Reflecting on birth photography after giving birth

Last winter, I started researching birth options. Having worked on a photography project about birth and culture for six years, I had a particular delivery in mind as the one that most closely matched what I hoped for.
 
I met Christina when she was in early labor at my hometown hospital’s birthing center. She agreed to let me photograph her, and I was surprised that she seemed so relaxed and conversational. Her labor progressed, and she moved into a birthing tub where she began to moan through her contractions. Conversation stopped as she focused deeply and I receded into the background. She was riding the labor, contractions rolled through her, it was intensely hard but she was working through it. But at one point she looked at her midwife and said, “Liza, I can’t do this.” Liza’s response stayed with me: “You are doing it.”

Alice's son, William
 

Our culture struggles with where to place birth: is it sexual? Should we treat it like an illness? Is it violent and terrifying? Might it be beautiful? This huge, contradictory experience, with elements of trauma, transformation, power and surrender, confounds. We lack the rituals and familiarity that might allow us to contextualize such a strange and universal experience, so we tend to file it by default in the category of illness. We put it in the hands of doctors and in the halls of hospitals, hoping that they have the knowledge to remove our pain and to give us our children.
 
Of course: high-risk pregnancies exist. Interventions save lives. Birth is unpredictable and can be dangerous. But the United States’ rate of cesarean is double that recommended by the World Health Organization, and labor is induced almost a quarter of the time. There are many reasons for these statistics, but a cultural fear of birth makes women less likely to advocate for supportive environments and to trust their ability to deliver safely.
 
In reality shows, movies, and rates of intervention, our culture moves further toward seeing birth as an inherently high-risk and terrifying activity, and most of us never see birth outside these contexts. I wish for every mother the confidence to seek out a skilled, respectful birth attendant who understands her culture and expectations, whether those include an epidural, a quiet room at home, a tub or a hospital bed.
 
So the biggest insight I brought from my photography project to my son’s birth, to that huge night and day, was familiarity with the process. While I was intimidated, birth didn’t seem alien to me. I found knowledgeable attendants, a supportive partner, and context that enabled me to manage my pain. I had watched that stretch of pain and work and unrelenting, increasing intensity – I knew it would end, I knew it was possible.
 
That’s what I took away: you are doing it.

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Birth Photographs on the Every Mother Counts Blog

http://aliceproujansky.com/a/blog/