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“The Power of Story: My Experience Attending Birth Circles

It was a sunny Saturday, and I wore the only dress that could both accommodate my pregnant belly and keep me cool in the early summer heat. I’d persuaded my pregnant friend to come with me, under the guise that she might enjoy it too. But, really? I felt too nervous to meet all these new people without someone I knew by my side.

I knew that this pregnancy, I couldn’t do it alone. After my first experience of pregnancy and birth being during the height of the pandemic, and navigating almost everything entirely by myself, I knew for the sake of my mental health that this time had to be different.

At a beautiful coastal park, my friend and I cautiously sidled up to a group of women all chatting and laying out a spread of nourishing food. 

There was no awkwardness in the way we were greeted - it was a simple welcome and an encouragement to get comfy. 

Small talk seemed to dissolve upon entering this space. I felt no need to comment on the (delightful) weather, or natter mindlessly about work, or where I live, or how our mornings had been. It was as if we could just be. We simply existed alongside other expectant parents who shared a mystical understanding of all the hopes, anxieties, joys, aches, and pains that we carried.

Soon, the chatter quietened. One woman, with a wriggly baby feeding at her breast, began to tell the story of how this baby was born.

I’d heard birth stories before. Mostly YouTubers, or influencers, or people on TV. Mostly stressful stories. Mostly stories that felt completely out of the mother’s control. Mostly stories that felt vague, like a hazy-nightmare ending with a cute baby. But the story laid before us at this picnic was different.

In the hush, this woman calmly told the tale of her pregnancy, the decisions she made, the people who supported her, and the teeny-tiny details that made her experience feel real (instead of a blurry dream.) She was the first person I’d met (other than myself) who’d given birth at home. She was the first person I’d ever heard of choosing to freebirth. In fact, I’d never even heard the word freebirth.

Throughout my pregnancy I would come to realise what a gift that woman’s story was for me. So many of her experiences mirrored my own, flying in the face of the isolation I’d felt during my first pregnancy.

As the months of my pregnancy went on, I continued to gather with pregnant people, their partners, and a handful of doulas who created a warm space for learning through stories.

Each month, in the quiet of a cosy living room, we were encouraged to be the expert on ourselves. After sharing some food and drink together, someone new (fresh babe in arms) bravely shared their story. As they told the tale of their pregnancy and birth, they gifted all the twists, turns, and details to a room full of wide-eyed listeners.

It’s difficult to describe the feeling in that room as anything other than magic. It was a concoction of many things; the privilege of someone I’d only just met sharing intimate details from their life; the catharsis of someone mirroring the same thoughts, feelings, and experiences I was going through; the anticipation of learning exactly how this tiny baby came into the world; the intoxication of hearing about someone birth with confidence and come out the other side feeling triumphant; the irresistible thought of “maybe I could do that too…?”

After almost ten months of a fairly textbook pregnancy, punctuated by making “out-of-guidance” decisions (informed by science, or story, or instinct, or all three), my time to give birth arrived.

I’d written a powerful affirmation on a card, ready for me to read throughout my labour. It said, “women all around the world are labouring with me” but I’ll be honest - it wasn’t the women all around the world who I thought about.

Whilst this affirmation is true, I didn’t necessarily feel held by the women labouring simultaneously with me. Instead, I felt supported by the stories I’d heard each month at the birth circles.

The story of the woman three streets away who had given birth at home, helped me feel capable.

The story of the woman who found the pushing stage arduous, helped me find strength.

The story of the woman who had made instinctual decisions about her post-birth care, helped me feel confident in what I wanted to do.

This time, no part of my pregnancy, labour, or postpartum was experienced alone. Instead, I carried the stories of remarkable local women with me. 

The birth circles, for me, acted like a transcendent sort of antenatal education. Each story built in me a greater understanding of who I am, who my baby is, and our connection to all the billions of people who’ve experienced pregnancy and birth before. Not only did I make better-informed decisions for my birth, but the birth circles also made me feel deeply nurtured, held, and seen.

Having a baby wasn’t a lonely experience anymore.

A couple of months later, a hush fell across the same cosy living room I’d visited throughout my pregnancy. I remembered that first picnic in the sunshine. I watched my own baby wriggle in my lap, just as that brave woman’s baby had. And, in an aptly-named full-circle moment, my husband and I had the privilege of sharing our birth story.

I can’t over-emphasise the importance storytelling had for me in my experience of pregnancy, birth, and postpartum. I’d go as far as to say that everyone who’s expecting a baby needs to sit at the feet of someone who’s been through it before you, and discover for yourself what the power of their story unlocks in you.

Even if you don’t know anyone who’s had a baby, or there aren’t any birth circles local to you, you can still experience the magic of a birth story.”

This article, written about Folkey Birth Club Birth Circle, first appeared in Juno Magazine, Late Summer 2025 issue and can be read in their Substack here. With thanks to Abigail Stavroulakis-McMahon.