A Gentle Reflection on a Birth That Stayed With Me -

22/11/2025

I’ve been sitting with this birth overnight, letting it settle in my chest and wash back over me

in slow, quiet waves. Some births do that, they linger. They ask you to pause, breathe, and

make sense of what your heart witnessed.

This birth took place at a private hospital in Perth’s northern suburbs and I was there as the

birth photographer. I want to acknowledge, though, that I walk in two worlds; birth

photography and birth support. Although my client had booked me in a photography role for this birth, our relationship naturally held a deeper layer. As a mum supporting another mum, and as someone educated in physiological birth, she had shared her experiences from appointments with the OB throughout her pregnancy. She also reached out for resources to help her make informed decisions like when I lent her Dr Rachel Reed’s book on induction so she could explore evidence-based options and tune into what felt right for her. Even in a photography role, it’s impossible not to care, not to listen, and not to honour a woman’s need for clarity and confidence as she approaches her birth.

But some births stir something deeper.

Some ask you to reflect not only on what happened, but on why it happened.

And this was one of them.

I am not a confrontational person.

Conflict sits so far outside who I am. I am the calm one, the soft and steady presence in the

corner who protects energy rather than disrupts it. But on this day, something in me was

pushed to the edge, not by one dramatic moment, but through a slow collection of small

ruptures in care.

Eventually, standing silently felt like a betrayal of what was unfolding in front of me.

The Woman at the Centre

What I keep returning to, even now, is her.

A mother who had birthed three babies before.

A woman deeply connected to her body, prepared, grounded, and hopeful for a birth

experience that honoured her intuition. She had done the preparation for this, she knew what would feel good and right for her.

Her birth preferences weren’t extravagant. They were gentle, considered, and rooted in

physiological flow - dim lighting, minimal talking, space to move, her hypnobirthing tools, the comfort of the shower, and an environment that supported her rhythm.But as the hours passed, I watched those preferences slowly slip away - not through true

collaboration, but through dismissiveness, misinformation, and decisions made on her

behalf.

Each time, I saw her recalibrate. She kept telling herself everything was going to be ok. In a

world where we know birth is unpredictable, these small wants were what she should have

been able to control during her labour.

I saw her take a deep breath.

I saw her steady herself.

I saw her trust being tested in real time.

And I felt it, deeply - in my own body.

The Weight of Witnessing

There is a particular ache that comes from watching a woman’s autonomy be softened, bent, or brushed aside.

It wasn’t loud or dramatic.

It was quiet.

A subtle erosion.

Being told she couldn’t labour or birth in the shower.

Being told by the OB the wireless CTG monitors “weren’t waterproof” when she had already

been told by the midwife they were.

Being told this OB doesn’t do delayed cord clamping done for term babies.

Being told she “should have had her baby by now.

Having a fetal scalp clip placed without explanation or informed consent.

Being encouraged towards an epidural until it became the only perceived option.

None of these interactions were delivered with overt cruelty.

Yet each one carried the weight of someone else’s plan—a plan that did not include her

voice. Watching her navigate that landscape, the disappointment, the recalibration, the deep inner strength left a mark on me.

The Moment I Couldn’t Stay Silent

When she finally agreed to the epidural, not out of desire but from feeling boxed into a

corner, we stepped out of the room.

As I walked past the nurses’ station, the OB stopped the support people and asked,

the name of the photographer?”

Then said, loudly enough for everyone to hear:

“What’s the name of the photographer?”

Then said, loudly enough for everyone to hear:

“Well, Abbi needs to shhhh if she wants to stay here.”

Even typing this now, I feel the warmth rise in my cheeks again.

My heart raced.

My hands shook.

My body vibrated with adrenaline.

Not because of the words themselves, but because of what they represented. A space

where even quiet observation was viewed as a threat to control.

And in a moment so unlike me, I turned back, calm but firm and said:

“If you have something to say about me, you can speak directly to me.”

It wasn’t anger.

It wasn’t aggression.

It was simply truth spoken aloud.

Confrontation is not who I am.

But protecting sacred birth spaces is.

She looked at me then and said,

“You’re not a midwife. You're just the photographer”

And in the same soft, steady tone, I replied,

“I’ve never claimed to be.”

After she went through the spiel of how long she has worked with the woman, I gently

reminded her that this is the reason for the birth plan. She was a little stumped, not knowing

what to say but then responding with “This is the kind of thing that will get you removed”.

Having my client in mind, I slowly walked away from the desk, and now needing to live up to

that “good girl” expectation- keeping quiet - so that she would not miss out.

Her Body’s Quiet Triumph

Not long after, everything shifted. Now with an epidural.

Despite being told she was “only 3 cm,” her body moved into full dilation in under half an

hour, just as her instincts had been telling her.

When we were invited back into the room, she felt the urge to push.

Two or three strong, intuitive pushes later and baby was earthside.

Watching that moment, after everything she had endured, was profoundly moving.

Her body had known.

Her instincts had been right.

Her strength had never left her.

She simply needed trust, reassurance, and space - not pressure or doubt.

The Questions That Stay With Me

As I reflect, I sit with questions that feel important. Not accusatory, but curious and

compassionate:

What are families truly paying for in private obstetric care?

Does the comfort of the room and the quality of the food outweigh the lack of partnership in

decision-making?

What happens when midwives feel they must follow the OB rather than evidence or

intuition?

When does a private salary overshadow the heart of midwifery?

How many women walk away feeling as though their bodies failed them… when really, the

system failed them?

And how do we shift toward maternity care that honours women’s voices as the centre, not

an afterthought?

Why I’m Sharing This

I’m sharing this reflection with softness, not to shame or attack anyone, but to honour the

woman at the centre of this story and to hold space for conversations we need to be having.

This birth reminded me why I do this work.

Why voice matters. Why autonomy matters.

Why compassionate, evidence-based birth care matters.

Birth is sacred.

Birth is powerful.

And women deserve care that reflects those truths.

This birth will stay with me not because of the conflict, but because of the courage, intuition, and resilience I witnessed in one remarkable woman.

• 3 Echoes Doula