By Lovetti Lafua
Nurse • Midwife • Biologist • Maternal Health Advocate • Human Optimization Researcher
Growing Up Where Women Carried Women
I was raised in a community where women carried women.
Birth was not a clinical event.
It was communal.
It was hands pressing into your lower back.
It was aunties whispering prayers.
It was food cooking in the kitchen while new life arrived.
When I had my first baby, I was held.
My mother was there.
My family surrounded me.
There were arms ready to receive my child.
There were women who said, “Sleep. We’ve got you.
That is how birth is meant to feel.
And then life changed.
When a Midwife Gives Birth Alone
I had my second, My third, My fourth Alone.
No one to call.
No one to hold my hand.
No one to say, “It’s going to be okay.”
The first birth I had alone was at 3:12 a.m. in June.
The house was silent. The labour was powerful. My body knew exactly what to do.
The second birth happened in the afternoon, at 16:40 in September.
A big baby over four kilos. Strong. Grounded. Demanding strength from me that I did not know I still had.
And then the third the one I consciously planned came at 1:59 p.m. in August, one minute before two, just as I had asked her not to come after.
Yes, I spoke to my womb.
Yes, I calculated.
Yes, I tried to regain control after years of exhaustion.
Each birth built resilience.
But resilience without support becomes survival.
And survival is not the same as thriving.
The Silent Burnout of Strong Women
Midwives are called strong.
Resilient, Capable, Unshakeable.
But what happens when the strong woman has no one to hold her?
There were sleepless nights.
Breasts engorged and painful.
Tears no one witnessed.
Questions I carried alone.
I remember leaving the house messy, dishes untouched, body aching just to walk my daughter to school and make sure she had food.
That was my rhythm for years:
Function, Endure, Repeat.
Strength became armour.
Hyper-vigilance replaced rest.
Protection replaced softness.
The Hidden Labour After Home Birth
Few people talk about what comes after.
The documentation.
The birth certificates.
The hospital visits.
The subtle judgement.
“You had a home birth?”
“You’re not immunising?”
“Why would you choose that?”
When you are already sleep deprived and healing, the system can feel less like support and more like interrogation.
Home birth requires paperwork.
Advocacy requires emotional stamina.
Autonomy often invites scrutiny.
And when you do it alone it is heavy.
Why Postpartum Support Matters
Do I want any woman to experience motherhood like that?
No.
Not the isolation.
Not the silent burnout.
Not the pressure to “bounce back.”
Women were never meant to mother alone.
Postpartum care is not luxury.
Community support is not weakness.
Rest is not indulgence.
It is biological necessity.
How My Story Shaped My Work
This is why I advocate for:
- Community-centred birth
- Postpartum structures and support systems
- Emotional resilience in motherhood
- Respectful maternal healthcare
- Informed choice for women
My story is not about victim hood.
It is about transformation.
I am resilient yes.
But I no longer glorify silent endurance.
Midwives are not superhuman.
Strong women still need softness.
And mothers deserve care not just expectations.
Lovetti Lafua
