Being a doula asks a lot of me. A LOT.

It asks for my nights, my weekends, my plans, my projects.
It asks me to put my family second sometimes.
It asks me to hold the weight of other people’s experiences, often at the cost of my own spontaneity, rest, and freedom. Sometimes even my own sanity.
It asks me to be on when sometimes I really need to be off.

And I give it.
Because I believe in the work
Because I love parts of it.
Because I’m really, really good at support. At holding space. At helping people understand what’s possible.

Birth work showed me my gifts—my presence, my voice, my intuition, my steady hands.
It helped me understand that it’s possible to be good at something AND to be passionate about that same thing. And to get paid to do that thing? That’s the magical professional trifecta right there!
It gave me pride.
It gave me a sense of wonder, watching what the human body and spirit are capable of.
It gave me proof of what I’m capable of.

But it also drains me.
I sometimes dread when I’m in an on call window, because the unpredictability of birth is often too much for my mind and body to manage. I can spend days having to recover after supporting a birth. Even the easiest, most “textbook” births physically cost me.

Because every birth becomes a part of me. I hold a small piece of that story in my heart and in my body forever. And after 8 years of this work, that’s a lot of stories to hold. It can feel overwhelming sometimes.

And I’m starting to realize: I can carry the pride without carrying the pager.
I can keep the wisdom and leave the work.

That’s what I know right now.