How I trusted God & experienced a positive natural birth as a first time mom
An unmedicated spontaneous water birth story
Truth be told, sharing my daughter Riah’s birth story is something I’ve always known I wanted to share. Connecting with other moms over the little sleep we’ve had while chasing our toddlers around and exchanging funny stories is one thing—but rarely do we pull back the curtain on the very beginning. The first moments where our journey of motherhood outside the womb truly begins.
The moment we fully give ourselves into the raw, wild, sacred experience of giving birth.
For many of us, it’s the most vulnerable, primal, courageous thing we’ve ever done. And while every birth story is different, each is incredibly special. Because no matter how it happens, a new life, a new creation, one that has grown inside of us, enters the world.
It’s taken me a while to sit down and write this— I mean how do you possibly put something so miraculous, so God-driven, into words? It feels impossible to capture every detail, and I’ve let go of trying to. But before time blurs my memory, I wanted to share how I gave birth to our sweet daughter. How we planned for a natural, unmedicated water birth, how I surrendered, what I hoped for, what actually happened and the beauty of how it all went down.
41 weeks and 6 days.
That’s how long she stayed cozy in my womb before deciding she was ready.
When I found out I was going to be a first time mama, I imagined every part of it: the way I’d hold her, feed her, dress her, the joy of making her laugh and how I wanted to bring her into the world. I dreamed of a water birth. And unless medically necessary, it was the only option I had in mind. For me, it felt like the purest, gentlest transition, one that echoed the warmth and calm she’d known while in the womb.
I haven’t personally known family or friends who had given birth this way, so it felt like stepping into the complete unknown. Dressed with faith, I walked closely with God through every step.
Childbirth is no small feat. I read that the energy used during labor is comparable to running a marathon (and I believe it.) It demands everything from you: strength, stamina, surrender.
My husband and I prepared as much as we could. We hired a highly recommended doula, who came to our home one evening with two assistants and all the tools to train us. My husband wanted to be involved during the birth so this was a great opportunity for him to learn how to be my birth doula. I made hummus, pita, and veggies for everyone to munch on, and for five hours we learned hands-on techniques— from spinning babies and relieving hip pressure, to how my husband could physically and emotionally support me and the baby through every step. From practicing forward leaning inversions to learning techniques to spin the baby so her head would be in the down position by week 32.
We covered it all.
That night shifted something for us.
We walked away feeling confident and equipped to walk into this new season of life together.
When we hit 40 weeks, the wait became psychological.
Every cramp or twinge or discharge made me think, “This is it! Ok ok ok this is the moment, she’s coming, she’s coming”.
I’d get excited… only for nothing to happen.
It felt like I was playing mind games with myself.
Waddling my way around like a penguin in Antartica, I tried everything to bring on the labor. From curb walking, spicy food, sex, pineapple, dates, labor tea, primrose oil, hiking new trails but still, no baby out. At 41 weeks, my midwife suggested castor oil and did a membrane sweep. At 41 weeks and 2 days, I had to go to the hospital to make sure the placenta was still abundantly supporting the baby.
Is the placenta too old?
Is the baby still getting enough oxygen and nutrients from the placenta?
Is the baby distressed? All things they wanted to find out.
If the results weren’t good, we would’ve had to stay at the hospital.
Thankfully, everything looked fine, baby passed the test with flying colors and we were cleared to go home.
But the clock was ticking— Florida law requires a hospital transfer at 42 weeks and I would no longer be able to deliver at the birth center as intended.
I had to start releasing control and open myself to whatever would unfold.
Letting go of expectations became my spiritual practice.
Isn’t it funny how we think we can somehow control something as intimate and miraculous as to how a baby that God so intricately designed in our womb exits our bodies?
The truth is, we are so incredibly uncomfortable with the unknown.
We want to predict, manage, and schedule what’s inherently uncontrollable. We try to coax labor into activating, as if we’re playing God, when really, the entire process is a divine unfolding. Even though your body will give you signs every step of the way, the moment when it’s actually going to happen is unpredictable.
Giving birth is a spiritual initiation that requires our relaxation and our presence, not our control.
While there is beauty in preparation and knowledge in education, none of it guarantees the outcome. Understanding this balance is what we can call wisdom.
Because at the end of the day, birth doesn’t run on our timeline. It doesn’t answer to our preferences, our schedules or our circumstances.
It answers to something far greater— Divine timing.
It doesn’t mean we don’t take steps to prepare.
Ascending human effort is always met with descending Divine grace.
But I had to hold it all loosely, with open hands.
Because the real power wasn’t in forcing labor to start.
It was in trusting that my body knew what to do, and that God wouldn’t be late. God would be right on time.
There’s a sacred humility that comes when you realize your job isn’t to make birth happen….it’s to allow it. To be a reliable partner with your body, with your baby, with your Creator, and ride the waves of it together.
Meanwhile, God kept whispering Trust Me and my only job was to stay open to the mystery.
Having this mindset freed me to surrender and adapt.
I know my body’s intelligence was designed for this.
I trust my body’s wisdom and I trust God above all.
I also make space to know that sometimes things just happen completely not as ideal as we’d want it to and if that’s the case, it’s still going to be okay.
If this baby doesn’t come out by 42 weeks, I know all the possible outcomes and yet I had to tell myself if it were the case —
There was a purpose for it all.
And when I finally let go of the illusion of control, I didn’t feel fear—
I felt peace.
That’s when things started to move.
Next I called my acupuncturist, who came to our home and used pressure points to encourage labor.
That night, nothing happened.
At 41 weeks and 5 days, I knew I needed one last nudge.
I went to the acupuncturist’s office again for hopefully the last treatment at noon.
After treatment, my husband and I went out for our go to subs from Publix and I grabbed a bag of Red Hot UTZ chips (my very guilty and highly addictive pleasure filled with every terrible ingredient you can probably imagine from the pre-wellness days.) I went to the same store that we’ve been to many times but this time I noticed a parking sign that said “Reserved for Expecting Mother” and even took a photo in front of it. We came home and sat on our couch to eat lunch.
I was relaxed and cracking jokes with Zach.
Not forcing, just trusting.
Not pushing, just learning to surrender to the process.
Letting go wasn’t giving up.
It was more of a let’s just down this bomb sandwich, be present with where my feet are and make space for God to do what only He can do.
At 2:30 PM— it happened.
I stood up from the couch and my water broke.
It burst down my legs and I just stood there, jaw dropped, half laughing, half in disbelief.
Laboring begins.
My husband grabbed the birth bag and we started timing contractions. They felt like strong rushing waves of pressure, and I breathed through them slowly. When it got too intense, I’d sit on the toilet for some gravitational relief, or roll on the yoga ball, circling my hips.
By 6 PM, I had the top part of my body on the yoga ball as it held me up while I practiced breathing techniques through every contraction. I was in our sunroom and could hear the sweet sounds of the birds as the light started going down. It became a continual practice of letting go and surrender, contraction by contraction, breath by breath.
As contractions grew closer, we called the midwife. By 7 p.m., we headed to the birth center.
Walking into the room, I felt a warm energy— like an energetic greeting from all the women who had birthed there before me leaving a strength in the air.
A quiet encouragement, a silent whisper of “You can do this too, mama”
We entered the birth room that had a cozy queen size bed, a large jacuzzi tub and my husband set up the yoga mat and birth ball. We started practicing the techniques we learned from the doula.
I hadn’t eaten yet, and my body was hungry for energy. I asked for Vietnamese food Bun Ga Nuong, chicken vermicelli noodles. While my husband picked it up, I was alone in the room, bouncing on the yoga ball, dancing to the playlist I curated for this moment. It ranged from meditative to techno.
I danced and danced.
I moved.
I breathed.
It got me out of my head and back into my body.
I stopped thinking.
I stopped trying to control.
I was preparing myself to be used.
For God to move through me.
I was getting out of the way.
THE BIRTH
As labor intensified, the energy in the room shifted.
My husband returned with the food and I ate like I hadn’t eaten yet. The contractions were demanding more of me now. I labored on all fours, leaning over the bed. Then on the yoga ball again. Then standing, swaying, breathing.
Each wave came stronger, deeper.
My husband was an unwavering, grounded, and steady presence the entire time. He paid attention to where I was at in the labor process and told me exactly what to do to ease the tension. Looking back, I was so impressed by how much he remembered from the doula.
As it intensified, I asked the midwife for the tub to be filled.
I slipped in.
Warmth cradled me instantly.
It was the relief I didn’t know I needed. The way the water softened the rush of contractions— it was like my body let out a big sigh. I floated through a few more waves, resting between them with my head against the side, eyes closed, completely inward.
My body knew what to do.
And I let it.
I stopped trying to “manage” labor.
I just let go.
I surrendered to every sound, outer worldly grunt, every moan, every primal breath.
There were no words.
No thoughts.
Just rhythm.
Just trust.
Just God.
I remember feeling something shift deep inside me— pressure unlike anything before.
Everything I had already felt intensified by a whole nother level.
The midwives along with her assistant, and two other women came into the room and circled the tub. Though some were strangers, their motherly and nurturing presence calmed me.
The way one of the woman stared into my eyes with such belief and conviction gave me the extra strength and encouragement I needed.
It was time to start pushing.
And I started making low grunting noises.
Towards the end, I started speaking all kinds of crazy like “get me an epidural!” (knowing full well I’d rather bear any pain than give into the epidural). I also said “this is the last time I’m giving birth never doing this again.” 😂 😂 😂
The midwife told me to reach down and feel her head.
When I felt her head— it motivated every cell inside of me.
My midwife’s voice was calm and steady, guiding me gently but letting me lead.
I slowed down my breathing as if I was gathering it all into one place and let out a giant breath.
Just after midnight, her entire body came out and I held her up with my bare hands.
The midwife untangled the cord wrapped around her neck and body and massaged her enough so that she would make a sound.
Once she let out a cry, I felt the relief take over my entire body and I smiled for the first time after delivering her.
I held her in my arms and kissed her full head of hair.
I looked up at my husband who sat behind me in the tub the entire time and praised God for the deliverance that just happened in this room.
I couldn’t stop smiling.
As we continued to sit there for the next 30 minutes taking our time to be together as a family, we all started to sing her happy birthday as I waited to push out the placenta (which I barely remember this part I was too distracted by this precious baby!)
She was born into a tub with flowers surrounded by candles and warm smiling faces embracing her presence.
We transitioned over to the bed and I laid there skin to skin with her on my chest for 3 hours—placenta still attached. She found her way to latch on my chest and started nursing so fiercely it made us laugh. I was joyful in complete gratitude as I whispered her name over and over like a prayer. My husband wrapped his arms around both of us. I felt like the veil between heaven and earth had thinned, just for that moment, just for us.
I had done it.
We had done it.
The birth of a whole new generation.
By 5 am, the cord to the placenta turned white, signaling it’s job was completed and it was ready to be cut. As strange as this sounds, it was so beautiful to witness. My husband cut the cord and the placenta was placed in a cooler for the doula to turn into supplements for my postpartum journey.
My body was exhausted, but I wasn’t tired.
I was high on something unexplainable.
Joy.
Relief.
Peace.
Wonder.
Love.
Awe.
I kept looking at her and thinking— you were inside me, and now you’re here.
Now I’m holding you in my arms.
I remember every little detail. The way her fingers curled. The smell of her skin. The warmth of her body on mine. The sounds she was making as she was learning how to breathe the air. The calm in the room. Time didn’t exist. It was just us.
When we finally got home, the world felt different.
I felt different.
Not just physically but something in me had been born too.
I couldn’t sleep.
I was in a state of bliss watching this little being sleep in front of me.
Motherhood didn’t begin the day she came out of my body— it began long before.
But giving birth made it real in a way nothing else could.
And remember how I said I was ready to give up and said I’ll never do this again?
As i’m writing this, I am 38 weeks pregnant— preparing for my next birth.
I couldn’t think of a better way to prepare than to spend time reflecting on the first experience.
Interestingly, I felt more nervous this time than last.
Yet re-visiting this story, has made me feel braver, more confident, more courageous and more ready.
It reminds me that it truly is all in God’s hands.
He delivers the exact people you’ll need.
The exact methods.
The exact practices.
You just have to surrender to every moment.
We are equipped with everything we need.
When you feel weak, lean on Him as your source of strength.
And trust the natural process of your body.
There is a sanctification in giving birth.
It’s not just the moment a baby enters the world—
it’s the moment a woman is remade into a mother.
Birth stretches more than your body;
it stretches your soul.
It breaks you open and peels back every layer of control.
It demands a full surrender from you.
It's in the letting go
the breaking open
the yielding
where pain and purpose meet.
God meets you there.
Not just as your Creator, but as your Sustainer.
Not just as your firm foundation, but as your strength when you have none left.
As the whisper that says “Keep going,” when you’re so sure you have nothing left in you to give.
As the One who sanctifies not only your body for the work (because trust me, it is work) He assigned specifically to you— but your heart for the calling.
Sanctification doesn’t always look clean or peaceful.
It often looks messy, loud, raw, and wild.
But that’s what makes it Holy.
That’s what makes it real.
In the raw, holy ache of it all,
God is near
refining, strengthening, sanctifying.
You don’t just bring forth life
you walk through fire
and come out new.
No matter how your journey plays out, how you choose to give birth or how it ends up happening — it gets to be your very own special story. Your humble badge of honor for sacrificing your body for the most noble task on earth— giving life.
If you’ve ever doubted yourself, you got this mama.
I can’t believe it took me this entire pregnancy to finish writing this birth story.
But then again, maybe I needed to wait til the end so the very words I’m writing are also the words I need to hear and reflect on the most.
I am feeling so much more ready. And if you’re currently expecting, I hope this piece brought some ease on your journey too.
Anyways, I’ll see you on the side of another birth story unloading.
Stick around🍵
Warmly,
Psalm 139:13-14 “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”
