Held, Not Just Healed: My Postpartum Sanctuary at a Swiss Birth Centre

I thought I knew what postpartum care should look like—until I experienced something completely different in Switzerland.

Giving birth to twins was intense, beautiful, and life-changing. My hospital birth went wonderfully—smooth, safe, everything I could have hoped for. But once the birth was behind me, I knew I needed something else. Not just medical care, but something deeper. A place where postpartum wasn’t treated as an afterthought, where I wouldn’t just be monitored—I would be held.

That’s how I found myself at Terra Alta, a birth centre perched on the edge of the forest, overlooking the lake. A place that felt like an exhale. A place that redefined what postpartum care could be.

A Place That Felt Like It Was Made for This

It was early October, that in-between season where summer still lingers but autumn is settling in, slow and golden. The air was crisp, edged with the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke. The lake stretched out below, deep blue and glassy, reflecting the shifting sky.

My room was the family room, where I could see the lake through the trees, where light poured in at every hour of the day. All throughout the centre, windows framed the forest, letting the outside in. Even when I was inside, I could feel the presence of the woods, the grounding stillness of nature wrapping itself around me. The whole space felt like it had been built with intention—not just for birth, but for what comes after. For rest. For softness. For the in-between.

The Kind of Care That Doesn’t Need to Be Asked For

Mornings began with sunlight spilling through the windows, golden and gentle, warming the wooden floors. The nights, though, were long. Timo, still unsure of day and night, needed constant comfort. I was exhausted in a way that felt impossible to recover from. But I wasn’t alone.

A midwife, sensing my exhaustion before I even spoke it, carried Timo in a wrap against her chest and walked with him for hours so I could sleep. She just knew. And in that moment, that simple, deeply human act, she gave me the rarest gift: rest.

Everything about this place felt intuitive, designed for this exact kind of tender, messy, beautiful beginning. Mornings smelled of fresh bread, warm and nourishing in a way that went beyond food. The days unfolded in their own slow rhythm—no rushing, no beeping machines, no sterile detachment. Just care, presence, and space to breathe.

My husband and oldest son could visit freely, sit with me for meals, be part of these first days. They’d come for lunch and supper, their voices filling the space, their presence weaving into the stillness. The centre wasn’t just designed for mothers—it was designed for families, for connection, for easing into this massive life transition without feeling like you were doing it alone.

The Missing Piece of Postpartum Care

I wasn’t just a mother recovering from birth—I was a whole person, held in a way that felt effortless but meant everything. The midwives didn’t just check vitals or offer advice; they arrived with their hearts wide open, tending to me, the babies, our family. They saw me. They truly saw me.

And that’s what’s missing from so much of postpartum care. In many places, the focus ends the moment the baby is born. The mother fades into the background—her needs secondary, her exhaustion invisible. We track her healing, but do we actually care for her? We tell her to rest, but do we create space for her to truly be held?

Postpartum isn’t just about recovery—it’s about being nurtured, seen, and supported in the most profound, life-altering transition. It’s about care that goes beyond medical checklists. It’s about being surrounded by people who don’t just ensure you’re physically stable but who meet you where you are—tired, raw, transformed—and hold you through it.

Because the truth is, birth doesn’t just bring a baby into the world. It brings a mother into the world too. And she deserves to be held just as much as the child in her arms.

At Terra Alta, I wasn’t just healing—I was being mothered too. And that made all the difference.