Birth, blame, and the stories we’re not telling

If you’ve felt a bit on edge reading anything about pregnancy or birth this past month, you’re not imagining it.

January has been loud in UK maternity services. Loud with headlines. Loud with opinion. Loud with policy talk, staffing pressures, safety conversations, and yet somehow still very quiet about the actual lived experiences of pregnant and birthing people.

So here’s a gentle, grounded roundup — minus the drama.

Doulas getting blamed in the media again…

Over the past few weeks, we’ve seen (again) the familiar themes surface: stretched services, workforce shortages, increased scrutiny of outcomes, and a lot of fear-based reporting that tends to land squarely on the shoulders of pregnant people. Home birth, induction, place of birth, “risk”, and responsibility have all been thrown into the spotlight — often without nuance, context, or compassion.

One article in particular has stayed with me — the recent Guardian report on a coroner’s findings following a neonatal death after a home birth, where blame was directed at a doula for “obstructing” midwifery access and delaying a transfer to hospital. What’s striking isn’t just the conclusion itself, but what’s largely absent from the conversation. 

There is little meaningful exploration of why that birthing person had experienced previous trauma in a hospital setting, or how that trauma may have shaped her needs, boundaries, and decisions in a subsequent pregnancy. There is also a deeply uncomfortable undertone in how she is spoken about — as if she were passive, easily led, or incapable of making informed decisions about her own body and baby.

When a birthing person’s choices are reframed as someone else’s interference, we quietly erase their agency.

Alongside this, the National Maternity Statistics for 2024–25 were published last month. One of the more sobering takeaways is that for people over 30, caesarean section is now the most common method of birth, and that overall 45% of all births were via c-section. That fact alone should prompt much deeper questions about how we define “risk”, how early intervention is framed, and whether our systems still know how to support physiological birth as people get older — or whether surgery has quietly become the default.

There’s very little space in these conversations for physiology.

Very little acknowledgement of how fear and pressure affect labour and outcomes.
Very little recognition that most people are navigating pregnancy while already carrying anxiety, trauma, or previous difficult experiences.

And as always, the subtext seems to be: if something goes wrong, you should have chosen differently.

That narrative is exhausting. And harmful.

Inside services, many midwives and doctors are working flat out, under immense pressure, trying to hold systems together that are frankly being asked to do too much with too little. Compassion fatigue is real. Burnout is real. And that tension often shows up as rigidity, rushed conversations, and a reliance on “policy” rather than personalised care.

For pregnant people — especially first-timers — this can feel like being swept onto a conveyor belt you didn’t knowingly step onto.

Which brings me back (always) to informed consent.

In times like these, knowing your rights, your options, and your ability to ask questions isn’t about being anti-care or anti-safety. It’s about staying anchored when the noise gets loud. It’s about remembering that you are still the decision-maker, even in a system under strain.

It wasn’t all bad… this month I supported a client who needed a c-section at 37 weeks for various reasons. The consultant led team were fully supportive of my clients wishes, including facilitating a lotus birth (where the placenta is taken out alongside the baby) in order to ensure baby got its full bloods before the cord was clamped. The cord was nice and white and everyone was very happy with how it went. The consultant even said that this was something she would be happy to continue doing as she recognised the benefits for baby. Stories like these should fill us all with hope - it is possible if you ask the question! 

If this month has left you feeling confused, worried, or unsure who to trust, please know this:
You are not failing by asking questions.
You are not reckless for wanting time, explanation, or alternatives.
You are not selfish for centering your wellbeing alongside your baby’s.

I’ll keep naming what’s being missed, and holding space for the conversations that matter.