My Positive Home Birth in France (Against All Odds!)

Choosing a home birth for my first baby felt deeply connected to my bond with the Earth and a trust in the natural world. I’m sharing my birth story because it shows what determination and hopefulness can make possible. We so rarely hear about positive births, but they exist, and they matter. Most of all, I believe every woman should have the right to choose where she feels safest, whether at home or in a hospital.

Staying active with mountain hikes during my pregnancy helped me prepare for the marathon of childbirth! A positive home birth in France wasn't easy to make happen - but we did it!

A Clear Vision from the Start

When I found out I was pregnant, I already knew I wanted to give birth at home. To be in a place I felt safe, comfortable, and in control... There was no question. So at my first doctor’s appointment, I asked what I thought was a simple question: “Do you have a list of home birth midwives in the area?” His response stunned me: “There are none. It’s dangerous.”

I gently pushed back, citing a study of 40,000 women that showed no meaningful increase in the risk of haemorrhage for low-risk home births. “Is there new research that contradicts this?” I asked. He leaned over to take my blood pressure, laughed in my face and said, “I seriously doubt that.”

This attitude repeated itself with others. My GP. A local midwife. They told me my wishes were irresponsible. One even accused me of contributing to hospital closures. But I knew myself, and I knew this: the kind of people who laugh in your face don’t get to be the first to touch your precious baby.

Florian realising he's only got 9 months to rebuild an abandoned farmhouse into a safe and cosy home...

Stirrups and Flood Lights

I visited the local maternity clinic, trying to find a compromise. It was sterile and stark, with white floors, white walls, a chair with stirrups under a floodlight. When I asked if I could dim the lights, play music, or wear comfy clothes, the answer was “no” every time. I imagined giving birth there and burst into tears.

A kind midwife pulled me aside. “The hospital might be a bit better,” she whispered. “I’m

sorry, it’s hard to have a home birth in France.” Like many midwives I met, she supported women’s choices in theory, but her hands were tied. Insurance for home births was near-impossible to get. Some midwives had even been sued by hospitals for doing something perfectly legal, and risked losing everything.

Then, everything changed.

I kept being told a home birth couldn't happen, but I never gave up. I trusted that it would all work out.

A Chance Encounter

I was at an appointment with an osteopath when she mentioned her best friend, a midwife newly arrived in the region, wanted to start offering home births. That same day, I drove an hour to meet her. Miraculously, it was the last day she could legally take me on as a client. There was just enough time to do the necessary medical tests and prepare. 

We rented emergency equipment like oxygen and a defibrillator. She checked my iron levels, ran extra scans, and we even had lunch to get to know each other. “Birth isn’t without risk,” she said, “but I’ll take a risk supporting you, if this really matters to you.” It did.

One issue: my remote farmhouse was too far from a hospital. I couldn’t safely give birth there. And then came another blessing.

An older couple in the community, both former nurses, heard about my plans. They offered their beautiful wooden cabin on the edge of town, just 15 minutes from the hospital. I still can’t believe their generosity. Today, they’re our baby’s godparents and our dear friends.

More magic: My midwife’s friend was a firefighter and first responder, and my doula turned out to be a former nurse. Ultimately, I had five medical professionals in the house, plus my husband. I felt completely safe, supported, and cared for.

Then, we waited.

Every day, I was sure, today’s the day. My belly felt ready to pop. Every night, I crawled back into bed like a beached whale. But through the entire pregnancy, every night before sleep, I meditated for 10 minutes. I visualised a safe, gentle birth and repeated: We can do this. I am safe. I believe in us.

That belly just kept on growing... and growing some more.

The Birth Begins

One morning at 5 am, I went to the toilet and saw blood and mucus. Things were on.

I ran a bath, lit candles, and breathed slowly for three hours while my dogs lay beside me. When my husband came down and saw me, he quietly called the dog boarding house. Then he drove me gently down the 3km track to the village. We watched the sun rise over the forest and mountains, and each time I had a contraction, I touched his arm so he could stop the car for me to breathe.

The rest was a blur.

We arrived at Hélène and Olivier’s house. I had a cup of tea while bouncing on an exercise ball, then said, “Well, see you later,” and went upstairs to the bedroom. I lit candles and played music. At one point, in a moment of adrenaline-fuelled logic, Florian dropped his motorbike at the garage and rushed back. He still gets teased for that.

For 12 hours, I breathed deeply and slowly. After the 20-minute motorbike incident, Florian never left my side. I didn’t want to be touched, but his presence was my anchor. I used a TENS machine for contractions. It gave me little electric shocks that helped a lot. I would say giving birth was like a marathon, but 9 months of meditation and hiking in the hills had prepared me. I wanted to be there. I knew I could do it. It was also the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

My midwife, doula, and their firefighter friend arrived in the afternoon. They came in quietly, checked the baby’s heartbeat, put a cool cloth on my head, then left me to it. They knew that’s what I needed.

As evening fell, my midwife let me know the baby’s heartbeat was dropping which meant she was tired. “If she’s not here in 20 minutes, I’ll need to call an ambulance.” I felt calm. My mantras played in my mind. I waved her out of the room.

The man who never left my side - apart from dropping off his motorbike... He took to fatherhood so naturally and with so much patience.

The Final Push

And then my body started pushing.

I didn’t choose to push, it was a primal reflex kind of like projectile vomiting (no offense, Odette). My body knew what to do. With one huge surge, blood splattered the walls. I told Florian to get the midwives. I could hear their feet running on the stairs, and then they were slipping through the blood on the floor like skaters on red ice.

I stood, leaned over the bath, and made some noises I could not recreate if I tried. And then: Odette. One last push, and she flew out into her father’s hands. The midwife was beside him, ready, but he caught her.

I’m sensitive by nature, so I still can’t believe I didn’t need painkillers. I was powered by a second-hand TENS machine that cost 10 euros, unwavering trust, and pure determination. I was wrapped in blankets on the bathroom floor while they checked us both. Odette needed a bit of help clearing her airways. I had some tearing, but chose not to have stitches—it healed naturally within a month.

About 30 minutes later, my placenta followed. We left Odette attached to it for a few hours to give her all the blood and stem cells. My doula helped hose me down in the shower, and then I crawled into bed with my daughter. Someone brought me a plate overflowing with biscuits and dry sausage, and I devoured it. Downstairs, I could hear the laughter and corks popping. Champagne, relief, celebration.

And I just lay there, staring into my baby’s eyes.

Baby needs to be here in 20 minutes? Challenge accepted!

The whole birth took around 12 hours. I had no internal exams throughout pregnancy or labour, and no meds. It was intense, challenging, beautiful—and I immediately thought: I’d do that again.

Birth is unpredictable (and that's okay!)

The truth is, we can't know what birth will be like until it happens. If I needed to go to the hospital or have a cesarean, I would be at peace with that. But for me, it was important to treat birth like a normal bodily process rather than a medical emergency, unless the evidence showed me I needed extra help. No matter how you give birth, you did something amazing, and I think we can learn a lot from every birthing experience.

Here are a few books that helped me prepare for a positive home birth in France:

I will recieve a small comission if you order one of these books via my links. I only reccomend books I think you'll really love.

Hypnobirthing: Practical Ways to Make Your Birth Better

A really nice practical guide to preparing for a positive birth. It'll teach you what to expect and how to use breathing exercises to support you.

Ina May's Guide to Childbirth

By a world-leading home birth midwife. This book teaches you about what's happening in your body during birth and has loads of positive birth stories that I found inspiring and reassuring.

Orgasmic Birth: Your Guide to a Safe, Satisfying, and Pleasurable Birth

Did you know some women genuinely find birth feels so good they have an orgasm?! It was not my case, but I found it fascinating to read about this taboo subject and get a new perspective on all the sensations childbirth can include.

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