
Day 17: When all else fails…Surrender
(a.k.a. The Lion’s Roar Birth)
Each time I gave birth, there was a moment where I felt I couldn’t go on anymore. I felt I’d reached the end of my abilities. The lack of sleep the nights before (invariably, working) had taken its toll, as had the physical challenges of active labour.
In the case of my first son, it was a very long labour. Finally, at midnight on the second day, I was in the bedroom, lying on my back in the bed, something I’d told myself I’d never do (I’d read a lot, and learned from the stories of other women. I knew it was much better to walk, to squat, to kneel on all fours, or to sit upright, so that gravity would help.) Lying on my back would only make it take longer.
But we’d tried everything else (me, my husband, and my midwife). We’d tried walking, we’d tried the birthing pool, we’d tried the exercise ball. And I had no more strength. We had no more strength.
At the point where I gave up, I’d been pushing — pushing — ! For hours— on my back. (I’d also told myself that I’d never push until I had the natural impulse to do so, that mystical “Urge to Push” I’d heard and read about, and that when I did push, it would never, never be on my back.)
Sometimes things don’t work out the way you plan.
Finally, the midwives had a conversation with my husband, in another room.
I remember how desperate, how exhausted I felt, as I lay there, wishing for it all to be over. Why couldn’t I simply “get it done”? This was all so much work, yet I seemed to be getting nowhere.
When my husband came back into the room, he told me, with tears in his eyes, the terrible words. The words I’d fought not to hear for so long: “It’s time, honey. Time to go to the hospital.”
I think I cried. There was a terrible sense of failure. And a passing sensation of fear, of everything I’d hoped to avoid. But I couldn’t hold everyone up here at home any longer, either. It wasn’t fair to them.
(Ultimately I was so terrified of displeasing people…perhaps the fear had blocked me.)
So yes, there was that feeling of despair; of terrible, sad, yawning despair… and then, finally…
Surrender.
It was time to admit defeat. At this point, when I could do nothing else, there was something beautiful in it.
I gave up, and I gave in.
The despair, the intense fear of the assumed and the unknown; the dread of all that was to come, changed to resignation, mingled with a tired relief.
At least, I realized, all the power was out of my hands, now. I was no longer in control. No more decisions to make.
“I’ll use the bathroom before we go,” I said, wearily.
I did not know how I’d ever make it to the bathroom, let alone to the van, nor through the short drive to the hospital. But it had to be done. I stood on shaking legs, and began to walk the torturously long few steps, of the last part of this gruelling journey.
But halfway to the bathroom, something happened.
Something… miraculous.
I felt a power I’d never known before, surge through my body as though I were a conduit for a lightening bolt.
It was not an “Urge.” It was a surge, a tidal wive of power that I could not resist. My body was bearing down, with all its might. It stopped me where I was, in front of our low dresser. I pressed my hands down onto it. Standing there, in demi-squat, my body bore down once, really hard, and I felt my baby’s head move halfway down.
You can probably guess the rest.
My baby was born, in the bathroom, at home, a short time later. I remember that the sound erupting from my lungs was like a lions’ roar.
And the crowning moment of that birth was complete and utter ecstasy; a physical and spiritual pleasure of an intensity I’d never known before.
The joy of it would bathe me in a kind of surreal energy for a long time afterwards.
—
So what’s my point, you might ask.
Well, this day’s writing prompt was “Pick a Fight.”
But I have no fight left in me. I am realizing that I’ve taken on a lot, that perhaps I made the wrong choice, focussing on my writing, here, now. I have many other responsibilities, many other duties, perhaps more important. Those around me will say I am being selfish, perhaps, even to steal this bit of time from my day (or rather, night, at times). Perhaps they are right.
I thought perhaps today I would give up. The topic did not appeal to me. Fighting is not my forte.
And then, this writing came out onto the page. I don’t know if it’s helpful.
But, dear friends, my point is this:
Sometimes, struggle seems like the only option. You have a goal in mind, and you’re determined to achieve it. But finally, after all that work, you find that your best-laid plans have gone awry.
You can do all the work in the world, but ultimately, you can’t truly control the outcome. Something unexpected always happens.
So then what? What do you do next?
Well, I don’t know what’s best for you. Only you can know that. (And perhaps, if you’re like me, perhaps writing can help you to know it.)
But I can tell you that in my case, when giving birth, at least, it was the point where I was ready to give in, that I was ultimately given the ability to win.
When all else fails,
Surrender.
Love,
Xo N
— —
Notes/refs:
- This is Day 17 of a self-imposed 31-day “Write AND hit Publish” challenge, mostly using Jeff Goins’ “My 500 Words” prompts.
- Thank you so very much for any claps and comments. Besides coffee, commitment and perseverance, they’re this writer’s only fuel.

