It took three attempts for me to succeed in having an unmedicated childbirth.  I attended nearly 70 hours of childbirth classes before my first baby, read countless books, and spent many-a-night role-playing labor with my husband before falling asleep to my hypnobirthing CDs.  The message was clear:  LET GO.  Succumb to the pain instead of fighting it.  Relax even when your body instinctually clenches.  Unless you have been in labor, you have absolutely no idea how impossible that seems when you are experiencing gut-wrenching pain.  By the third labor, I knew what to do and my unmedicated birth was everything I had hoped it would be: raw emotion that cannot be imitated.

Unmedicated childbirth isn’t just about “proving you can do it.”  Sure, you feel proud, just as a marathon runner does after her grueling race, but at its core, unmedicated childbirth inherently embraces FAITH.  Faith in our bodies to do what they were designed to do and faith in our resolve to see it through.  Unmedicated childbirth celebrates the beauty of nature.  As miserable as she may feel, a pregnant woman cannot deny the miracle of feeling tiny little feet responding to a hand on the belly.  It truly is a miracle.

What I did not expect was how my experience would permeate into other parts of my life, long after the birth was over.  This notion of embracing nature- of having faith – of being fearless.  Just as labor has the opportunity to progress smoothly once the mother lets go, so does life.

So I have decided to let go.

As a result of my experience with unmedicated childbirth, I no longer fear letting go of toxic relationships, for I know that fear was the only thing that kept me in them in the first place.

As a result of my unmedicated childbirth, I am not concerned with using my “things” – my house, my car, my clothes, my jewelry- to show my worth, for my value lies underneath the surface of my skin, in the chambers of my heart and the core of my soul.

As a result of my unmedicated childbirth, I am not afraid of aging.  In fact, I embrace it.  My wrinkles represent my time; the more I have, the luckier I feel to have lived long enough to display them.

And as a result of my unmedicated childbirth, I believe in myself.

I am capable.  I am worthy.  I am humbled.