon having had a successful natural water birth with my daughter I decided to follow my bliss and become a doula. I also trained in America to become a Birthing From Within Mentor and childbirth educator.

Part of my training included leading a Birth Stories workshop that has taught me many things amongst which the fact that as life unfolds we become aware that few things are absolutely under our control. As you journey forward you encounter various experiences, good and bad, that assist you in becoming more fully YOU.

Birth is one of those thresholds in life when all your inner resources are challenged and called into action. Even as you stand on this threshold between maiden and mother and you do everything that is recommended, things still have a way of turning out differently from what you expected. Your memory of your birth experience is something that will walk with you for the rest of your life.

Whatever your birth experience is there is always something when you look back, that is bothering you or is causing you grief and sorrow. You are searching for answers to questions that you may not have fully formulated yet or perhaps are looking to place blame with someone or something. This will inevitably re-open any birth wounds leaving you vulnerable yet again. Birth wounds may come in all shapes and sizes. It may take the shape of an unwished for intervention or an unexpected emotion that arose due to lack of support from your partner. It may seem like something small and inconsequential but what ever it is it’s this memory that flavours your recollection of your birth.

Traumatic or disillusioned experiences can affect you in all aspects of your life including your parenting and successive pregnancies and your relationship with your partner or other people. Working through and resolving past trauma is the key to more successful future relations and experiences.

I work with mothers to access their inner resources of love and forgiveness and gently move from a birth memory that causes pain and grief to a place of letting go and exploring better memories that can serve them fully in their lives. Through sensorial mediums such as art and journaling each mother can awaken her inner healer and begin to see her birth through new eyes. This will free her to see strength and power where she previously saw failure. She will also be able to create new empowering beliefs about herself as a birthing woman, mother and individual.
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Rosalia is a doula, Birthing From Within childbirth educator and mentor, breastfeeding facilitator, Reiki master and massage therapist. You can contact Rosalia at rosalia[at]birthing.co.za to find out when her next Birth Story Workshops are being held. You can visit her website at www.birthing.co.za

Morning Madness

By Dee Steedman

"Be afraid be very afraid. You are about to enter the demons lair," should read the sign on my son’s door in the mornings. Waking my five year old son up in the mornings has become a complete nightmare. My mission: To get the little demon out of bed, attempt to get some food down his throat, clothes on, teeth brushed and lunch and school bag packed and ready for a full day at school.

My son is 100% confirmed NOT a morning person, which makes my life just that much more difficult in the mornings. Most mornings are awful for Mums even when things are flowing smoothly, but in my household mornings are a battle zone and I feel like the crazed Sergeant shouting commands at my seemingly very deaf and stubborn troop.

From the time he is gently awoken until we leave the house, with my nostrils flaring and muttering obscenities under my voice, nothing and I really mean nothing is done effortlessly or on the first time he is told. My partner tip-toes around the house trying his damdest to avoid the cross fire or being snarled at by me: "I can't take it. I can't do this every morning for the next 12 years!!"

I make coffee then go wake him up and try frog march him off to the breakfast table. I come back empty handed and continue to drink my coffee. No sign of the troop, I go back threatening all sorts of unfortunate disasters if he is not there in the next 5 min. I go back and get his breakfast ready and surprise surprise, I have to go back yet again. Finally after being told, “I am just stretching; I am just waking up; I am just blah blah blah…” I return this time with my troop in hand and his feet firmly pushed into the ground, not willing to surrender. He flops down at the breakfast table grumpy and feeling like the entire world is plotting against him and his horrid mother is leading them.

I have bought every possible type of kiddy’s cereal, breakfast bar, spread for toast and flavored yogurt in a feeble attempted to make breakfast proceed with a little more simplicity. I sit watching him and my blood begins to boil as he starts to rearrange the cereal from one side to the other, stirring clock wise then anti clock wise, and finally just staring at it hoping if he did it for long enough it would magically just disappear. A marathon 20 min later and we have managed to get four spoons down... Well done, that was one spoon more than last week!

Okay so hopefully it will improve and we are now half way done. Only thing left is to get him into his clothes and his teeth brushed. I keep popping my head around the corner to see how far he is while I carry on getting myself ready and giving the house a quick once over, still shouting the count down: “I am leaving in 10 min whether you have shoes on or not; I am leaving in 5 min whether you have your lunch packed or not...” No shoes and no lunch does not bother this little troop at all. Tick tock tick tock… the count down is coming to a swift end. Unable to contain myself any longer, I sit him on the counter hurriedly putting on his sandals and ruffle his bed head into something that looks like a Backstreet Boy style. Lunch and school bag whipped on his back and we make a hasty charge for the car only to face yet another frustrating session of William Nicol traffic to school and work.

Trying to teach my growing little troop to do things for himself, to be responsible and how to be on time is proving to more difficult than I had ever imagined. And the thought of another 12 years of battle zone mornings… SOS! Anybody have a Valium or two?