My Birth Story – A Natural Induction, a Life-Threatening Complication, and the Lord's Steadiness Through It All

Welcome to Spill the Tea, my birth blog series where I share real, unfiltered birth stories from moms in our community and beyond. These stories aren’t Hollywood versions of birth—they’re honest, sometimes raw, and always shared with the hope of encouraging and preparing other women.

As a Christian doula, I believe every birth—no matter how it unfolds—can be an opportunity to see God’s hand at work. Through these stories, I pray you’ll find support, courage, and faith for your own journey.

Today, I’m starting with my own story—the birth of my son on July 17, 2024. This was a birth where preparation met unexpected challenges, where faith was tested, and where I saw the Lord’s presence even in the hardest moments.

The decision to induce wasn’t about convenience—it was about safety. My bleeding disorder required special medications to be administered before delivery, and planning my birth allowed my hematology team to be on call and extra blood to be available if needed. I gave birth at Henrico Doctor’s Hospital in Richond, VA using their midwifery services, with an OB on standby in case of emergency. This setup gave me peace of mind while still allowing space for the natural birth I hoped to have.

I was still set on having a natural birth, but as the induction approached, I started to doubt my ability to do so without an epidural. I had heard so many people say that induction makes contractions unbearably painful. My nurse completely shifted that mindset. She reminded me that induction doesn’t necessarily mean a harder labor and that with a “low and slow” Pitocin approach, they could simulate natural labor and turn it off once my body took over. Her encouragement restored my confidence and gave me peace walking in.

By the time I arrived, I was already three centimeters dilated after weeks of prodromal labor. I truly believe that preparation made a difference. I had been eating dates, receiving chiropractic care, doing acupuncture, and making other intentional choices to prepare my body. Because of that, I didn’t need any cervical ripeners to get started.

They began the Pitocin, but for about two hours I didn’t feel much. Once they broke my water, everything intensified very quickly. I remember being surprised by how much fluid there was. I immediately dropped into child’s pose on a yoga mat, which became my safe space. My doula offered sacral pressure, but I realized I didn’t want to be touched—I needed presence more than physical help.

Hydrotherapy and vocalization became my most effective tools. Before labor, I had worried that vocalizing would make me feel self-conscious. But when the time came, I didn’t care how I sounded—it helped. It kept my jaw and pelvic floor relaxed and gave me something to focus on as each wave passed. I was even able to sleep between contractions, which means I don’t remember much of labor. In that sense, I feel like I missed out on parts of the experience.

I didn’t love how “labor land” clouded my mental clarity when I looked back later, but in the moment, it was simply where my body needed to go to cope. In a normal physiological labor, that surrender can be one of the most beautiful parts of birth—allowing you to release control and let your body and baby take the lead. Looking back on my high-risk situation, I now think I would prefer to stay more mentally present next time so I can participate fully in decision-making.

When it came time to push, I started using the squat bar but ultimately delivered in bed in a semi-side-lying position, which felt right in the moment. I pushed uncoached—on my own timing—and used open-glottis pushing, which I had practiced beforehand. I had been afraid of the “ring of fire,” but when it came, I actually found it relieving. I knew it meant my son was seconds away, and that gave me the motivation I needed.

He was born, and I was happy—but completely exhausted. I thought the pain would end there, but I was quickly surprised when it didn’t.

My placenta was “sticky,” and difficult for the midwife to detach. The pain during this stage was worse than labor itself. I shifted from bonding with my baby to relying on breathwork and mental focus just to get through the pain. Then things became dangerous. My uterus inverted—a rare but life-threatening complication where the uterus turns inside out through the cervix. I went into neurogenic shock and began to hemorrhage. Because my uterus hadn’t fully exited the cervix, it wasn’t visually obvious, and the diagnosis was delayed. I drifted in and out of consciousness for four hours while the team tried to figure out what was wrong.

In total, I lost more than 3 liters of blood. I required four transfusions and two bags of iron. I very nearly died.

It was deeply traumatizing. That trauma wasn’t only about the physical danger—it was about feeling powerless, unheard at times, and robbed of moments I had longed for, like truly experiencing golden hour with my son. Even though I technically had that time, I was in too much pain to be mentally or emotionally present, and I remember handing him off because I felt unsteady and afraid I might drop him. That memory still breaks my heart.

Walking through that trauma has changed me, not only as a woman but as a doula. I now better understand how birth trauma can shape a mother’s early postpartum experience and even her long-term relationship with birth. And I want other moms to know: birth trauma can happen for many reasons. It isn’t limited to life-threatening emergencies like mine. Trauma can result from a difficult labor, a moment where you feared for your baby, or even from something as simple as feeling unheard or unsupported. Sometimes nothing “went wrong” medically, yet the experience still leaves deep emotional wounds—whether because things didn’t go according to plan, you felt disappointed, or you chose an intervention you hadn’t originally wanted.

As a doula, I have a big heart for women who carry those experiences. Birth trauma is valid, no matter what caused it, and healing is possible. Part of my ministry is to hold space for those stories and to walk with women as they process them. You don’t have to carry that pain alone.

I had hoped for a natural birth not because I thought it was superior, but because I wanted to be active and mobile, to feel fully engaged. I accomplished that, but I didn’t walk away feeling empowered in the way I had imagined. As a doula, I’ve since realized that while empowerment can be part of birth, it shouldn’t be the focus. Through a biblical lens, birth isn’t meant to be about self-glorification—it’s a chance to surrender, to humble ourselves, and to partner with God. When we stop chasing the perfect experience and instead lean on His strength, that’s where true peace is found.

I’ve also learned that an epidural doesn’t take away your involvement. You can still move, change positions, optimize space within your pelvis, and connect deeply with your experience. For my next birth, I think I’ll choose an epidural—not because I regret going natural, but because I now understand that the right way to give birth is the one that aligns with your values, your safety, and your peace of mind.

The most important thing is being fully informed—understanding the risks and benefits of your options—and then making the choice that feels right in your heart. That choice might look different for someone else, and that’s okay. We are not defined by how we give birth—we are defined by Jesus and His love and sacrifice for us on the cross.

Every birth story is unique, and no matter how it unfolds, you are not defined by the details of labor—you are defined by Jesus and His love for you.

If you’re preparing for birth, I hope this story encouraged you to learn your options, build a support team you trust, and invite God into the process. He is steady in every contraction, every decision, and every moment of postpartum.

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🌿 At Mamma’s Manna Doula Ministry, I offer Christian doula services in Fredericksburg, VA, providing faith-based support through pregnancy, birth, and postpartum. My heart is to walk with you through your own birth story—helping you feel informed, supported, and rooted in Christ as you welcome your baby.