It feels trite to say that pregnancy and birth can be the most vulnerable experiences in a woman’s life, and yet there is a need to say it, still, because so much of that physical experience feels untranslatable. There was certainly a moment while I was giving birth when I felt acutely that my future sanity was in jeopardy. What saved me was my husband, my birth partner.
The role of the birth partner has increased in importance in recent decades; we are far removed from the days when our grandfathers were told to stay outside the birthing room because of the old belief that men would faint. Women being forced to give birth alone during the pandemic has rightly been a source of outrage, and yet this is the situation facing some single women every day. This is especially true of migrant women, who lack the support network so many of us are lucky to have. Yet I have rarely heard anyone express concern about the lonely births that asylum seekers often endure.
