The room was still. I lay there, exhausted but elated, cradling my newborn, his tiny body warm against my chest. My mind was a blur of emotions: relief, joy, and a hint of disbelief that it was all finally over. The hum of the machines and the quiet murmur of voices outside my door were the only sounds breaking the silence.

Then, the door creaked open. I glanced up, expecting a nurse to check on us or adjust a monitor. Instead, a small group of labor and delivery nurses filed in, clipboards and pens in hand, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and eagerness. One of them, a kind-faced woman who had been with me during the most intense part of my labor, spoke up: “We’d love to ask you some questions. Can you share how you knew so much about pushing?”

I blinked, momentarily stunned.

Here I was, still tethered to IV lines, feeling like my body had been through a storm. And yet, these seasoned professionals wanted me to teach them? The absurdity of it all almost made me laugh, but then I caught the sincerity in their eyes. They were genuinely intrigued.

As I began explaining my approach to pushing, one of the nurses interrupted me, saying, “Wait, let me grab a pen and paper. I’m going to teach everyone this information.” I outlined the method I had used—one that didn’t involve the breath-holding or purple pushing they’d been trained to teach. They listened intently, jotting down notes and asking thoughtful questions. By the end of our impromptu lesson, they were amazed. They couldn’t wait to help more moms push this way.

But that moment—teaching them—stood in stark contrast to my experience just hours earlier.

“Hold your breath and push like you’re having a bowel movement,” they had told me.

Wait, what?

In between contractions, I calmly explained to the nurses that I was a pelvic floor physical therapist and would, in fact, not be pushing with a breath hold. They looked confused but went with it… at first.

Navigating a difficult birth experience while trying to listen to my pelvic floor physical therapy knowledge was no easy feat, especially when met with old-school pushing advice. When I asked to switch positions, they told me, “It really doesn’t matter at this point. Just try holding your breath while you push.”

The OB-GYN kept coming into the room and asserting that something was wrong since I was “still pushing.” The research actually shows that 90 percent of women having their first baby complete the second stage of labor (the pushing stage) in just over three hours. However, I was being checked on almost every 30 minutes and pressured to change the way I was listening to my body, simply because they had their own schedule.

My baby and my body’s vitals were just fine. There was no reason for them to rush me.

I remember questioning everything I had been taught about safe pushing techniques. Even though I had taught countless pregnant women in my physical therapy office the safest ways to push, I was still surprised that nobody in my birth room was backing up the knowledge I knew. They were making me feel like I was doing something wrong.

It was only after the birth, when the nurses asked for my guidance, that I felt a sense of validation. As I talked, I felt a strange sense of empowerment. Here I was, a brand-new mother who had just navigated the most physically and emotionally intense experience of her life, teaching a room full of professionals. It wasn’t just surreal—it was a moment of clarity. All the preparation, the self-education, the trial and error had culminated in not just bringing my son into the world, but in having something valuable to share.

This experience is one of the reasons I created my birth class, The Push Lab. My L&D nurses truly had the best intentions. They were my cheerleaders. They rooted for me every step of the way. But when it came time to push, a switch flipped. They became more resistant to my ideas. They wanted me in a flat back position and were confused why I was pushing back.

It took a long time for me to come to this realization: it’s not their fault. They coached me confidently in the way they were taught to teach moms how to push. They didn’t know what they didn’t know.

That moment in the hospital room planted a seed in me. It was the first time I truly understood how much power there is in sharing what we know, in passing on what we’ve learned to lift others up. And it’s why, even years later, I’m still passionate about revolutionizing childbirth education. Because every woman deserves to feel prepared, empowered, and capable when it’s her time to bring life into the world.

And to think it all started in that quiet hospital room, with a pen, a paper, and a group of nurses who simply wanted to learn.

If you would like to learn how to push safely and recovery smoothly, join my birth course, the Push Lab. You can find out more here.

From your girl on the internet who cares about your childbirth journey,

xo, Dr. Betsey