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Pregnancy After Loss Doula, Brevard, NC (2025)

10/09/2025

Today’s podcast episode (with the most amazing guest!) touches on this.

I get why so many loss parents (and even some birthworkers) believe this.
After all the grief, you need something to hold on to—something to make the pain feel worth it. So when that positive test shows up, it feels like redemption. Like maybe this time, you’ve “earned” a happy ending.

But here’s the truth, friend: that belief sets you up for even more pain.
Because it ties your hope to an outcome… instead of letting it live in you.
And when hope depends on what happens, it becomes fragile.
It shatters the moment things don’t go as planned.

What if we saw hope differently?
What if hope wasn’t proof that things will turn out the way you want—
but the quiet strength that helps you keep showing up, even when they don’t?

When you start to nurture hope as something you carry, not something you earn, everything changes.
You stop living in constant fear of it being taken away.
You start to breathe again, even when the future feels uncertain.

Because you deserve to live with hope—not the kind that promises a certain ending,
but the kind that promises you’ll be okay, no matter what happens next.

So here’s your choice:
💔 Keep clinging to the idea that safety only exists when everything goes right, and stay stuck in that exhausting fear cycle.
🤍 Or begin to believe that your hope, your peace, and your healing can exist right here—today—no matter the outcome.

If you’re ready to explore this shift deeper, I talk all about it with in this week’s episode of the podcast.
Comment “podcast” below and I’ll send it your way. 💬

10/08/2025

It’s National Midwifery Week, and I can’t think of a photo that sums up midwifery better than this one. Here she is, my midwife, holding a chux pad while I stagger across the room to the bathroom moments after birth.

The work is messy, the work is raw, the work is real—and yet, it is done with unwavering love.

Midwives show up for the moments no one else sees, for the gross, the heavy, the tender spaces of birth, because caring for their clients is never about convenience or comfort—it’s about presence, devotion, and the quiet courage to step into what others might shy away from.

This is midwifery: the unseen labor of love, the hands that hold us steady when we feel weakest, the hearts that celebrate alongside us even in the middle of the mess.

Thank you, , for embodying the selfless love of midwifery 🤍

10/06/2025

To the mama whose baby just died,

I love you 🤍

10/04/2025

I believe soup is a special, quiet kind of magic. 🥣✨

The week I learned my baby had died, I didn’t want words. I didn’t want advice. I wanted chicken noodle soup—the kind that curls steam around your face and seeps warmth into your bones. It held me when my tears had run dry, cradled the hollow ache in my chest, whispered that softness still existed in a world that felt unbearably sharp.

Two years later, after my rainbow baby’s first cry, I longed for that same soup. That gentle, golden warmth, the taste of comfort and love steeped into every spoonful.

Now, I carry it like a secret offering. I bring it to friends who are sick, to postpartum mothers, to anyone navigating the quiet devastation of loss. A bowl of soup is a tender gesture, a silent promise: I see you. I hold you. You are not alone.

If you love someone, make them soup. Let it be a warm kiss, a soft hand on their shoulder, a small magic that says: “I am here.” 🤍

10/03/2025

There’s really not much more to our birth story. But I would be remiss if I didn’t say how much I appreciate Amy and

There’s so much to love about homebirth. (And there’s a reason we’re willing to cross state lines to have care with Beloved!)

The love and gentleness we are shown by our midwives is worth every extra mile. Forever grateful that our two living babies have been at “home.”

Also, all the credit to for the absolutely breathtaking photos. Thank you so much for being there!

And many thanks to Jessica! She’s not on social media to be able to tag her. But her doula support made a world of difference for me 🤍

10/03/2025

When Amy arrived, I think she could tell something was weird.

I consented to a cervical check. According to Amy, I had one of the most posterior cervixes that she had ever seen. My uterus was tilted to the extent that my cervix was stuck up behind my baby’s head. No wonder I felt like my baby would blow out my back!

Amy had to pull my cervix down. And, let me tell you, that was the worst part of the whole labor. It hurt so bad! But when she did that, I went from 1 cm dilated to 9. In one contraction! My water also broke at that point.

By this time, I was crying that I couldn’t do this any more. It was so intense, and I really wanted things to just stop. If you know anything about birth, you know that when the mom thinks she can’t go on, that’s when the baby is coming. Amy and Jessica both reminded me of that, while Colton held my head and told me I was doing so well.

With the next contraction, I pushed twice, and her head was out! The relief that brought was indescribable.

In between waves, with my baby’s head already out, Amy helped me go from hands-and-knees to a runner’s lunge. And with the next contraction, my baby was born. Three hours and twenty-nine minutes after the first contraction.

It was intense, And so worth it for my beautiful girl. If I had to sum up her birth in two words, they would be “surrender” and  “grace.” So thankful for how God began her story, and I cannot wait to see how He continues to use her as she grows!

10/03/2025

So, that night, I went to bed, praying that I would know for sure that I was in labor, and that I wouldn’t spend the night in the guessing game again.

At 2:50 am, I woke up with a very strong contraction. I thought, “This is it. But I’ll probably wait an hour or so before I wake up Colton.”

Spoiler alert: I did not wait an hour.

Five minutes later, I had another contraction. This one was stronger, and I knew I couldn’t wait. I woke up Colton, and he watched me go through another one, before jumping up and rushing to get everything into the truck to head down the mountain.

We woke up my mom, so she knew we’d be gone in the morning, and my husband called Jessica, the doula.

Colton was actually afraid that I’d have this baby in the truck. So he asked Jessica to meet us in a parking lot on the way down, and then she followed us the rest of the way to our birthing house.

At some point, he called Amy too, and then called Rachael, our birth photographer. To be honest, I don’t remember much about that. I was very focused on each contraction by now.

I do remember that Rachael asked how active my labor was, and I just said, “let her listen to me go through a contraction.” Well, that told her I was pretty active! 😂

We got to the house at 5:00 on the dot. Jessica right behind, and Rachael right behind her. I slowly waddled my way to the door, stopping for contractions on the way.

I wasn’t paying attention to how close waves were coming at that point, but my birth team sure was. They knew I was close to having this baby. But I wasn’t paying attention convinced I still had several hours.

I asked them to blow up and fill the birth pool. No one argued, and they actually obeyed. But they all knew I wouldn’t make it into the pool. In my husband’s words, “I think you would’ve punched me in the face if I had told you no.”

While Rachael worked on the tub, Jessica made me drink a protein drink. She knew I’d need nourishment for what was coming (and she was right). Colton also showed us all a funny YouTube video. The video made me laugh, and it was a good distraction from all the sensations in my body.

To be continued…

10/03/2025

Our baby girl is over 3 months old now! I just published her birth story on my podcast, but I thought it was about time I write it down too.

My pregnancy was a wild one. We got pregnant during a hurricane, and it just stayed crazy 😂 We had floods, fire, tornados, and a blizzard. I had chicken pox and pneumonia as well. So I knew her birth would be a little different too.

At 36-ish weeks pregnant, I started having prodromal labor. I don’t remember having it with my son, but it was really mentally exhausting with this baby. At 38 weeks, I thought it was the real thing. We packed up the truck, drove the hour and a half to the house we’d birth at, and everything. (For those who don’t know, I choose to birth my babies in another state, so that I can have an out of hospital birth with a licensed midwife that I trust.)

About 15 minutes from the house, everything stopped. Not a single contraction. And I was devastated. I thought I’d be meeting my baby that night, but I got nothing. And I was tired.

So I went through two more weeks of prodromal labor. Thinking every night that “maybe” we’d have a baby by morning, and being so disappointing when everything stopped by morning again.

I really had to learn to surrender to God’s plan for my birth all over again. In a whole different way than I did with my losses or with my first living baby.

At 40 weeks and 5 days, I had a midwife appointment. This one was significant because I knew that Amy was out of town at some point in June. But at this appointment, she was back.

I love all the midwives with Beloved, and would have been comfortable with any of them. But I’ve known Amy for a long time. She delivered my son. And I had been praying that she would be the midwife there when my daughter was born.

To be continued…

10/02/2025

Giving yourself grace in grief is not the same as giving up.

After your baby dies, even the smallest steps—getting out of bed, eating a meal, answering a text—require incredible strength. Grace looks like making space for your healing, honoring your baby, and recognizing that slow progress is still progress.

This month, as we remember the babies gone too soon, I want you to hear this clearly:

- Resting is not laziness.
- Slowness is not weakness.
- Choosing compassion for yourself is an act of courage.

You are doing sacred, unseen work every day as you carry both grief and love. And that deserves gentleness 🤍

10/01/2025

Giving yourself grace doesn’t mean you’re weak. It doesn’t mean you’ve given up. And it definitely doesn’t mean you’re lazy.

In the wake of pregnancy and infant loss, even the smallest steps forward can take an incredible amount of courage. Grace looks like allowing yourself to rest, cry, remember, and heal—without the pressure to “bounce back” or get it all right.

This month, as we honor Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness, I want you to know: extending grace to yourself is an act of strength. It’s choosing compassion over criticism, and gentleness over guilt.

You’re not lazy. You’re grieving. And that takes more strength than most will ever know.

Pregnancy After Loss Doula

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