My bleed was late, but surely I wasn't pregnant.

I'd been told I likely had endometriosis and a low egg count, so I assumed it would take a while to fall pregnant one day. We weren't trying. We'd spoken about having a family eventually, but we weren't ready in any sense of the word to become parents and surrender the freedom and selfishness of our early twenties.

But God had other plans. To be completely honest, we considered not keeping this baby. Writing that makes me feel uneasy and ashamed. Since becoming a mother, my perspective on that topic has shifted completely, but I'll save that conversation for another day. So I peed on a test. Positive. I remember staring at those two lines, knowing they represented a crossroads from which there would be no turning back.

The months that followed tested mine and Joel's relationship in ways neither of us expected. We were completely different people back then, before parenthood stripped us back and rebuilt us. Joel struggled to accept just how dramatically our lives were about to change. We had plans, freedom, and a future that looked very different to the one suddenly unfolding before us. Parenthood was years away.

Yet all I could see was the father he was going to become. The family we were going to become. I'd dreamt of being a mum since I was a little girl. Once it truly landed that I was growing a tiny human inside of me, a sense of purpose unlike anything I'd ever experienced began to bloom. For the first time, my life no longer felt centred around me. The next chapter of our story was approaching quickly, and neither of us had any idea how profoundly it would change us.

At the time, I knew very little about birth. I certainly never imagined that I would go on to free birth all of my children. In fact, if you'd told me then where this journey would lead, I am not sure I would have believed you.

A quick disclaimer:

This story is simply that— a story. My lived experience. It is in no way intended to be medical advice. Every woman, pregnancy and birth is different and I respect that everyone will make different choices based on what feels good and right for them.

What I thought birth was.

Birth was not on my radar prior to falling pregnant and I didn’t spend much time thinking about it, but if I ever did speak of it, I spoke with immense fear. I remember looking at pregnant women and thinking ‘how on earth are you supposed to push a whole human out?’. It seemed like a cruel design and I honestly questioned if I would ever be capable of such an incredible feat.

But to my advantage, something I had spent the past few years exploring was holistic health and alternative approaches to wellbeing. The more I learned, the more I began asking questions about the mainstream medical system. I found myself feeling increasingly disconnected from the idea that every aspect of life needed to be managed through a medical lens.

So when Joel and I started discussing what my birth plan would look like, the answer was surprisingly simple and clear: neither of us felt drawn to a hospital birth.

Our logic went something like this: hospitals existed to care for sick people, or people who needed urgent medical attention. Pregnancy, as I understood it then, wasn’t an illness. I wasn’t sick. I was growing a baby. A great sign of health and vitality.

That belief became the starting point of a much bigger journey— one that would eventually lead me to question almost everything I knew about pregnancy, birth, life, death and parenthood.

The experiences that changed me.

The concept of ‘free birth’ was completely foreign to us. We assumed we would be birthing at home with midwives, as most women who choose home birth do. But serendipitously an old friend of mine reached out encouraging me to attend a live webinar hosted by a birth worker who lived a couple of hours north of us (who would go on to support me at my first birth and become a dear friend of mine). So we signed up and joined the live call, not really knowing what to expect, but curious and open minded.

That webinar changed our lives. For the first time, I was hearing birth discussed as something other than a medical event. I’d never considered the possibility that pregnancy and birth could be so simple. What do you mean I can be pregnant and not engage in obstetric prenatal care? What do you mean I can give birth at home with only my husband and my dog if I want? Joel and I felt such excitement and peace at our discovery of a completely different perspective on birth that aligned deeply with our values and way of life.

The questions I couldn’t ignore.

I wasn’t expecting to become so passionate about the birth world. One minute I was processing the fact that I was growing a life inside of me, and the next minute I was deep in researching the statistics of deaths at a hospital birth vs a home birth. That probably won’t surprise anyone who knows me well. Once a question takes hold of me, I find it almost impossible not to follow it wherever it leads. And it did indeed lead me down many rabbit holes.

I read books, listened to podcasts and connected with like minded mothers who had walked similar paths. Naturally, questions kept emerging and I thoroughly enjoyed exploring them. What actually makes birth safe? Before pregnancy, I would have answered that question without hesitation. Doctors. Hospitals. Monitoring. Intervention. But the deeper I looked, the more complicated the answer seemed to become. Was I afraid of birth itself, or was I afraid of the stories I'd inherited about birth? Stories from a culture that seemed to view birth as something inherently dangerous and unpredictable. And if this baby was mine to grow, nourish and raise, what responsibility did I have in deciding how they would enter the world?

Why was I feeling so compelled to take this path, especially when it felt like the whole world would argue against it? I didn't have answers to all of these questions. But once I'd begun asking them, I couldn't stop.

A different way of seeing birth.

The more I learned, the less birth looked like a medical event and the more it looked like a sacred rite of passage. The more I tuned into my intuition, the less interested I became in outsourcing responsibility to an authority figure, and the more interested I became in taking ownership of my own journey. It was my body and my baby. It made sense to me that no one would ever be more invested in the outcome than I was.

For the first time, I began to see birth as something deeply personal, spiritual and transformative rather than simply clinical. I claimed full responsibility for the path I had chosen, which came with equal parts discomfort, empowerment and peace.

A foundational pillar that carried me through this journey was trust. That trust wasn't blind. In fact, it was built upon months of research, books, statistics, conversations and questions. The more I learned about physiological birth, the more I was struck by its intelligence. Every answer seemed to lead to another layer of awe and appreciation for the complexity and wisdom of the process.

But eventually I realised there comes a point where information can only take you so far. At some stage, knowledge must give way to a different kind of trust. A trust that accepts birth is both powerful and unpredictable. A trust that accepts things may not unfold exactly as we imagined. Perhaps faith is the better word. Faith in God. Faith in the natural processes of life. Faith that not everything can be controlled, measured or guaranteed.

This path asked me to sit with some uncomfortable truths about life and death, and it took a lot of simply being with those realities before I arrived at a place of genuine peace. Not certainty, but peace. Peace in the unfolding of my journey and my baby's journey.

Fear surrounding pregnancy and birth is nuanced. For me, I became less afraid of birth and more afraid of unnecessary intervention.

Every birth choice involves weighing risks. The most obvious question surrounding free birth is: what if something goes wrong? It's a reasonable question. One I asked myself many times. However, the more I learned, the more I felt that many experiences routinely presented to women as problems or complications were simply variations of normal. I began to question whether pregnancy and birth had become increasingly pathologised, viewed first through a lens of risk rather than through a lens of health and normalcy.

As my understanding evolved, so did my definition of what it meant for birth to "go wrong." The question became more nuanced. Instead of asking whether birth carried risk—which of course it does—I found myself asking a different question:

In a healthy woman, with no significant medical history and no complications throughout pregnancy, what were the actual chances that birth would unfold in a way that genuinely required intervention?

What could go right.

Once I’d asked myself what could go wrong, I found myself asking another question: what could go right? Something I want to make really clear is that I wasn’t drawn to free birth because I wanted to be radical or prove something. I chose free birth because I believed deeply in undisturbed physiological birth and I had very reasonable trust issues with the western framework and understanding of birth.

I yearned to learn how strong I truly was. I  yearned to trust my body, baby and the process we were undertaking together. I yearned to experience birth without unnecessary interference. I yearned to surrender rather than control. I yearned to begin motherhood from a place of confidence rather than fear. I yearned to honour birth as a rite of passage rather than a medical event. I yearned to follow my convictions, even when they were unpopular. I yearned to experience the rawness, intensity and transformation of birth. I yearned to learn what trust in God looked like when the outcome wasn’t guaranteed. And i yearned for a birth that belonged to me.

I found myself shifting away from pondering over what could go wrong and shifting towards the power and magic that would be found in everything going right.

Preparation

There was no single moment when we decided, "Yes, we're having a free birth." It was more of a slow burn that unfolded over many months. The pull towards that path only grew stronger with time.

Of course, I faced fears of my own, along with concern from family and friends who viewed birth through their own lens of fear, trauma, or past experiences. But deep in my heart, I knew this was how I wanted to bring my first baby into the world. The conviction only strengthened as my pregnancy progressed, and eventually I became somewhat unshakeable in that belief.

The next step was preparation—emotionally, physically and spiritually. Protecting my peace became one of the most important things I could do for myself. I became very intentional about setting boundaries and limiting my exposure to fearful stories and narratives that left me feeling disconnected from my intuition.

The theme of my entire pregnancy was trust. How could I keep returning to trust, over and over again, even when uncertainty or fear crept in? Over time, I became surprisingly comfortable with the unknown. I realised that regardless of where a woman gives birth, or who is present, nothing is ever guaranteed. Life and death are intricately connected, and choosing to bring a life into the world means dancing closer to death than some would like to admit. That realisation was equally powerful and confronting. But ultimately, I believe it is something every mother must contend with at some point, whether she chooses a free birth or not.

Physically, my preparation was remarkably simple. I nourished myself with nutrient-dense food, sunshine, fresh air, nature, water, friendship, family and rest. I didn't follow any elaborate protocol. My body was already doing the extraordinary work of growing a baby, while I simply focused on supporting it as best I could.

I chose to have one ultrasound, which, upon reflection, didn't feel necessary. Beyond that, I engaged in no obstetric prenatal care, attended no appointments and hired no medical professional. Had I ever felt that something wasn't right within my body, I would have absolutely sought professional opinions or care.

But for me, choosing not to engage with the system felt incredibly peaceful. I was completely free to simply be pregnant.

What free birth taught me

I went on to birth all three of my babies freely at home, with friends and family present. My births have easily been the most incredible experiences of my life and have shaped so much of who I am as a person and as a mother. They pushed me to my absolutely limits both physically and mentally, and yet I still endured. A testament to the strength of a woman!

The thing about choosing to be home is that pain relief is not an option, and so you’re forced to be with the intensity of birth. And that is where the power lies. Because in that intensity lies your true strength. Experiencing undisturbed physiological birth allows for the process to unfold as nature intended, and what I came to find is that it is so perfect. The intelligence will never be lost on me.

Free birth catapulted me into motherhood with a fearlessness that I can’t explain. I felt incredibly attuned to my baby and her needs, and so in my element as a new mum. My first birth was long and hard, spanning over days, and there were moments I thought I couldn’t possibly go on. But the feeling of returning to trust and allowing my body to do what it was designed to do, is unmatched.

Physically it was exhausting, so keeping my mind strong was crucial. The mind will give up long before the body ever will. It’s amazing what we’re capable of when we overcome learnt fears, connect to our intuition and believe in ourselves.

Final reflections.

Free birth doesn't ask you to be completely fearless—I don't think that's realistic for anyone. It asks you to trust more deeply than you ever thought possible. To trust your body. To trust your baby. To trust your intuition. To trust God. And perhaps most importantly, to trust yourself.

Looking back, free birth taught me so much more than what birth can look like. It taught me about trust. About responsibility. About surrender. About motherhood. About the immense strength that emerges when there is nowhere left to turn except inward.

Whether people understand my decision or not is ultimately beside the point. Free birth was never about proving anything. It was simply the path that felt most aligned with who I am, what I believe, and how I wanted to welcome my children into the world.

Stay tuned for part 1 of my ‘birth stories’ coming soon 🤍

Why ‘Under The Fig Tree’?

All three of my babies’ placentas were buried under a beautiful fig tree on the land that we live on. It started as a tiny tree nearly four years ago when my first baby was born and in that time I have birthed two more babies. Over time the tree has become a symbol of home, family, growth and the life we are building together. Fig trees often represent fertility, nourishment, generational continuity and spiritual reflection.

What you’ll find here

• Reflections on motherhood

• Home education, family life and values

• Birth outside of the medicalised system

• My journey in finding faith and God

• Traditional skills and nourishing food

• Farm life and animals

• Building a home

• Thoughts on living outside some of the assumptions of modern life

• The beautiful, messy process of learning how to love my family better

• Thoughts on healing, forgiveness and breaking unhealthy cycles

And everything in between.

I don’t have it all figured out and I am so far from perfect.

Much of what I write here will be part diary, part reflection and part exploration.

I am building a life for our family that feels more slow, meaningful and honest than the expectations of our modern world. If that interests you, I’m glad you’re here. Welcome to Under the Fig Tree 🤍