Ruth Stoops

Here comes a rant.

I am SICK of people trying to convince me that my birthing experience was hard, traumatic, awful, excruciating, THE WORST THING EVER.

So, Dear People Who Think They Know:  Were you there?  Did you hold my hand as I accomplished my dream of bringing my child into the world in a calm, peaceful manner?  Did you see my pride, exhilaration, and unmeasurable joy when I pulled my son up to my chest?  Did you see me confront my fear, stomp it to the ground, and claim my right to my birth, my body as a powerful, capable woman?  No.  Because you weren’t invited.  Birth is intimate and personal.  You have no more right telling me what my birth was or wasn’t than you have telling me about my wedding night.

Haven’t you heard me say that my birth was transformational, empowering, and beautiful?  Do you not believe me when I say that I loved it?  Do you think you understand my experience better than I do?  Quit looking at me like I’m crazy.  Quit contradicting me.  Quit trying to put words into my mouth, pain into my memories, and weakness into my body.

I will defend my son’s birth.  I should not have to.  But it is too precious, too valuable to tarnish with your petty stereotypes, cliche words, and misinformed assumptions.  Yes, there was pain.  Blood.  Tears.  How much more beautiful the prize?  How much more confident the mother?  How much more glorious the ending?  November 7, 2009, was the day I touched my son and the journey to meet him was filled with mental, spiritual, and physical breakthroughs and triumph.  Shame on you for telling me it wasn’t so.

To all the women who have birthed, I am not trying to define “birthing” in general.  Your story is your own, and you have a right to it.  I cannot claim to understand your experience, so if you say it was awful and terrible, I believe you.  And to all the men who think they know enough to tell a woman what birth is like?  You don’t.

I don’t want to be an angry vigilante, but it has been downright hurtful that people - especially people who love me - doubt my story and don’t rejoice with me.  I am just thankful that I have a husband and a handful of dear friends who understand me.

Thus ends the rant.