Motherhood is not something to Perform.
Dubai, UAE
Motherhood is not something to Perform.
Waiting is often misunderstood as inaction. In birth, waiting is one of the most active forms of care.
To wait requires the ability to tolerate uncertainty. It asks us to sit with not knowing, to resist the impulse to intervene simply to relieve our own discomfort. In a culture that equates speed with competence, waiting can feel almost irresponsible. And yet, the body does not unfold according to timelines or protocols alone. It unfolds in response to safety.
In birth, waiting is not about doing nothing. It is about doing less — on purpose. It is about observing, listening, and allowing the body to reveal what it needs without interruption. When we rush, we impose an external rhythm onto a deeply internal process. When we wait, we honor the intelligence already present.
This kind of restraint requires trust. Trust in the body. Trust in the woman. Trust that not all progress is visible or linear. It requires the discipline to remain present without needing to fix, direct, or manage what is already in motion.
Waiting does not mean abandoning discernment or ignoring signs that support is needed. It means responding instead of reacting. It means choosing attunement over urgency.
When a woman is allowed to move at her own pace, something profound happens. Her nervous system softens. Her breath deepens. Her body begins to speak more clearly. In that space, birth becomes not something she is enduring, but something she is participating in.
Waiting is not the absence of care.
It is care refined.
To stand beside a birthing woman is to accept a certain kind of humility.
It is to recognize that this moment does not belong to you. That your role is not to lead or direct, but to protect the conditions in which her knowing can emerge. This is not passive work. It requires presence, patience, and restraint — qualities rarely celebrated, yet deeply necessary.
A Birth Guardian’s vow is not about outcomes. It is about orientation.
I vow to listen longer than is comfortable.
To allow silence without rushing to fill it.
To notice when my own anxiety wants to interfere with her process.
I vow not to confuse control with care.
Not to mistake intervention for support.
Not to project my fears onto her body.
I vow to remember that birth is not a performance.
It is an initiation.
And initiations cannot be hurried without cost.
This vow extends beyond birth. It is a way of being with women in all moments of transformation. It is the choice to trust emergence rather than force resolution.
To be a guardian is to understand that sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is stay still, stay present, and stay open.
You may not recognize yourself right now. That does not mean you are lost.
Becoming a mother is not an addition — it is a shedding. Layers fall away. Certainties dissolve. Parts of you that once felt solid begin to feel unfamiliar. This can be disorienting, especially in a world that expects you to adjust quickly and quietly.
There is nothing wrong with you for needing time.
You are learning how to live inside a body that has changed, a heart that has expanded, and a self that can no longer be contained by old definitions. This kind of change does not happen neatly. It happens in waves.
You may feel grief for who you were. Love for who you are becoming. Fear of what you cannot yet name. All of this belongs.
Motherhood is not asking you to be better. It is asking you to be truer. To feel more honestly. To listen more deeply. To let yourself be shaped by love without losing yourself in the process.
Take your time. Becoming is not something to complete — it is something to live.
Birth has been framed as something to be achieved. A plan to execute. A test of endurance or courage. In this framing, the body becomes something to manage, and the woman becomes a participant in her own evaluation.
But birth is not a performance. It is a physiological, emotional, and spiritual process that unfolds most freely when it is not being watched too closely.
When a woman feels observed, judged, or directed, her nervous system tightens. Her body becomes cautious. When she feels safe, something else happens. Her body releases. Her instincts rise. Her capacity expands.
Safety is not created through reassurance alone. It is created through presence. Through being met without agenda. Through knowing that her signals will be listened to rather than overridden.
This is why how a woman is supported matters as much as what interventions are available. Birth outcomes are shaped not only by clinical skill, but by the emotional environment in which the body labors.
When we stop asking women to perform, we allow birth to become what it has always been — a conversation between the body and its own wisdom.
Motherhood did not make me more patient. It made me more honest.
It showed me where I relied on control to feel safe. Where I confused self-sacrifice with love. Where I avoided my own tenderness because it felt too exposed.
My children did not arrive to make me whole. They arrived to make me aware.
They mirrored the places I had not yet healed. They invited me to slow down, to feel, to sit with discomfort instead of rushing past it. Through them, I learned that love is not about perfection — it is about presence.
Motherhood is not a role to master. It is a relationship that changes us over time. One that asks us to grow alongside our children, not ahead of them.
The work is not to become a better mother.
The work is to become more fully ourselves.
Softness is often misunderstood as fragility. In truth, softness requires great strength.
To soften is to remain open when closing would feel safer. To stay receptive when the world encourages armor. Softness allows sensation, emotion, and intuition to move freely through the body.
In birth, softness creates space. It allows the pelvis to open, the breath to deepen, the nervous system to settle. It invites cooperation rather than resistance.
In motherhood, softness allows us to feel without being overwhelmed. To respond without hardening. To love without controlling.
Softness is not what happens after safety.
It is what safety makes possible.
Trust is not blind faith. It is relational.
A woman trusts when she feels heard without interruption. When her questions are met without dismissal. When her instincts are treated as valid sources of information.
When we trust women, we trust birth. When we trust birth, we create environments that support rather than constrain it.
Listening is not a courtesy. It is a form of care.
These essays are not meant to persuade.
They exist as offerings — reflections shaped by lived experience, presence, and listening.
If something in you recognizes itself here, that recognition is enough.
Birth is not something to be managed.
Dubai - Ajman - Abu Dhabi
We use cookies to analyze website traffic and optimize your website experience. By accepting our use of cookies, your data will be aggregated with all other user data.