With my husband, Soren, not listening, I knew my birth would be a nightmare. As I lay in labor, in pain and ignored, I vowed to never let him or his mom rule me again.
Never thought my life would be like this. Five years ago, I planned everything. I loved Soren, had a good marketing career, and a cozy apartment.
We met at a friend’s housewarming party—one of those odd nights that changes your life. We clicked instantly. He was nice, witty, and caring. We’ve been together six years, married two.
I became pregnant with our daughter Veda, which changed everything. Still, thinking about her makes my heart race. It started like a fairy tale. In retrospect, I should have spotted the red flags before Veda.
After learning about the pregnancy, Soren became obsessed with a home birth. His normal calmness and support vanished. I recall that initial talk.
I was still absorbing the pregnancy result on the couch when he stated, “We should do a home birth.”
A laugh. I discovered I’m pregnant, Soren. Can we start slowly?
He was serious. “No doctors getting in the way” benefits the infant.
“What if something goes wrong?” My gut twisted as I asked.
It won’t. “We’ll get a doula, and my mom can help,” he added definitively.
I ignored it, thinking we had time. I was six weeks pregnant. But he persisted.
Every medical appointment and baby chat centered on home birth.
At appointments, Soren talked over me. The doctor would eagerly say, “We’re doing a home birth,” smiling like we agreed.
But we weren’t.
“Stop it,” I said after one visit. “I haven’t decided.”
“No need. The finest option, he said.
Best for whom? My thoughts. I carried this baby. The arguments began then. Start small, grow large. Maris, his mother, intervened.
She took me aside one afternoon with a smile and firmness. “Elara, all our family women gave birth at home. This is our way.”
“I’ve thought about it,” I answered politely. “But I’m worried something could go wrong.”
“Oh, it’ll be fine,” she answered, dismissing it. You overthink. We’ll assist.”
I wanted to yell. Why was I ignored? At 36 weeks, I was exhausted physically and emotionally.
Maris and Soren thought I was silly. I said I’d go to the hospital alone if needed. He ignored me.
We met the doula. Also pushy, she agreed with everything Soren said. Sitting there, I felt invisible.
At 39 weeks, labor began. I was scared. “Soren, please,” I pleaded. “Take me to the hospital. I feel unsafe.”
But he and Maris ignored me. Instead, they called doula.
Pain was excruciating. Three days of labor, 22 hours of pain. Torture.
Cried the whole time. Someone felt wrong, but nobody cared. Soren and Maris came and went without really checking on me.
The doula I never wanted remarked, “If pushing goes past 24 hours, we’ll need the hospital.” I lie there grasping my belly, thinking I can’t. I want it over.
Two more hours of pushing worried me. I was just as afraid of giving birth in that chilly, unsympathetic room. I just wanted it over.
Veda was born without magic. Joy didn’t make me cry. I cried over completion.
I started off too weak to hold her. My body hurt.
My doctor was shocked during my postpartum checkup. “Elara, we chose a hospital birth. What happened?
“Soren happened,” I said. The boy and his mother had me do it. This wasn’t wanted.”
She appeared upset. You’re lucky. This might have been dire.”
It hit me hard. I risked something to please them.
Back home, I addressed Soren. “You ruined this for me,” I cried. I’ll never get that moment back. You made me afraid the whole time.”
Not even looking at me. Make a big fuss out of nothing. Women are strong. You oughta handled it.”
Handled it?” I snapped. “If we ever have another kid—and I’m not sure I want that—it’s not happening at home!”
Shrugging. “Talk about it later.”
The end. I was tired of him and his overbearing family treating me like garbage.
A few months later, I pretended everything was fine. I told Soren he might be correct. “I’ve been thinking… maybe home births are okay.”
He seemed arrogant. I smiled at family gatherings and listened to Maris’ birth stories. But internally I was enraged.
I planned.
Our home? It was mine before we married. I inherited it from my grandmother without fuss.
Soren claimed it, but it was mine legally. I would safeguard it.
I saw a lawyer. I described the birth, pressure, and trauma.
His confirmation that the house was mine. He also believed my treatment warranted complete custody of Veda.
I felt normal again after months.
A bad dinner when they talked about future kids like I was a baby factory made me decide.
Next morning, as Soren drank coffee, I announced, “I’m leaving.”
He blinks. “Leaving where?”
“I leave you. Maintain your customs. No more.”
Elara, this is our home. You cannot expel me.”
I took out legal documents. Actually, it’s my residence. I consulted a lawyer. Keeping it. I request Veda’s custody. You and your mom can’t control me anymore.”
He looked at the papers, horrified. “You’re kidding.”
“I’ve never been more serious,” I said. You can pack and depart tomorrow. No more.”
I exited the room feeling lighter than ever. Control was mine. I was free.
