the night my body stopped labor on a highway

I gave birth to two daughters.

Same woman. Same body. Same intention. Completely different deliveries.

Not because something went wrong. Because something went exactly right.

Both times, I got to the same destination. Both times, I had exactly the birth I wanted. But one time, I needed to speed up. The other time, I needed to slow down.

And if I had done the opposite in either moment, it would have gone very differently.

This is what I've been thinking about all week: The accelerator and the brake. Which one do you need right now?

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With Kaja, my first, I was relaxed. Maybe too relaxed.

She was past her due date. A week past. And I felt no urgency. None.

I wasn't worried. I didn't believe in due dates anyway. The baby would come when the baby was ready. I trusted my body. I trusted the process.

But somewhere, something was holding.

I went to a homeopath for a kit I'd heard about. Something to help move things along naturally. But instead of handing me remedies, she started asking questions I didn't expect.

Tell me about your childhood. How was your relationship with your mother?

I didn't understand why she was asking. I came for a homeopathic kit, not therapy. But I answered. It wasn't the greatest relationship. There were things I'd worked through, things I was still working through.

And then she said something that changed everything: "You're not parenting like your mother. You can go ahead and have your baby now."

I didn't know I needed permission. I didn't know I was waiting for someone to tell me I was ready. But something in her words unlocked something in my body.

That night, I went into labor.

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Here's the first thing I want you to remember: Sometimes we're ready, but we don't know we're ready.

We're waiting for a signal. A sign. Permission from somewhere outside ourselves.

And until we get it, we stay exactly where we are. Holding. Not moving. Convinced we're being patient when really we're being paralyzed.

The accelerator is right there. But we won't touch it.

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So I'm in labor. I'm calm. So calm that I start cooking.

I'm having contractions and I'm freezing meals because I'm thinking: Well, I won't be able to cook for a while. I want good food. I want my husband fed. Let me just get a few things in the freezer.

Ole is looking at me like I've lost my mind.

I call the hospital. The birth center, actually. All natural. Birthing pools, birthing swings, everything I wanted. I tell them I'm in labor.

"You don't sound like you're in labor. You're too calm."

I said, "I know my body."

I convinced them to let me come in. They checked me. Six centimeters. I was right.

They set me up in my beautiful birth room. I met my midwife. And I spent the next twelve hours enjoying every apparatus in that room. The pool. The swing. All of it.

And I didn't progress.

Six centimeters. Seven. Eight. And then I stalled.

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Here's the second thing I want you to remember: You can have everything ready and still not be moving.

The room was perfect. The support was there. The conditions were ideal. But I was stuck at eight centimeters for almost ten hours.

Sometimes the setup isn't the problem. Sometimes we just need to move.

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My midwife finally came to me and said: "Listen. You've been at eight centimeters for a long time now. If you're not fully dilated in the next hour, we're going to have to transfer you to the hospital."

Everything I'd planned. The natural birth. The birth center. The water birth. All of it was about to disappear.

And something in me got angry.

The Brooklyn girl in me was ready to fight her. Who are you to give me a deadline? This is MY birth.

But then Ole reminded me, he said: "This is the moment we've been waiting for. Don't pay attention to the fight. We're here to have a baby."

So I let go of the anger. And I focused.

Within an hour, I was fully dilated. Two pushes later, Kaja was here.

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That's the accelerator.

Sometimes you need someone outside of you to say: Move now. This is it. Stop enjoying the process and actually deliver.

Not because you're doing something wrong. But because you're ready, and you don't know it. Or you know it, and you won't act on it.

The accelerator isn't about rushing. It's about recognizing that the moment has arrived.

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Now let me tell you about the brake.

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With Kamilla, my second, everything was different.

We'd just moved back to New York. I found two midwives who would take me. One in Brooklyn, one in New Jersey. We'd just bought a house in New Jersey, so I went with the one closer to where we'd be living.

I go into labor. Contractions are heavy. Ole gets the car. A friend comes to watch Kaja. We get on the road.

Thirty-minute drive. No traffic. Late at night. Should be easy.

We get on the highway, and everything stops.

Bumper to bumper. Dead crawl. In the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere.

I looked at that traffic and I thought: There is no way I am having this baby on a highway.

And my contractions stopped.

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I need you to hear this: They didn't slow down. They stopped.

This was my second child. I knew what contractions felt like. I knew when they were on and when they weren't. These were gone.

My body said: Not here. Not like this.

And I felt completely calm about it. I wasn't scared. I wasn't panicking. I just knew: She's not coming yet.

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Here's the third thing I want you to remember: Sometimes stopping isn't failure. It's wisdom.

Your body knows things your mind hasn't caught up to yet. Your family knows things you haven't articulated yet. The pause isn't procrastination. It's protection.

The brake isn't about fear. It's about timing.

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Ten, fifteen minutes later, the traffic opened.

We merged. We moved. A few exits later, we were getting off the highway, pulling up to the birth center.

And the moment we moved, my contractions came back. Full force.

I got checked in. Six centimeters. Same as the first time.

My midwife said, "Four hours. I give you four hours and we'll be ready."

Four hours later, fully dilated. Two pushes. Kamilla was here.

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Same destination. Two completely different paths.

One time, I needed someone outside me to say: You're ready. Move now. Stop waiting.

The other time, I needed to trust that stopping was the right thing to do. That the path would clear. That the destination wasn't going anywhere.

Both times, I had support. A midwife. A partner. A body that knew more than my mind did.

Both times, I got exactly what I wanted.

The difference was knowing which moment I was in.

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So here's my question for you: Which one do you need right now?

The accelerator or the brake?

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If you're stuck at eight centimeters:

You've got everything ready. The vision. The values. The intention. You've done the work. You've read the books. You've thought about it endlessly.

But you're not moving.

You're waiting for the perfect curriculum. The perfect schedule. The perfect moment. You're waiting for your spouse to be fully on board. You're waiting for your kids to be a little older. You're waiting for something outside of you to give you permission.

And you might wait forever.

What you need is someone to say: You're not parenting like your mother. You can go ahead and have your baby now.

What you need is someone to say: If you don't move in the next hour, you're going to lose this. It's time.

What you need is the accelerator.

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If you're stuck in traffic:

You're pushing. Hard. Every day. Forcing the curriculum. Fighting with your kids. Fighting with your spouse. Grinding through homeschool like it's a job you hate.

And nothing is working.

The harder you push, the more stuck you feel. The more effort you put in, the less progress you see.

What you need isn't more curriculum. More schedules. More discipline.

What you need is to stop.

Not forever. Just long enough for the path to clear. Just long enough to trust that the destination isn't going anywhere. Just long enough to let your body, your family, your instincts tell you when it's time to move again.

What you need is the brake.

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This is what I've been learning, over 16 years of homeschooling, over 19 years of marriage, over two daughters who are now 16 and 14 and creating things I never imagined:

Progress isn't always speed.

Sometimes progress is acceleration. Recognizing the moment and moving.

Sometimes progress is stillness. Trusting the pause and waiting.

And the skill, the real skill, is knowing which one you need in any given moment.

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I think about this all the time now.

In parenting. In marriage. In building this thing we're building as a family.

When do I push? When do I pause?

When does my daughter need me to say, "This is the moment. Move now. You're ready."

And when does she need me to say, "It's okay to stop. The path will clear. The destination isn't going anywhere."

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If you've been running your family like the first business you'll ever run, if you've been thinking about this like a CEO, you already know:

You need both.

Every good leader knows when to accelerate and when to pump the brakes. Every successful business knows when to launch and when to wait. Every strong partnership knows when to push through and when to pause for repairs.

Your family is no different.

The accelerator and the brake. Both take you to the same destination. Both require trust. Both require wisdom.

The question is which one you're in right now.

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So I'll ask again: Which one do you need?

Are you at eight centimeters, ready but not moving? What would it take for you to finally go?

Or are you stuck in traffic, pushing but going nowhere? What would happen if you let yourself stop?

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Here's something I've realized recently.

I've gotten really good at helping people figure out which moment they're in. It's become so natural to me that I never thought to name it or offer it directly.

But I've been doing this for years. In conversations. In passing. Someone tells me they're stuck and within a few questions I can see exactly where they are.

Are they stalled at eight, needing permission to move? Or stuck in traffic, needing permission to pause?

Usually it's three conversations. That's it. Three calls where we look at what's actually happening, what's actually holding, and what the next move is.

Not a program. Not a course. Not twelve weeks of content you won't finish.

Just three conversations to help you see where you are and get you back on the road toward the next exit.

If you've been circling the same block for months, if you know something needs to shift but you can't see what it is, if you're tired of reading books and watching videos that don't actually move the needle, this might be for you.

Hit reply. Tell me where you're stuck. If it sounds like something I can help with, I'll send you the details.

Azizi

P.S. I'm genuinely curious. Which one resonated more? The accelerator or the brake? Even if you don't need the calls, hit reply and tell me. I want to know.