With my first, I ended up transferring to the hospital. Guess why? "Failure to progress." That birth was a planned homebirth with a midwife, my husband and my mom. I think our midwife just got bored, actually. After a lot of hours (20 maybe of hard labor), she said how far do you think you're dilated? I said, "Three or four." She said, "You seem to be acting like you're at about a nine." She checked me. Guess what? Three. Then she says, "I just think you're going to be too tired to do it." So my Mom starts getting all scared, then my husband gets on board. Then, there I am. I was in lots of pain and didn't do a good job of standing up for myself.
When we got to the hospital, my midwife got into it with the hospital staff, my husband went to sleep, and my mom went home. So there I was in a hospital, where I didn't want to be, and I really felt all alone. After 34 (total) hours and three hours of purple pushing, I had a beautiful baby girl. I rejoiced in my daughter and loved being a mother. But, I mourned that birth for a long time. I felt violated on a lot of levels.
Fast forward to Eva's birth... I knew I could have a baby. I knew I didn't want someone there to make me second guess my own intuition or project their fears onto my birth. Her birth was lovely. I felt so empowered and happy and grateful afterward.
For me, having a midwife removes the feeling of self awareness and personal power and gives it to someone else. I don't want to give that to someone else.
Also, I can be exactly who I want to be with out feeling inhibited in the least if I labor on my own.