For too long, birth stories have been hidden, dismissed, or reshaped by others. We are told to move on, to focus on the baby, to be grateful no matter what happened. But birth doesn’t end the day our child is born—it lives on in us. In our bodies, in our memories, in the quiet moments we replay over and over.

We get caught up. Life moves fast. The postpartum haze, the exhaustion, the relentless forward motion of parenting—it leaves little space to pause, to remember, to process. And so our birth stories, like so many of our experiences, fade into the background or become condensed into a version that feels incomplete.
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But birth is more than an event—it’s an imprint, a transformation, a story that deserves to be held, honored, and passed on. It shapes us, whether we speak of it or not. And if we don’t tell our stories, who will? What will our children know of the day they were born if we never give ourselves permission to remember?
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Some of us had births that felt empowering. Some of us had births that left us unraveling. Some were planned, some were unexpected, some unfolded in ways we never could have imagined. Every birth story deserves space.
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When we write, speak, and share our birth stories, we reclaim them. We give voice to what was joyful, what was hard, what was unexpected. Telling our stories is an act of remembrance, of resistance, of legacy. Our bodies remember. Our stories matter. And when we gather to share them, we weave something larger than ourselves—a tapestry of resilience, connection, and power.