No one told me when to push.

Once I got settled into my birthing suite, my cervix wasn’t checked once. My support team and I trusted that my body was progressing.

Internally, I could feel the surges getting stronger. The crests of the waves inching closer together. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that my body was opening for the birth of my daughter.

I felt divine energy moving through me, the thunder claps infused me with reminders of my power. I moved and positioned myself where I felt I needed to be. I swayed, danced, and rocked, moving my baby and inviting her to our world.

A rush of doubt washed over me. There was a point that felt unbearable. I wanted to leave the room, to make it all stop, what was I thinking? I changed my mind.

My doula reminded me that we all come to a wall where we doubt ourselves. It’s natural; it’s necessary. I had an inner knowing that to step past that threshold would mean that I would be changed forever.

Pressure formed in my low back and rectum. It was familiar; I’d given birth before. In that moment, I wanted relief, but nothing worked. I tried sitting on the toilet, maybe I just needed to poop. The midwife brought out a birthing stool, suggested I might be comfortable on that.

No one told me it was time to push. No one suggested checking my cervix.

I sat on the stool, completely naked, under a small floodlight in front of a nurse, the midwife, my doula, and my fiancé. I thought it might be time to push, but nothing wanted to budge. I closed my eyes to concentrate, but I could feel the stares of eight anticipating eyes. Although in that moment I could’ve been viewed as a birthing queen, I wanted to be alone.

I sent the midwife and nurse out. They knew, though. I slowly made my way to the bathroom, stopping to breathe through intense contractions. I sat on the toilet, in the dark, sweating and shushing my partner. It was time to concentrate; this baby wasn’t going to delay any longer.

Barely audible, I managed to mutter “get her”. I could only speak in one or two word phrases. “Get her!” I cried out as I felt the descent of new life ready to reveal herself to the world.

The midwife, who was just outside the door, came in to catch my princess as I pushed on a porcelain throne. I stood up for my final push, and after five minutes, our gorgeous 8lb 2oz miracle was Earth-side.

No one told me it was time to push. My intuition, my primal intelligence, the proud wisdom of my body that has been passed down from the first humans, the connection between everyone who has or ever will have a womb, and deep trust in myself showed me the way.

That power can never be stripped away from me. That knowing is at my unbreakable core. The reminder of birthing another was exactly what I needed to birth myself.

No one told me it was time to push. No one has that power over me.