“Whatever happens, whether you have a natural birth or a Caesarian section—which can still be in your control and a beautiful experience— you can still feel that empowerment alongside the guidance of doctors and midwives,” says Ng, adding that her goal is not to steer expectant mothers away from a medical birth but to provide women with as much information as possible, so they can make an informed decision and feel confident at the time of childbirth.

“It’s every mother and father’s right to be armed with good information, and an understanding of what the mother’s body can do. Really my intention is just to make you not fear it. Everyone needs a healthy dose of respect and fear around birth; it’s an almost holy thing. But I don’t want women to have this feeling of, ‘Oh gosh, I’ve nurtured and carried this baby for nine months and now I’m going into the hospital and this is going to be horrendous.’ That can really mar the experience.”

Chan adds, “So many of my friends [have] voiced that they felt coerced into induction at 38 or 39 weeks. Understandably, there are times when planned induction is required, but western practice has a tendency to schedule inductions on fear-based presumptions and they are often done before the baby is ready to be born. Relying on the hospital system and consenting to being medically induced can trigger a cascade of other interventions such as epidural, forceps and baby being separated from mum at birth, causing the type of birth trauma that we women do not often talk about enough.”

Birth can be traumatic—it’s one of the most shocking experiences a woman will ever put her body through. Not to mention the mental and emotional challenges: exhaustion, postpartum depression, the disappointment that can result from birthing plans gone awry, and the pressure for our bodies to “bounce back”, to name a few.

So it’s no surprise that more women are prioritising and investing in postpartum care; in Asia, that often equates to the Chinese tradition of confinement or zuo yue zi, which translates to “sitting the month”.

The practice can be traced as far back as the year 960, and involves the new mother spending a month at home while a pui yuet, or live-in confinement nanny, assists her in following routines designed to heal her mind and body after childbirth. This includes helping to care for the newborn baby, household chores, breastfeeding guidance, advice on anything from changing nappies to bathing, dressing and making up milk bottles, and preparing meals that follow a Traditional Chinese Medicine-led diet to support the different stages of healing—you know, the aforementioned “ways of knowing”. 

“In Chinese culture, the belief is that those first 30 days are the most crucial in the healing process, and if you don’t look after your body properly, you increase the risk of health issues that could affect you in the long run,” says Kelly Mi Li, star of Netflix’s Bling Empire reality series, who shared her confinement experience with her 500,000 followers on Instagram. “I was surprised how much I needed [confinement]. I’m such a go-go-go person, I always want to feel accomplished and do the most. But this was a wake-up call that it’s ok—no, it’s necessary—to take time to rest and recover. It helped me realise that I need to prioritise self-care and mental health, not just postpartum but moving forward.”

The traditional practice of confinement comes with a few eyebrow-raising restrictions, though: most notably, the mother is not allowed outside, or to shower, bathe, or wash her hair in the 30 days after giving birth. Thankfully, times have changed since 960, and most of today’s confinement nannies make adjustments to accommodate modern life.

“Back in the day, they didn’t have hot water and the water would often come from a well,” says Li. “That’s why they didn’t let new mums shower, because there was the risk of getting cold or sick. But now we have hot water, heaters and hair dryers.”

Confinement is big business, especially in Asia, and there are a number of luxury confinement centres where new mothers and their babies receive around-the-clock care in a five-star environment.

In Singapore, premium confinement hotel Kai is housed in a heritage building and features a dedicated postnatal spa. In Kuala Lumpur, Kimporo— which translates to “the precious one”—prioritises emotional support alongside care from nurses and paediatricians. Taiwanese pop star Jay Chou reportedly booked an entire floor of Taipei’s luxe Ma Cherie Postpartum Centre for his wife, model Hannah Quinlivan, after she gave birth to their daughter.

“From seeing our guests on day one, then on the day they leave, it’s phenomenal how well they recover, how great they feel about themselves and how confident they feel in their abilities as a parent,” says Lilian Tseng, the Singapore-based director of global expansion for Primecare, which operates Saint Bella, a luxury confinement service that partners with some of the region’s leading luxury hotels—think K11 Artus Hong Kong, Peninsula Beijing, Waldorf Astoria Shanghai and Four Seasons Hong Kong. 

“The idea is a postpartum retreat with one-to-one care, where the mother and baby’s health and recovery are the number one priority. You’ve gone through this huge transformation, your body is going through so much, and now you’re responsible for a newborn human being. Having that kind of care is so paramount.”

Elaine Jiang, head of strategy at Humansa, which oversees Saint Bella’s operations in Hong Kong, agrees. “Postpartum is a vulnerable time for women, especially for first-time mothers who can struggle with issues surrounding identity, loneliness and depression,” says Jiang. “You’re going through something you’ve never experienced, so you’re going to have a lot of questions. There are just a lot of things men will never understand about what we go through in that process. Having 24/7 expert care from women dedicated to supporting the mother and baby ensures that you are physically, mentally and emotionally taken care of.”

Having that care also gives new parents the time and mental space so they can sleep, focus on bonding with their baby and be present in enjoying those precious first days of parenthood.

“The idea of spending a month to rest, recover, bond and focus on nurturing my newborn and myself after nine months of pregnancy and a C-section delivery made perfect sense to me,” says Dervla Louli, an entrepreneur living in Hong Kong. “My postpartum recovery was long with complications from surgery, [but] thanks to [my confinement nanny], I was able to focus on healing while ensuring [my son] Dawson was thriving. We both benefited from her expert care and guidance. Our household learnt so much from her and it set us up for success as firsttime parents.”

There are many women like Irish Egyptian Louli, who weren’t raised in East Asian households but who embrace the practice of confinement—so much so that companies like Saint Bella are spreading their roots: the company will be taking its services to the United States later this year, followed by Thailand and Australia

Another form of support to which new mothers are turning—or returning—are doulas. “They aren’t medical providers but when it comes to birth support, doulas are there for the mother to physically and mentally lean on in the various stages of becoming a mother,” says Ng.

Chan speaks fondly of the benefits she experienced from hiring such a professional. “At one point, my doula showed me an image of a lotus flower opening, a visualisation of the birth itself; what I had to unlearn was the ‘pain’ that everyone spoke about,” Chan recalls. “Only if we are deeply relaxed can our pelvic floor muscles relax, soften and open. The ‘pain’ itself is impermanent, just like everything in life. So much is outside of our control, and if we learn to let go and surrender, things will happen naturally in our own time. I think that was a huge lesson in letting go of who I was and accepting who I am becoming.”

Doulas can provide prenatal care, like teaching relaxation and breathing skills, answering questions about the birthing process and helping mothers to develop a birth plan. During labour, a doula stays by the mother’s side. “She can suggest different positions, assist with her breathing, and involve and reassure her partner,” says Ng. “If it’s a hospital birth and the doula feels the parents aren’t being heard by the doctors, they can help broach that conversation and advocate for the mother.” There are also postpartum doulas who, similar to confinement nannies, support mothers and their newborn babies in the first weeks after birth. 

And then there are bereavement doulas, or “loss doulas”, who support families experiencing the loss of their baby due to miscarriage, stillbirth or abortion. Unfortunately, the process of healing mentally and physically for women who don’t carry to term is too often overlooked. Lana (whose name has been changed to protect her identity) unexpectedly fell pregnant in June last year but miscarried at six weeks.

“My partner and I had no plans to start a family—we weren’t in an ideal position to become parents at the time. But it was devastating and complicated: complicated in the way I felt, which was somewhat relieved but also in a deep state of grief, and then there were the physical complications that followed,” she says.

Weeks after the miscarriage, noticing she had irregular bleeding, Lana went to her OB-GYN, who told her there was leftover tissue in the womb from the miscarriage— also known as remaining products of conception or RPOC. “It was all very unceremonious. The doctor told me I had to undergo emergency surgery, scheduled it with her nurse, gave me a little plastic bag of antibiotics and sent me on my way,” says Lana. “There was no space for me to grieve; no one asked how I was feeling. It was as if I’d just gone to the doctor with a cold. Struggling with depression after the miscarriage, and then the physical trauma of the surgery, was a lot. It really opened my eyes to the fact that there is very little support for women or families who go through that kind of loss.”

Three months later, Lana visited a wellness retreat in Thailand. On the first day, during a marma massage, an Ayurvedic technique that’s believed to help sustain the flow of energy throughout the body, the therapist noticed something as she massaged Lana’s abdomen. “She suddenly asked how my periods are, and I said ‘Fine—why do you ask?’. She told me my reproductive area felt ‘cold’ and that she felt there had been some trauma there,” Lana recalls. “I was stunned. I told her about the miscarriage and the surgery, and about an hour after my treatment, I received a call to tell me they were reworking my schedule to include treatments and therapies to heal my womb. I immediately burst into tears.”

Over the next few days, a team of women rallied around Lana to nurse her womb, and heart, back to health. Just like the elephants. “My partner had been amazing throughout the entire process, but there is really something different and almost sacred about that feeling of sisterhood—having a group of women surrounding you to educate, support, heal and protect you through one of the most transformative experiences a woman can go through, whether you become a mother or not.”

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