To Be Mother & Birthing Parent
I am a mother, and as such, I am called many names: mommy, mumma, mom, even a simple ma will turn my head. I also answer to Alana, Lana, and poppet. I am a daughter, a sister, a partner, an aspiring author, a yoga teacher, a yoga practitioner, a doula in training, a friend, a listening ear, a confidante, and so much more. I use she/her pronouns and am a cisgendered, white, heterosexual female.
Out of all of these labels, the one that is most prominent in my life right now and most likely forever more is the one that identifies me as my son’s mother. It is this identity that the rest of my world and life orbits around.
I would imagine this sentiment is true for the vast majority of parents, particularly for the birthing parent. Bringing life into this world is no small task. It is an all-consuming experience; one that is life-altering, identity shifting, and foundation-breaking in nature. It alters all aspects of Self on the levels of physical, chemical, psychological, and spiritual being.
I recently came across a note here on SubStack in which the author, a mother herself, took great issue with the following statement: “We make our body in relationship with our mother/birthing parent.” Her issue? The use of the term “birthing parent.”
Without getting into the nitty gritty of this particular author’s perspective, mainly because if I do I fear I will find myself starting an internet war that I have no time for, I would like to delve into the problematic nature of this statement and the many others just like it from other so-called feminists.
Let me start by saying that I reject the notion that the inclusion of birthing/gestational parents within the birth realm excludes mothers. I would go so far as to say that inclusive language is a tool of empowerment for all birthers of all varieties. When we make space for the experience of trans parents, we radically oppose the patriarchal paradigm that seeks to impose gender norms with legitimate social and economic outcomes for all of us.
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Mother and Birthing Parent are not mutually exclusive existences. They are also not identical existences. Our lived experiences sit at the intersection of all of our identities, including but not limited to race, gender, biological sex, sexuality, socioeconomic status, religion, nationality, ethnicity, physical abilities, and body size. My experience as a birthing parent and also as a self-identified mother looks vastly different than that of my queer and trans peers. It also looks vastly different from that of Black birthers, fat birthers, disabled birthers, immigrant birthers, and so on.
To say that the inclusion of birthers that do not fit the mold of white, middle-class, fully-abled “mommy” is a threat to mothers and women in general reads wildly familiar to the exclusion of minority groups during the first feminist wave. Early founders of the feminist movement, including Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, were not referring to universal suffrage when they spoke of women’s rights. Rather, they were advocating for a very specific type of woman: white.
Fast forward one hundred years and we find ourselves falling down the same slippery slope with the addition of gender identity in the feminist dialogue. In the early 2000’s, the term TERF was coined to differentiate between feminists who support trans women and those who do not. It stands for Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist.
For anyone still scratching their head at the definition of a TERF, allow me to use it in a sentence to better contextualize its meaning. The white woman taking issue with the use of “birthing parent” by a birth psychologist on Instagram and writing about it online is a TERF. Better?
The root of TERF beliefs could be explained in one word: fear. Fear of allowing others in and losing space for themselves in the process. The brilliance of inclusivity and diversity is that, when understood and executed properly, they accomplish the exact opposite.
Creating space for trans parents to be included in the birth conversation allows for a deeper experience of embodiment in birth for cis parents as well. When we look at conception, pregnancy, birth, and parenthood through a more fluid lens of being, we can journey to the most inner aspects of Self that stretch far beyond the gender binary.
We can journey past the layers of form that tether us to our various identities and roles in the world and instead feel into what it is to create life. Feel what it is to nurture from the inside out. The embodied experience of birth allows for a greater connection to one’s baby and one’s Self through awareness, intentionality, and a great deal of resilience. Embodiment is not limited to male or female, and neither is birth.
The lesson here? Don’t be a TERF. Be a cool mom and make space for birthers of all shapes, sizes, and gender identities.
