Doula Darby

Darby (she/her) is a doula, educator, advocate, and activist supporting expecting and new parents wi

I am a doula with experience caring for mothers and their families during birth, in preparation for birth, and in the postpartum period. I am specialized in labor support in the German birthing culture, babywearing and perinatal loss. It is my belief that every new mother should have individualized guidance as she learns to embrace her journey into motherhood. As a doula, I provide practical and emotional support for a positive birth experience – encouraging you to trust your intuition, empowering you with reliable information and helping you grow into your new role as a mother. Ich bin eine erfahrene Geburtsbegleiterin (Doula) und kümmere mich um Mütter und ihre Familien während der Geburt, in der Geburtsvorbereitung, sowie im Wochenbett und darüber hinaus. Ich habe mich auf die Geburtskultur in Deutschland, Trageberatung und Trauerbegleitung spezialisiert. Ich glaube fest daran, dass eine Mutter das Recht auf individuelle Begleitung hat, während sie sich auf die Reise zum Muttersein befindet. Als Doula, stelle ich die praktische und emotionale Unterstützung für eine positive Geburtserlebnis bereit - ich ermutige Sie, Ihre eigene Intuition zu vertrauen, bestärke Sie mit zuverlässige Information rund um die Geburt , und helfe Ihnen, sich in der neuen Rolle der Mutter hinein zu finden.

04/02/2026

A moment from the Kreißsaal today.

A woman came in to give birth.
45 years old.
First baby.

Her partner left when he found out she was pregnant.

Later, a comment floated through the room, almost like a joke:
“Wer bekommt denn mit 45 noch ein Kind?”
(Who even has a baby at 45?)

And something in me tightened. It took self-restaint to not respond:
"Wer kann in einer Klinik arbeiten mit solchen Vorurteile?"
(Who can work in a clinic with such prejudices?)

The birth room is not a place for judgment.
It is a place for vulnerability.
For complexity.
For stories we cannot see at first glance.

Maybe this mother has wanted this child for years.
Maybe life unfolded slowly, unevenly, painfully.
Maybe this was not “late” at all.
Maybe this was simply… her time. Her life.

So I pointed out, gently:
There is something beautiful about a woman becoming a mother at 45.
Perhaps this wish has lived in her for a long time, and only now is her life making space for it.
It may be different, but just as worthy.

Thinking about this later, I remembered the first sentence of the German Grundgesetz:

“Die Würde des Menschen ist unantastbar.”
Human dignity is inviolable.

Not only in law, but in rooms like this.
In the way we speak.
In what we allow.
In what we protect.

Birth is not a competition.
Not a timeline.
Not a moral achievement.

It is a continuum.

And every family arrives carrying their own history in their hands.
Sometimes the most important work in the clinic is not an intervention.
Sometimes it is simply safeguarding the sacredness of the room.

13/03/2025

So much of the advice given to parents isn’t just overwhelming - it’s completely contradictory. In German, there’s a phrase: Egal wie man es macht, macht man es verkehrt! No matter how you do it, you're doing it wrong.

"Breast is best!"
"Fed is best!"
"Natural birth is the only way!"
"Don’t be a martyr - just take the epidural!"
"Cesareans are for people who are too posh to push!"
"C-sections are lifesaving, why risk a vaginal birth?"

Everywhere we turn, there’s another rule, another expectation, another impossible standard of what it means to be a “good” parent. Yet none of these take into account the individual: their body, baby, or circumstances. The endless advice - wrapped up in books, blogs, and campaigns - often drowns out what matters most: the parent’s own voice.

Today, I visited a mother I met in the clinic who was seeking postpartum breastfeeding support. She had been struggling for weeks, her milk supply dwindling, her stress mounting under the weight of criticism - society, her Hebamme, even her own internalized expectations. Through a reflective process, I mirrored back her feelings, helped her reconnect with her Bauchgefühl (intuition), and supported her in finding her own way - one that allowed her to be the best mother she could be, rather than following the rigid recipe society had forced upon her.

In German, parenting books are called Ratgeber - literally, "advice givers." In English, we soften it to "guidebooks" or even "self-help," a term that glorifies hyper-independence. But parenting was never meant to be done alone, nor by blindly following another’s path.

When I became a mother, I searched outside myself for answers, believing someone else could show me the way. But the real wisdom wasn’t in a book or an expert’s opinion - it was within me all along.

There is no single right way. No perfect path. Advice should only ever be given with consent. And comparison? It’s the thief of joy.

The truest guide is the one already within you - your Bauchgefühl, your intuition, your knowing.

Trust it.

13/03/2025

I smile a lot at births! 😁 Why? Because birth can be, and really should be, joyful!

Unprepared parents head to the hospital feeling overwhelmed, anxious, and with somber faces. They don’t realize how much this affects their birth experience — or that it really shouldn’t be this way! They carry one-sided, often false images of birth in their heads and hearts: that it’s a painful experience to be endured, not something that can be embraced or even enjoyed.

As a doula, I make sure to bring joyful energy to birth.

I talk a lot about acknowledging the breaks. In my birth classes, I teach that the average ratio of contraction time to breaks is 1:5 minutes. Of course, this varies—contractions can last anywhere from 30 seconds to 2 minutes, and breaks can be anywhere from 2 minutes to 5, 10, 20, even 60 minutes or more. But using that 1:5 ratio and another average — birth lasting about 12 hours (another average with a huge range) — that means contractions add up to about 2 hours of intensity, broken into small, manageable moments… and there are still 10 hours of break!

My point being… most of the time spent in labor, there will be plenty of time and opportunity to relax, rest, connect, and find joy.

Finding time and space for intimacy and connection matters, too. Laughter — oh, how I love telling jokes during labor! It dissolves all tension… in the room, in the mind, and in the body.

And then there’s witnessing a birther in their pure strength, determination, and dedication. Seeing them give it their all, motivated by love for their baby, and coming out triumphant.

Yes, birth will be hard. But with the right preparation, it can be put into the context of being a joyous, enjoyable, and joy-full experience, regardless of the outcome. ❤️

09/02/2025

💭 "But what if I upset the doctor?"

I hear this question so often when talking about birth preferences, and I understand why. Many of us were raised to be polite, to defer to authority, to avoid seeming difficult. But advocating for your needs in birth isn’t about being difficult—it’s about being heard.

Because your birth matters. Not just in the moment, but in the days, months, and years that follow.

A supportive provider won’t take your preferences personally. Their role is to offer guidance, present your options, and respect your choices. If that’s not happening, you deserve better—even in labor.

You shouldn’t have to fight for respect in birth. But if you do, I hope you have people by your side who remind you that your voice matters. That what you want and need deserves to be honored. That you are not asking too much.

✨ I’d love to hear your thoughts. Has this ever been a fear for you? 💬

02/12/2024

As the cold sets in and the days grow shorter, I find myself FRANTICALLY trying to reach all the goals I set at the start of the year 🙈

Recently, I read that our twelve-month calendar - known as the Julian or Gregorian calendar - is a masculine construct. If we based our years on moon cycles and menstrual cycles - a more feminine perspective - we’d have thirteen months, with seasons shifting much like how conception and childbirth can happen any time of year.

Some of you may already know the Maiden-Mother-Crone cycle. In "The Women’s Wheel of Life," Elizabeth Davis and Carol Leonard offer something more - a missing phase I feel I’m entering: the Matriarch, a bridge between the Mother and Crone phases. These phases also align with the seasons: Maiden as Spring, Mother as Summer, Matriarch as Fall, and Crone as Winter.

This got me thinking about birth. In birth circles, we know the “trimesters” are incomplete without the fourth: postpartum. This final season is often overlooked, leaving many unprepared for the challenge of recovery while figuring out life with a newborn.

What if pregnancy and postpartum followed the seasons? Spring as the first trimester - a time of subtle growth. Summer as the second trimester - abundant and full of life. Fall as the third trimester - preparation and letting go. Winter as postpartum - a time of stillness and rest.

It’s winter now, and I feel my body longing for hibernation. Yet I’m struggling to let go of my performative self, to embrace the stillness as life slows, decays, and freezes. Winter calls for rest and reflection, for warmth through connection - but I can’t seem to do that…yet.

It reminds me of something I learned in my first doula training: the importance of walking your talk. I see birthers, time and again, hyperfocusing on the challenges of contractions and forgetting to rest in the breaks. I gently encourage them to enjoy those moments of calm. Yet here I am, pushing myself when I should be resting.

So, I’ll work on making that shift now. To rest. To surrender. To trust in the wisdom of the seasons.

25/11/2024

Each year on November 25th, birthers bravely leave roses at the birth locations where they experienced violence or trauma. In Germany, this is called "Gewalt in der Geburtshilfe," and it’s far more common than most realize:

- 1 in 3 birthers describe their experience as traumatic.
- 5 to 8% develop PTSD after birth.

Sometimes trauma stems from the uncontrollable. But much of it comes from providers making decisions without compassion or proper communication. This is why Roses Revolution Day exists - to ask providers to reflect on their actions and recognize the lasting impact of their care (or lack of it).

I’ve seen the full spectrum of care here in Munich - from kindness and clear communication to moments where birthers were dismissed, coerced, or harmed. It shouldn’t take the bravery of birthers to bring roses to clinics to make change happen, but it often does.

If you’ve experienced birth trauma, you’re not alone. I’m here to listen, support you, and connect you with resources that can help you process and heal.

I've also experienced birth trauma, both personally and professionally. Comment a 🌹 or ❤️ if you have too or like to show others you see their experiences.

15/11/2024

There are so many stories in this single snapshot. ✨ My memories from this mother’s previous two births…when she faced intimidating risk assessments during her pregnancies - high uterine artery resistance, increasing the risk of preeclampsia, and placenta previa, where the placenta grows near the cervix. Yet, each time, her body proved its wisdom, and her trust in herself grew. She birthed her first two babies unmedicated, despite doubt and fear, and we celebrated her inner strength together. And this third birth, after which this photo was taken, was no different. A testament to expectant management, this mother actively chose faith over fear, balancing awareness of risks with deep trust that her body knows how to birth.

This was my third time supporting this family for birth, and it’s an indescribable honor to be invited into their sacred space again and again.

As this was a homebirth, the family could move at their own rhythm, without the time constraints of a clinical setting. The placenta was gently delivered and placed in a bowl, and over an hour later, the family was ready to cut the cord. The grandmother had crocheted a beautiful umbilical tie just for this moment, and the father guided the big brother as he cut the cord himself. ✨

In this photo, too, there’s an opportunity for us to witness and learn: the concept of “wait for white.” Allowing the cord to transition from a pulpy, red-and-bluish color to an empty, white cord before cutting ensures the baby receives every stem cell it needs to grow in the next weeks and the appropriate volume of blood. gives babies the best possible start after birth.

And finally, I’m holding my fingers under an umbilical knot, but not a “true” not. This one slides easily and does not cut off any blood circulation. Another wonder to see 💕

Moments like these are profound reminders of the beauty in trusting, waiting, and honoring birth, allowing it to unfold. I’m forever grateful to the families who welcome me into these sacred spaces.

(And I love the Eliot cameo in the photo!)

14/11/2024

Doesn’t it seem like everything is a journey nowadays? We’re the generation constantly on the move, traveling the world. So it’s no surprise that marketing to today’s childbearing generation often frames birth as a "journey."

But what is a journey, really? Sometimes we focus on the destination; other times, it’s about the path. And yet, with birth, there isn’t really a “way.” There’s nothing to follow, no right or wrong path. There’s nothing you need to accomplish - just be. And if birth is a journey, then everyone’s journey definitely looks different. Many doulas, midwives, and organizations I love and have learned from like to say birth is a journey. And there are so many ways this metaphor works! But no metaphor is exact, it’s simply a symbol that helps us understand something when we have not yet built a more realistic frame of reference.

So I’d like to invite you to think of birth as a dance instead. Both a journey and a dance involve movement, and that is essential to birth and parenting - ever in motion, needing to stay flexible and dynamic in order to accommodate our babies and grow with them. But while a journey is about getting somewhere, a dance is about being in the moment. It’s about flow, rhythm, and connection.

When we dance, we don’t think about where we’re headed and start paying attention to how we’re moving where we are. It invites us to be more present, less worried about the future, and to listen to our bodies and instincts - finding grace in the messy moments. Birth is a dance we don’t do alone - it’s a connection, a movement shared with our baby, our partner, other people in our loving support network, and it changes moment by moment. As we dance together, we start to trust that the rhythm of birth is carrying us both where we need to be.

Letting go of control, we allow our bodies to lead and find strength in surrender. Birth, like a dance, asks us to move with the moment rather than plan the steps. The beauty of birth is not in how perfectly we execute the steps, but in how we allow the dance to move us, however it unfolds.

13/11/2024

With each birth I support, I’m reminded of the vast diversity of experiences that make up the landscape of birth. In the last 8 years, I’ve had the privilege to support 82 births, each unique in its own way, and have worked with many more families as they prepared for or processed their birth experiences. Each story I hear—each raw, real moment—reveals the beautiful complexity of birth and the shared strength that unites us all.

In Munich, I’ve supported international, expat, and multicultural families, each bringing their own unique expectations and cultural understandings of birth, postpartum, and what it means to welcome a child into their lives. Through these stories, I’ve witnessed birth as a universal yet deeply personal experience that transcends labels, reminding us that every birth, no matter how it unfolds, is transformative.

Because in the end, how you give birth matters, but what matters most is how you feel, how birth touches your heart, and how it changes you forever. 🌸

13/11/2024

This is my tattoo of my stillborn son. Just days after he died and I birthed him, I knew, instinctively, I’d get this tattoo. I didn’t yet know what it would look like, but I knew it would be here, on my left forearm. I’d imagined holding him here, his tiny head resting in my left elbow, the same place I’d held my other children. My left breast always produced the most milk, and I’d expected him to nurse on this side too, nestled close to my heart.

This spot also holds the best vein in my arms - the one used for blood draws, IVs, and all those medical moments where I’d want my birth team to know my story. I hoped this tattoo would either remind them of my loss or offer a gentle way to start a conversation about him.

But I waited. I didn’t get the tattoo while I was pregnant with my rainbow baby, nor while I was breastfeeding, honoring the health precautions. Finally, when my youngest was almost two, in August 2019, I was ready. I drew the tattoo myself and found a tattoo artist who would work to keep it as close to my drawing as possible - a portrait of my son, surrounded by forget-me-nots.

Since then, I’ve been able to see his face - or at least my artistic representation of him - every day. And the amazing thing I’ve noticed is that the tattoo also helps keep my son more present to other people in my life. I talk about him much more because people ask me about my tattoo. My daughters look at my tattoo when we talk about him. And he peeks out in unexpected ways in photos I take of myself with my living children, in professional family photos, and - perhaps my favorite - photos taken while I’m supporting births.

So I’ll be sharing some of those photos with you soon…you might not see my face in the photos, but you’ll know I’m there when you see my tattoo. My son is the reason I became a doula, the reason I feel so clearly called to this work. He’s my inspiration, even through the hardest, soul-crushing days, and I’m grateful to carry him with me in this way. I hope you enjoy seeing his face in my future posts!

05/11/2024

In case you need to hear this: there is no right way to give birth!

We’re flooded with information these days, and while some of it is helpful—offering options and insights—it often implies there’s a “right” way to birth. But just as there’s no one “right” way to live life, there’s no single way to bring life into the world. Comparing experiences, searching for the “right” hospital, provider, or medication—it’s a cycle that can feel limiting and overwhelming.

In our birth culture, there are two camps: advocates of natural birth, saying “Birth is a physiological process, leave it alone!” and proponents of medicalized birth, warning, “Home birth is risky; you can’t trust your body!” Some say “trust your intuition,” but it can be hard to hear our inner voice over the crowd of opinions. Others turn to statistics, but evidence best serves to evaluate medical interventions, not the nuances of individual experiences.

In fact, I struggle with posting on social media because I don’t believe you need more noise. Birth isn’t performative; it’s a deeply personal, multifaceted experience, unique to each birther and the little one they welcome.

“There’s no way to be a perfect mother and a million ways to be a good one.” – Jill Churchill

Birth isn’t simply “natural” or “medicated.” It’s multi-dimensional, with each experience carrying unique significance. Every birth is as unique as the soul it brings earthside.

So, let go where you can, find joy when it arises, and connect when you need to. Seek help from a compassionate community, a doula, or anyone who feels right to you.

Take what resonates, leave the rest. Birth is a continuum, not a competition.

✨ Just breathe. You’re doing beautifully. ✨

05/11/2024

Today is my third child’s birthday—a day I celebrate with immense joy for the incredible person she is, but also with deep reflection. Her birth was probably the most traumatic experience of my life, filled with overwhelming love and fear. She was born in an emergency cesarean after my body responded adversely to an unapproved induction medication. In this photo, taken moments after her birth, I’m waking up from general anesthesia. My husband had advocated for her to be in my arms as I woke, so I wouldn’t have a single moment of uncertainty about whether she had survived. If you look closely, you can see her tiny fingers peeping out from my hand.

When I look at this photo, I remember the flood of feelings in that moment: disbelief, relief, and mostly the deepest gratitude. The IV in my hand reminds me of the rapid events that unfolded to bring her into this world. The bracelet on my wrist, made during my Mother’s Blessing, stayed with me throughout the cesarean—each bead chosen by friends as a symbol of love, safety, and strength. I didn’t have time to take it off in the rush to the OR, and waking up with it still there felt like I was carrying their love with me, even when unconscious.

Her birth taught me more than I ever imagined about life, love, and resilience. It was my third pregnancy—a rainbow pregnancy after the stillbirth of my son. Fear consumed me throughout, and by the end of my pregnancy, I could barely make decisions. This is something I now work to help other parents navigate—supporting them in cultivating the hope and faith I wish I’d had.

While I’m grateful for the medical support that saved us, it’s with cautious trust. The same system caused the emergency by using Cytotec, an off-label medication not approved for labor induction. I now work to empower other parents to make informed decisions, so they feel more secure about the care they receive.

As I celebrate my daughter’s life today, I also honor the path her birth set me on—one of advocacy, resilience, and purpose. Trauma isn’t something we simply “get over”; it’s something we learn to live with, and it drives me to work for safer birth experiences for all parents.

Adresse

Haimhausen
85778

Telefon

+4917681063676

Webseite

http://www.douladarby.com/

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