More Than Meets the Eye...

This text is an adapted excerpt from The Great Lies: An Invitation to Explore by Robin Brudefors.

The excerpt brings together themes from the chapters Retirement (pp. 81–84) and Childbirth (pp. 150–152).

The text has been modified by the author to fit the blog format, while preserving the tone, rhythm and intention of the original work.

We thought we knew how it would unfold.

In 2022, when Beccy and I were expecting our son Noah, we had a plan, a simple, rational plan.

A “normal” birth. The way it’s done. The way most people do it.

Somewhere, unclear exactly where, beyond checklists and routine appointments, a question began to stir within us. Could childbirth be more than just “safe”?

Could it be powerful, transformative… perhaps both magical and beautiful at the same time?

That question led us to Jolin, an extraordinary woman with a warm gaze, a calm voice and many years of experience as a doula. For those who may not fully know what a doula is or what their role entails: a doula is someone who offers practical and emotional support throughout pregnancy and childbirth, not there to direct or take over, but to accompany the journey with presence rather than instructions.

We met her mostly out of curiosity but the conversation opened something within us.

She spoke without fear, without drama. She described birth as something alive, something we could actively participate in. Somewhere deep inside, we no longer felt like patients in a medical event beyond our control, but like human beings. Like parents in the making.

After a while, she calmly asked,“Have you considered a home birth?”

We hadn’t. Not at all.

Is it safe? Isn’t it risky? What if something goes wrong? Isn’t that something you do the second time, once you already know how it works?

We took the question home with us and let it settle into our bodies. Slowly, something began to feel obvious. Not logical, perhaps, but true.

We decided.

We chose a home birth.

We had two doulas and a midwife (with over thirty years of experience attending home births). We chose wisdom and trust over haste and presence over control. We shielded ourselves from fear. We turned off the news. Said no to horror stories. Chose stories that carried hope, strength, and joy.

Still, we were human.

When Rebecca went past her due date, doubt began to knock. The modern voice that always wants answers, dates, interventions.

What if nothing happens?What if our child is in danger?What if induction is necessary?

We called our midwife. She listened to what we said, our worry, our doubt and then calmly replied:

“This is your choice. If you want to go to the hospital, go. If you want to stay, stay. I will be there for you regardless.”

That was all we needed to hear.

The next day, Noah was born.

At home.

In our living room. In a small inflatable birth pool, incense in the air, soft music and candlelight casting shadows on the walls. Stillness and yet filled with power.

Becca turned inward, unhurried. Without fear. No interventions. Just presence.

And then I saw him.

My son’s face slowly emerging through the water, straight into my arms.

In that moment, nothing else in the world existed. Only the three of us.

This story is not about saying that one path is right and another is wrong. Hospital births, home births, freebirths, all are right, as long as space is given for personal choice and that choice is met with respect.

In the end, it’s not about the place. It’s about being seen and heard.

The conversation needs to change.

It’s not enough to simply reduce risk. It’s not enough to minimize trauma and it’s not enough to merely survive.

We must celebrate life.

Because birth is not just a medical event, it is a rite of passage.

All women, everywhere in the world, should always have a choice. Have their voice heard, their body respected, their experience validated.

I often think: if we truly did that, how much trauma or how many interventions would disappear?

Our midwife was named Agneta.

When Noah was born, she was already over seventy years old. In a world where most people are counting the days to retirement, she was still deeply present in her calling, not because she had to, but because she wanted to.

I once asked her if she planned to stop working.

She smiled and replied:“I’ll continue as long as I enjoy it and have the energy.”

She was a midwife on paper, but she called herself a "jordemor" an old word, from a time when birth was seen as not only biological, but also magical.

Agneta didn’t need to control. She created safety simply through her presence.

When I think about life, my life, and the chapters we all walk through, I think of her.

I want to be like her when I’m seventy. Alive, and full of faith in the strength of life.

Life isn’t about reaching an end goal. It’s about continuing, as long as the heart is willing.

Agneta Bergenheim does not act in opposition to public healthcare.

She acts in service of life.

Thank you for choosing to continue, Agneta. We stand with you, always.

/Robin, Rebecca & Noah