You Cannot Rush a Bollo and You Cannot Rush a Baby

My grandmother will be one hundred and three in March.

She still sits in the kitchen with a bowl of masa, calling her daughter and her son close so she can show them how to make bollos. Her hands work the corn like they have done it a thousand times, feeling for the right softness, adding a little water, a little salt, wrapping each one so it stays closed in the pot.

You cannot rush a bollo.

If the fire is too high it burns on the outside and stays raw inside. You let the water come to a boil and then you wait without fussing, without lifting the lid, trusting the pot, the heat and the time it takes.

There is a stillness in that waiting. The kitchen feels like a tiny world of its own. A woman, a pot, a bowl of corn, the long memory of those who taught her and those who will come after.

When I sit with mothers now, I often think of that kitchen.

A baby also needs time in the womb. Labor rises and falls in its own rhythm. The body opens in small waves, then rests, then opens again.

When we try to hurry this process before the mother or the baby are ready, the body often tightens. The mind becomes alert and watchful. Muscles that need softness and warmth receive messages of urgency instead.

In birth, as in cooking, there is a difference between kind support and pressure that interrupts the natural rhythm.

Hospitals and birth teams carry many important skills. There are moments when stepping in quickly truly protects the life of a mother or a baby. I am deeply grateful for that. At the same time, many women feel the weight of the clock long before there is any real concern for their safety.

Cervical checks every few hours, the quiet comment that labor is taking too long, the computer screen with its timings, the suggestion that an induction would be simpler to schedule. Little by little the room can begin to feel like it belongs to the clock rather than to the woman.

Inside her, a different kind of time is at work.

The uterus is a powerful muscle, and it listens to hormones and to the nervous system. When a woman feels watched, judged or rushed, her body often responds with tension. That tension can slow contractions, make sensations feel sharper and feed more worry. It is like turning the fire too high under my grandmother’s pot. Things may look active on the surface, yet the inside has not had the chance to cook in a calm, steady way.

My grandmother would never walk away from the stove and shout at the pot to hurry. She would not turn the flame to its highest setting just to be done faster. She knows that real food needs warmth, privacy and time.

Birth is like this.

It asks for a circle of people who protect the mother from too much pressure. It asks for a room that allows her to move, breathe, sound, rest and dream. It asks for midwives, nurses, doctors, partners and doulas who understand that soft lighting, calm voices and a sense of safety are part of how the body opens.

I have seen how powerful it is when a mother is given room to follow her own rhythm. When the team trusts her body while also staying attentive to any signs that she and the baby need more support. When the clock exists in the background, but the main attention rests on the woman herself, on her breath, her progress, her intuition.

Some things need warmth, privacy and time more than they need a strict schedule.

A pot of water and corn. A body. A womb. A baby. All asking us to listen.

If you are pregnant and already feel the weight of time pressing on you, you might try a few simple things.

Find a quiet moment and remember a time in your life when something beautiful unfolded slowly. It may be a relationship, a garden, a project or a meal. Notice how that experience needed space and patience. Let your body feel that memory, especially your chest and your belly.

Then place one hand on your heart and one on your belly. Breathe in a way that feels gentle and full. Imagine you are standing in my grandmother’s kitchen. You see the pot, you smell the food, you feel the quiet confidence in her hands. Invite that same trust into your womb, into the timing of your baby.

When you meet with your provider, bring questions about time. You might ask how they feel about long early labors, what helps them decide when to suggest induction, and how you can plan so that you feel supported rather than pushed. Questions like these can open a conversation and help you understand how your team thinks about timing and intervention.

In my one to one fear release and birth preparation sessions, we often explore these themes. We visit old stories that live in the body, stories of being rushed, judged or silenced, and we soften them with care. We bring the nervous system into deep rest so that your muscles and your mind remember how to trust again. We practice a focused relaxed state that you can use in labor, even in a bright hospital room.

This is not about trying to control birth. It is about tending the inner conditions. You become like my grandmother at the stove, steady and present, listening and adjusting, yet always trusting what is slowly coming to fruition.

There will always be aspects of birth that remain mysterious. The exact hour your baby chooses, the way your contractions feel, the path your body takes. Yet you can honor this mystery while also creating a circle of support that protects time and gentleness as much as possible.

You cannot rush a bollo. You cannot rush a baby.

You can offer the warmth of your body, the privacy of a safe room, the presence of people who truly see you, and the time that real things need.

If you carry fear around timelines, induction or the idea of being pressured in labor, you are welcome to reach out. My Fear Free Childbirth sessions are held online, so we can meet wherever you are. We can look at what you are feeling and find a way for you to walk toward birth with more ease, trust and support.

SHARE WITH FRIENDS