It was not an empowering birth, but it was a humbling one. It was 3:30 am and I was in denial – the ungodliest of hours to feel such gravity. The muscles were contracting on an interval; I was curling my toes every time they were doing so. It can’t be happening, it can’t be happening, I thought. I was still six weeks away from my due date. I didn’t want to tell my husband because I didn’t want it to be true. But when half an hour passed, I woke him and he sat up in shock and worry. I checked myself in the bathroom and the next sign of labor was there – bloody discharge…

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