Climbing Mountains & Birthing Babies: A Reflection from Today’s Hike

Climbing Mountains & Birthing Babies: A Reflection from Today’s Hike

Today my daughter and I set out to climb a mountain. We’ve got a bigger hike planned next month, so we thought we’d squeeze in a bit of training. What I didn’t expect was how much this climb would stir up reflections about birth.

At the start of the trail everything felt calm and manageable. The path was gentle, the air was cool, and our legs were fresh. But before long, the incline crept in. The steps grew steeper. I looked up at one point and thought, Oh my goodness… I am not prepared for this. This is too much.

And right then, I realised: climbing a mountain feels so much like labour.

When you look up at the entire journey ahead, it feels impossible. Just like labour, if you try to picture all the intensity still to come, your mind starts to doubt what your body is absolutely capable of doing. But when you bring your focus back to the very next step—the next breath, the next surge—you find your rhythm again.

As we climbed, there was a point where the track suddenly pitched upward. The kind of incline that makes you stop in your tracks and say, “Nope. I can’t do this.”
And that moment felt exactly like transition in labour.

Transition—the deepest, most powerful peak of labour—is the point where so many women say, I can’t do this anymore.
It feels impossible.
It feels too big.
It feels like everything is working against you.

But what most don’t realise in that moment is this:
That feeling of impossibility means you are so close.
You’re on the final, steepest stretch before everything shifts.
Just like that sudden climb on the mountain—brutal, overwhelming, but leading straight to the ridge.

On the steepest parts of the hike, my daughter would reach back for my hand. “Mum, you’ve got this,” she’d say. “I love you. I’m proud of you.”

And I thought… that’s exactly what women need in labour.
Not pressure.
Not performance.
Just steady support.
Just love.
Just the reassurance that they’re safe, that their feelings are valid, and that they are closer than they think.

Birth, like a mountain, isn’t conquered by perfection. There’s no single “right way” to get to the top. Every woman finds her own pace, her own posture, her own way of moving through the intensity.

What matters most is knowing you’re not alone.
That someone is there to hold your hand when the path tilts upward.
That someone believes in you, especially when you don’t believe in yourself.
That you are supported, safe, and capable—even during the moments that feel absolutely impossible.

Today reminded me why I love the work I do. Supporting women through their own mountains—whether through midwifery care, acupuncture, or simply holding space with gentleness—is one of the greatest honours of my life.

One step at a time. One breath at a time.
You’re stronger than you know, and you never climb alone.