Once upon a time, when a woman got pregnant,

it was like greeting an old friend.

 

She would have grown up surrounded by pregnant women and babies. She would have seen her mother, her aunts, her neighbours, grow big bellies, give birth, and nurse their children. She would have held, rocked, changed and sung to the babies. She would have seen the power of a woman in labour, and the fragility she shared with her newborn.

 

When she herself got pregnant, the same women would gather around her. They would tell her their birth stories, listen to her doubts and fear, reassure and empower her. They would give her a map, a compass, and directions to navigate the next phase of her life – motherhood.

 

On the day of her birth, they would gather again, talking in hushed voices by the fire, and when she had given birth to her baby, they would feed her, wrap her, massage her, and allow her to rest.

 

This was more valuable than any material gift. Passed down from one generation to another, the knowledge that she was enough. That her body intuitively knew how to nurture and birth her baby. The knowledge that she was not alone on her path – that the growing, the opening, the nursing, the rocking, had been a part of her, from the start. A true heirloom of wisdom, sisterhood, and love.

 

Today, many of us live far away from our families, in different countries, and often we find ourselves isolated when we need this support the most.

 

I am a doula because I believe every mother deserve to be given constant, nurturing support, and be empowered to choose how they birth their baby.

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I want each woman to walk into motherhood with this heirloom.