​

My calling to birth work started with my own quest for a different birthing experience. My first birth was an induction that ended in a C-section. Shortly after, I knew I wanted a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean). But at my very first prenatal appointment during my second pregnancy, I was told “no.”

That baby was born in August 2018 via a beautiful, healing, and calm C-section. I was able to have my husband and an amazing photographer in the OR with me, and everything went wonderfully postpartum. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling—I wanted that vaginal birth experience.

So I started digging. I dove into researching everything related to pregnancy, birth, and VBAC. Late-night feedings were spent consuming copious amounts of information. I realized that if I wanted a VBAC, I had to make it happen—it wasn’t going to fall into my lap.

When I saw those two little lines again, I felt prepared and empowered. But during the ultrasound, instead of one heartbeat, we saw two—we were having mo/di twins. Suddenly, my research shifted from VBACs to NICU stays and survival rates. The pregnancy got complicated quickly.

They were born at 30 weeks, weighing 3 lbs 6 oz and 2 lbs. Once life calmed down, I started sharing the events we had endured and everything I had learned, hoping to support other families through difficult pregnancies.

Friends and family began encouraging me to go into the medical field, but with a past as a CNA, I knew that wasn’t the path for me. Others suggested I become a doula. At the time, that didn’t seem like a great fit either. Honestly, I didn’t fully understand what a doula was. When I pictured a doula, I saw an all-knowing hippy feminist with her sage and essential oils. Not that there’s anything wrong with that—but it just wasn’t me.

When I became pregnant with my fifth child, I walked into my prenatal appointment ready to fight. The doctor reviewed my chart and said, “Repeat C-section.” Her words hit me like a ton of bricks—it stung like salt on an open wound. Without hesitation, I blurted out, “No, I will be having a VBAC.”

Back then, standing up for myself wasn’t my strong suit. Time froze as I waited for her reaction. She began listing the risks—but then the verbal floodgates opened. Everything I had learned, both the good and the bad, spilled out of my mouth. I waited, terrified—would she fire me as a patient? Tell me I was crazy? Try to scare me out of it?

Instead, she said, “It sounds like you have a very good understanding of the risks. While I cannot recommend a VBA3C, it’s your body, your choice, and no one can force you into a C-section.”

I didn’t know it at the time, but in that moment, I learned the true power of informed care, self-advocacy, and having your choices respected. And at 40 weeks, right on her due date, my daughter was born vaginally. I finally got the birth I had dreamed of.

A few short months later, our lives were turned upside down. I got a call from my husband’s boss—there had been an accident at work, and I needed to go to the ER immediately. That’s when we learned he had suffered a brain aneurysm and was diagnosed with a birth defect called an AVM. We were life-flighted to Seattle, where he underwent the first of three surgeries.

This time in our lives was terrifying, to say the least. For over a year, I was in survival mode—managing appointments, therapy, and medical decisions, all while raising five small children and supporting my husband through a traumatic brain injury recovery. It wasn’t easy, but with the help of our family, we made it through.

At one point, while giving my husband’s PCP a rundown of everything we’d been through, he asked me what field of medicine I worked in. I laughed and said, “None—unless you count my early CNA years, being a NICU mom who brought the NICU home, a VBAC mom, and now a TBI wife.” My knowledge didn’t come from formal education but from lived experience and relentless research. He told me, “When this is over and life calms down, you need to go back to school. Your mind is being wasted.”

At the time, there wasn’t much light at the end of the tunnel. Life was incredibly hard, filled with surgeries and uncertainty. But as things slowly became more stable and I could finally breathe again, I felt that calling to birth work return.

I started exploring options—maybe I should become an L&D nurse? But I realized I wouldn’t do well with hospital policies or not knowing how my patients were doing after they left. Maybe a midwife? That didn’t feel quite right either.

That’s when I began to really look into what being a doula meant. I learned what doulas actually do—and it clicked. I jumped in fully and never looked back.

The events of my births—and my life—have shaped me into the doula I am today. That’s why I’m sharing this (admittedly long-winded) story—because this work is deeply personal to me.

I might not be that all-knowing hippy with sage and essential oils (although I’ve come to really love them!), but I am the doula who will show up with compassion and respect. I don’t care whether you want a home birth or a hospital birth, unmedicated or medicated—I care that you feel supported, respected, and heard.

Birth is wild and unpredictable. I can’t promise everything will go exactly as planned, but I can promise to treat you with kindness and dignity. I’ll never impose my views on your choices. I’m here to honor your decisions, provide evidence-based information, and support you and your family every step of the way.

If this sounds like the kind of care you want or need, please feel free to reach out. I would love to chat.