This Is What It Feels Like to Have Me as Your Doula

For years, I walked into new spaces every day. A different daycare, a different crèche, a different group of children, parents, and colleagues. I learned to arrive quietly, to sense the energy, to listen, and to adapt. I learned that trust is not given all at once; it’s built moment by moment, in gestures of respect, in how you show up.

Now, I carry that into birth work.

During pregnancy, I meet you with curiosity and openness. I don’t assume I know your story. Instead, I sit with you, I listen, and I invite you to share what matters to you; your fears, your hopes, your traditions, your truths. Sometimes, I offer knowledge about birth, pain relief, or the Dutch maternity system. Sometimes, I bring the rebozo, the sound bowls, or my hands to release tension and open space for calm. Always, I hold a space where your voice matters most.

And then comes birth.

Birth is where adaptability meets devotion. I walk into a room and, like in all those years of stepping into the unknown, I find my place. I tune into the rhythm of the midwives, the nurses, the doctors. I make myself part of the team so that the atmosphere stays respectful and fluid. And all the while, my eyes are on you.

I wipe your forehead with a cool cloth. I hold your hand when you want to give up. I breathe with you, I move with you, I remind you of your strength when you feel like you have none left. A midwife once told one of my clients: “A woman’s body is never too tired to give birth. This is a natural, automatic process.” I carry those words with me. I carry them for you, in the moment you might forget.

And when your baby arrives, I don’t rush away. I stay until you feel safe, nourished, and steady enough to rest in this new beginning. Afterwards, I check in again - because birth is not an ending. It is a threshold.

And I will be there, right at that threshold, reminding you: you did it, you are doing it, and you are not alone.