At the year’s end

It’s not about the numbers, though I think I would be somewhat surprised if I counted how many hours I spent attending labors/births/postpartum chapters this past year. I’m really not one for counting, for the admiration, joy, & wonder experienced in birthing rooms has made my heart grow wider than all the fields of my dreams, where love, what’s holy, our wildest dreams all come to meet with wind, matter, angel wings. There aren’t words, nor numbers, that could express all I witnessed this year. The grief, the loss, the joy, the earthquaking moments (most of them), the spellbinding hours (most of them). I’d need a thousand hands to count the true depth of the hours, the days, the families, the babies.

I’m not much of a night owl, but I am for the mothers & families I serve. I’ll wake at any hour for these women and parents, and their littles on their way.

I’ve always had a bit of trouble with work-life balance, and I threw whatever that means out the window when I stepped into midwifery more wholly in the last year or so. It’s a life calling, and it makes my life all the more whole & balanced for it.

This work has a glorious way of stretching me — but never taking me away from who I am in my heart, my roots, what my ancestors & dearest kin know of me. This work ebbs and flows, like any way of being, and in the deep core way of chills down your spine when you feel so entirely aligned with the work you’re doing on earth. Clay, my partner, tells me this is what the Japanese call ‘Ikigai’ — a word, less often utilized, to describe such a calling that wakes me at any hour with ease & joy.

My reason for waking, at said any such hour, taking me from my hummingbird daily buzzing to my night owl perch — holding awareness and presence like the tools that they are (oftentimes, the only ones that matter in a birthing space).

My doula work expanded beyond my expectations this year, and I can only bow deeply with gratitude for the families who entrusted me, welcoming me into their homes, hearts, & most sacred moments, however heart aching, however wonderful, however that ‘everything, all at once’ sensation.

Midwifery drew me in with a warm hug, and an occasional splash of amniotic fluid, meconium, & blood on my scrubs & gloves. Midwifery school, and assisting under my magical preceptor, feels like the holiest compost cycle. Dissolving what no longer serves, learning anew, and with such grace held for me. It’s an often unruly rhythm, and I truly lose track of space & time when I am wearing my ‘student midwife’ hat. At one moment, it all makes sense, I think I’ve got it. The next, I’m profoundly humbled. Such is life, I suppose, but I wouldn’t want this depth of life in any under context. I’ve been told (with farming, too) that if there’s anything else I want to do, to do that. I can’t think of a thing — this is it for me, & it’s holy, it’s grand, it breaks me, and heals me, and I hope it brings the same mystical, wondrous feelings to those receiving my care.

If you were in my care this year, I hope you know how often I think of you. Your power, your strength, your softness, your love-rich family. If you’re coming into my care for the coming year, I think of you just as often, and I hold you in this dreamy little home in my heart for these families, every aspect, every morsel, of home life & childbearing rhythms. It’s gritty, it’s heavy metal at times, and I wouldn’t change a thing.

It’s the work of crafting a world of care, connection, kinship, & sensitivity. Thank you for allowing me to do my work, and being in it right alongside me.

🕯️