The long walk to how I found doula work starts with losing my family. (Oh, okay, bummer).
My dad and my sister took their leave of this world before my son was even a thought.
I was never someone who needed to be a parent. My life was working, and I tend not to mess with things that are working. But with them gone, I felt like I had nothing of me remaining in the world. All they had ever wanted for me was to become a parent. It was the thing they were most certain about: Their kids were the most important thing to them, and I would be an amazing mother.
Of that last bit, I was definitely not sure. I thought I was maybe the least maternal person out there. I’m into evidence, not emotions; code over cuddles.
But here I was with my family gone, and between realizing that the window wasn’t going to stay open forever and my friends entering a new life stage, I thought, okay. Maybe. We decided to try. First cycle, I was pregnant. At 40-something, after 13 years together and zero scares, one shot. I’m not a particularly woo-woo person, but that felt like something else was at work.
And then I had my baby, and I was alone with it in the way that nobody really warns you about: you feel completely isolated, completely alone in this experience that so many are going through. The cliche of “alone in a room full of people” is absolutely real. My partner’s family were wonderful, but they went home, and my people were gone.
OK Sab, that’s real sad and all but what does this have to do with doula-ing? I do this work because I want to be the person I didn’t have, who shows up because they said they would, stays as long as you need, and doesn’t make you figure out how to ask. I never had that, not really, and I think about it every single time I walk through someone’s door.
They’d get a real kick out of that; the ‘nah na nah neener’ singsong of my sister being right all along would thrill them both. So I do this work to bring you a piece of the folk who left me, their love shining onto you, your family.