What becomes possible when your body finally feels safe
After three losses, I found myself pregnant again — and again. What followed across two births wasn't what I'd planned. But it was something I could never have imagined in the darkest seasons of my grief. It was calm.
Two births. One truth: your body knows.
These are the birth stories of my daughters — Elvanna and Olivie. I share them not to impress, but to show what is possible when grief has been held, when the nervous system has learned new rhythms, and when a mother — even one who has known so much loss — can finally trust herself again.
Wine smelling at Yarra Valley —
and a very secret labour
My amniotic fluid broke at 11am on a bright morning — right about the time I was feeding the donkeys at Yileena Vineyard, two hours from Melbourne.
My hypnobirthing course had taught me to remain calm, count my contractions, and choose the best time to check in to hospital. So I decided not to tell anyone yet. They would only panic. I wanted a zen birth — and we were in the middle of wine country with a full day ahead of us.
"By lunch time at Zonzo Vineyard, I was eating pizza with absolutely wet pants — calm face, big smile. Lucky nobody noticed. Hint: always wear black pants."
By late afternoon, I called the hospital to report the colour, odour, amount and time. They said to come in that evening — no rush. So we continued our day trip.
By 4:30pm, I quietly mentioned to one cousin that I was heading to hospital "for a check-up." Yes, by now I was walking in absolutely wet pants — and I was also one of the designated drivers. When you cannot drink, you only smell wine.
Yes, by now I was walking in absolutely wet pants. And I was also one of the designated drivers — when you can't drink, you only smell wine. I drove back through the countryside while contractions came, chatting and smiling the whole way.
I dropped my mum, aunt and cousin home first. Then checked myself into emergency. Only at 8pm — when I was sent to the birthing suite at 10cm dilation — did I finally let them know I was in labour that night.
Poor cousin had to deliver the message. She was more afraid of breaking the news than I was of giving birth.
"Elvanna's labour was magical — easy, fast and smooth. No epidural, no drugs, no screaming, no tear. Active labour was only 2 hours."
Elvanna was born safely and beautifully. What an eventful day. I think she likes Pinot Noir and Merlot — she did choose Yarra Valley, after all.
Some time later, our family grew again — and my second birth arrived in the most unexpected, beautiful way.
A yoga mat, my husband,
and forty minutes
We weren't trained for this. It was just the three of us at home — me, my husband Lok, and our eldest, Elvanna. It was a morning that unfolded with a speed I will never forget.
Between 10:00 and 10:20, I lay out my purple yoga mat, moving between a squat and all fours, listening to my hypnobirthing audio: "Trust your body, trust your baby… in a while, more, you will welcome your baby." My husband timed each surge with a pen and paper while I stayed deeply attuned to my breath.
The second I put the phone down after the second call, I looked at Lok.
"The baby is coming." — calm, but certain.
"Okay, let's rush to the hospital," he said.
"No," I replied, sensing my body. "She's coming now."
His mind might have had thousands of questions. He calmly asked just one: "What do we do?"
"We just have to deliver her."
"My hands are dirty." — "Go wash them."
While he washed, I kept breathing deeply in and out in a squat, letting gravity work its magic. We were two people with no midwife — relying on the instinct and faith that lived in our bones.
My husband had missed our first birth, so this was his first experience — a surprise, a task, and a miracle all at once.
"I can see the head," he whispered.
"Can you see the body?"
"No."
"Try to pull." — "Oh, that doesn't feel right. Let me breathe out more."
I told the baby: "Work with mummy."
"With one more breath, miraculously, she was here. He caught her from behind me. We heard her first cry, and a sense of joy folded through us like warm light."
My feet were wrapped in the cord, and there was no blood on the mat. From that first call to her first cry, only 40 minutes had passed.
Elvanna was in the living room — she had no clue. That was how peaceful the atmosphere was. Daddy walked in carrying her little sister. The minute Elvanna saw her, her face opened into breathless joy. Having a little sister had been her dream. It was a moment of simple wonder that made the day magical.
The Paramedic and the Paradox
When the paramedics arrived, one was a mother of two. She checked the baby's oxygen level, heartbeat, and temperature. She checked in on how I was feeling and my vitals.
Then she turned to my husband: "Can I have a glass of water? I am feeling hot." And to her colleague: "Can you call a second paramedic?"
I was curious why a second paramedic — but I didn't raise any questions or alarm. I remained in zen mode, enjoying the moment.
I noticed, deeply, how different this birth felt from my last. My previous delivery had landed me in the NICU with heavy bleeding and a warning that my uterus might need to be removed. Beyond that, I carried the weight of three pregnancies that didn't continue — a body that had been through the harshest of contingency plans.
"It would have been easy to spiral into a worst-case scenario. Instead, something else moved through me: calm, focus, and a kind of trust that came from doing the internal work — the nervous-system practices, the somatic awareness, the steadied breath."
I was present. I was not operating from fight, flight, or freeze. I was moving with my body. I trusted myself — even after I had known so much grief.
The female paramedic couldn't come back inside. She was having a panic attack. We waited for the second ambulance. We cut the umbilical cord two hours later.
What made these births possible
If you've been through multiple losses, you might read these stories and think it's impossible. Or you might feel a thin thread of something else — curiosity, maybe, or the tiniest permission that you might not always have to live in fear.
I don't promise outcomes. Pregnancy and birth are tender and unpredictable. But in my coaching work, I have seen a pattern: when we remove the emotional blocks that keep the nervous system stuck in alarm, possibility shifts. When we practise somatic awareness and learn to steady the body from the bottom up, we move out of survival mode.
"I was not operating from fight, flight, or freeze. I was moving with my body. I trusted myself — even after I had known so much grief. That is what the inner work makes possible."
We can talk about what it looks like to find calm in your current or next possible pregnancy. There is no pressure — only a safe space waiting for you.
If this story lands somewhere inside you — let's talk.
Many come to me saying: "I look okay, but I'm not." "I want a baby, but I'm terrified." "I don't know how to move forward." You shouldn't have to navigate this wilderness alone.