Supporting Birth?

About twelve years ago, I trained as a birth worker. The main reason I took this training was because my plans to become a Midwife when I was in my early twenties were thwarted. I always knew that I belonged in the space where transition from spirit to flesh took place. I had been present and served at births and deaths at that point. In many ways it felt like a next step for me. Although I had never heard of the profession, it was a friend of mine who brought it to my attention. In her words “I was a natural.” But it would be the traumatic birth of my first grandchild that would propel me to finally decide to get formal training.

So, I found my way to a Doula Training that was being offered nearby and I sat for four days being trained by a very well educated and obviously experienced birth worker. I was the only black woman who was in attendance for that training. I remember my trainer expressing the importance of having more black Doulas because there were not many at that time. I walked away from that training feeling inspired and hopeful. I wanted nothing more than to offer my services to women like myself. Women who were teenage mothers. Women who were far from family when their children were born. Women who didn’t realize that they had a choice when it came to how they gave birth to their children. Women who made decisions about birth out of fear and were not given options. Women who experienced one of the most profound moments of their lives feeling unheard, unseen, and disappointed. Mostly because of the melanin in their skin. I understood the gravity of the work ahead of me and so I pushed forward working as a doula.

The trouble for me started when the organization that I trained under announced that they were going to be training male doulas. They also requested that those of us who were certified with them be mindful of some of the terms being used, for example, using the term “chest feeding” rather than “breastfeeding” or use the term “partner” rather than “baby’s father,” or “dad”. In all fairness, I didn’t mind this consideration for families who needed these types of exceptions made, but it was a sign that this was not the organization for me to work with. Something about it just didn’t sit right within my spirit. I had to be honest about what inspired me to be a doula and it wasn’t to serve everyone who wanted a doula. I was inspired to serve the women and their families in my community. The women in my community were ignored, mistreated, violated and dying while giving birth, not because of their family dynamics, but because they were black and unsupported in the medical system of this country. That is what was of grave importance to us at that time. What was in front of us was building a foundational understanding that there is choice in how and where to give birth, and the importance of choosing a provider that can be trusted with our lives and the lives of our children. That alone felt like an uphill battle. Although I decided to remove myself from that organization, I kept connected with the happenings in the doula world through social media. I kept my head down and continued to do my work. I watched online as the political climate and different agendas unfolded in the birth worker world. I felt less inclined to participate in the movement and more pulled towards my own understanding and place relating to birth work. One of the first things that struck me was that doing this work alone didn’t sit right with me. It didn’t feel natural. I felt like birth work was women’s work, womb work, and that should be done in a collective way. Although I do very well at holding a peaceful space during birth, I am not as strong at moving someone’s body around after giving birth. It started to feel a bit like this idea of being trained to be a super supporter was unrealistic and unattainable.

I continued to try to understand how I could still serve and walk away feeling like I had given my very best to my client. That was when I decided to create my family doula service. I was understanding that the work I had been doing with women for most of my life was the foundation I needed to build upon. I strongly believed that women who were going through carrying the responsibility of bringing forth a life from spirit to flesh, needed a village of trusted women to support them in that journey. I decided to model my services after the work I had seen over the years from my own mother and grandmother. They were both women who didn’t separate their own internal healing work from the women they served. My grandmother was a pillar in our community. She was a fierce supporter of women and children. Growing up, I witnessed firsthand the way she took younger women and often their children into her home, taking care of them while they were pregnant and after childbirth, preparing food for them, advising them, showing them how to care for their newborn babies. She provided daycare and would keep older siblings to help families that were oftentimes shaped by mothers who did not have their own mothers nearby to help. My mother was also one who fought hard for women who were young mothers that had fallen into hard times due to sexual, alcohol and drug abuse. Women who were working to recover their lives and restore their sense of dignity. I would watch as she counselled and supported these women through their spiritual and emotional trauma and helped them to stand strongly on their feet in some of their most difficult times. Her generosity and commitment to these women seemed boundless. I wanted to pass such a powerful legacy on to my daughters and granddaughters. I felt like my training to be a doula was an opening for me to do that. I asked my daughters to train as birth workers so that we could work together at giving that type of care to women who needed support, but who were unable to have the physical support of the women they were connected to for various reasons. Mainly to support the women who no longer live in communities or neighborhoods as we once primarily did when I was growing up.

For me as a black woman, I didn’t grow up with doulas. I grew up with women’s circles filled with grandmas, aunties, sisters, cousins and good girlfriends. These were the women who were the first to know when you found the love of your life and who helped you through your first period. They were the ones who you entrusted with your secrets and your fears. They were the ones who knew your weaknesses but didn’t prey on them. They would tell you when your slip was hanging and be right by your side through your toughest battles. They were the ones who you would confide in when you thought you might be pregnant and were there to take joy in the celebration of the possibility of new life and there to hold and support you if that life didn’t manifest. It felt natural to me that these were the women who would be present to support you when life was ready to come forth. As a birth worker, I asked myself a very serious question, “Did we really need the trained stranger?” Or was it that the voices we knew and trusted through everything else in our lives were suddenly silenced because they didn’t have training? Training in what? These were the women who certainly understand how to handle and care for us in some of our most vulnerable times. I began to question if the doula movement was another form of colonization. I wondered if it was another way to silence the ancestral wisdom of the elder women in our lives. Another way to make them feel small and powerless. I started to think, what if doulas took on the role of helping to empower these women, standing and sharing knowledge with them as another voice of encouragement and support for the mother by filling in any gaps? Not entering the sacred spaces of established bonds of womanhood without respect and consideration for what is already there.

Lastly, I want to say this. No one can give birth except for the woman who is giving birth. The only thing any of us can do is help support that mother as she takes that journey. I don’t care how much training someone has, at the end of the day, they will be a supporter. So, for the sake of honoring who we are, I think it is wise if we nurture the belief that we are much stronger together and tried our best to be in service to that.