04/06/2026
It’s been six months since I delivered my last baby… but midwifery hasn’t left my blood.
I still dream about births at night. I still think about the women I’ve served, the families I’ve walked alongside over the last decade.
Each one has left a mark on my heart. Being welcomed into people’s homes, seeing who they truly are, witnessing their most intimate and vulnerable moments… that has been one of the greatest honors of my life.
To be trusted in that space—to offer strength, encouragement, and love—there are no words big enough to describe what that means.
These last six months, I’ve been healing.
I’ve been sleeping.
I’ve been slowing down.
I’ve been caring for my body, my nervous system, and my soul.
I’ve been finding my way back to the root of who I am.
And in that quiet, I’ve been processing.
I’ve been asking myself—what led to the burnout?
And the truth is… it wasn’t the women. It wasn’t the babies. It wasn’t the sacred work.
It was the weight of everything surrounding it.
The constant pressure to defend yourself in a system that doesn’t fully accept midwifery.
The fear of legal risk.
The exhaustion of protecting yourself—not just clinically, but socially and professionally.
The reality of having to attach profit and survival to something so deeply intimate and sacred.
The fight to prove your worth… over and over again.
And if I’m being honest… it surrounded loneliness.
It was about feeling ostracized.
About doing this work without a true, supportive network.
About not having the kind of sisterhood that midwives are meant to have.
Because no midwife should have to carry this work alone.
And it was also about the constant need to be available.
The buzzing of the phone.
The interruptions.
The lack of boundaries around time with my family…
and time to care for myself.
Pouring into others so fully, while slowly losing sight of myself as a human being—
forgetting to offer myself the same care, grace, and compassion that I so freely gave to others.
That piece matters too.
That was never what midwifery was meant to be.
True midwifery—at its core—is service.
It’s community.
It’s education, presence, and love.
It’s sitting with families in their most delicate moments and holding space without judgment.
It’s about empowering women to make informed decisions and stand firmly in them.
It’s about understanding that birth, life, and even death exist within a thin, sacred veil.
It’s about honoring that journey—whatever it may look like.
Somewhere along the way, midwifery drifted from its grassroots.
And I feel that deeply.
I don’t know if America will ever create a space where midwives can practice freely—without fear, without persecution, without constantly looking over their shoulders. Without having to choose between their calling and providing for their families.
But I do hope… one day… it changes.
Because this work matters.
And every single day, I still carry the women, the babies, and the families with me.
Always. 🤍
