08/11/2026
I believe in birth. I believe that most of the time, birth works beautifully when it is given patience, privacy, freedom, nourishment, movement, and respect. I believe women are capable of making their own decisions about where, how, and with whom they give birth. I believe you should be the captain of your own ship.
And I still don’t encourage unassisted birth.
Not because I believe birth is inherently dangerous. Not because I think everyone belongs in a hospital. And certainly not because I believe women need someone standing over them, managing their bodies or directing their births. Actually, quite the opposite.
For as long as women have been giving birth, they have leaned on other women for support, wisdom, reassurance, and care. Birth has historically been something surrounded by community. Someone rubbed your back. Someone brought water. Someone recognized what was normal and when something wasn’t. Someone cleaned up afterward, fixed you something to eat, tucked you and your baby into bed, and celebrated the enormous thing you had just done.
There is something deeply human about that. And I think sometimes, in our desire to reclaim birth from an overly medicalized system, we can accidentally convince ourselves that autonomy means doing everything alone.
It doesn’t.
You can be completely in charge of your birth and still be supported. You can make every decision and still ask for guidance. You can trust your body and still value another set of experienced eyes. You can decline an intervention and still listen to information about it. You can birth your baby with your own strength while someone holds your hand, applies counterpressure, fills the birth pool, brings you a drink, reminds you to empty your bladder, feeds you between contractions, or whispers, “Everything I’m seeing looks normal. You’re doing beautifully.”
That isn’t someone taking your power. That is someone standing beside you while you use it.
That is what I believe midwifery should be.
By the time I walk into someone’s birth space, ideally we aren’t strangers. We have spent months together. I have learned what matters to you, what you are afraid of, what you hope for, what your previous experiences have taught you, how you communicate when you’re overwhelmed, and what makes you feel safe.
You have learned me, too. You know how I practice. You know what I consider normal and what would concern me. You know what I carry and what I can manage at home or in the birth center. You know what would make me recommend transferring. And you know that a recommendation is exactly that: a recommendation.
That relationship matters. Trust isn’t something we suddenly manufacture when labor becomes difficult. It is something we build appointment by appointment, conversation by conversation, over months of caring for one another.
True informed consent is a huge part of that relationship. It isn’t, “This is what we’re doing.” It is, “Here is what I am seeing. Here are the options. Here are the benefits and risks as I understand them. Here is what I recommend and why. What questions do you have? What feels right to you?”
Sometimes you will agree with me. Sometimes you won’t. My job isn’t to become your adversary when you make a different choice. My job is to keep giving you the best information I have, respect your autonomy, and continue caring for you.
A midwife should be your ally, not your enemy.
And sometimes having an experienced midwife present actually prevents intervention or an unnecessary transfer. A long labor doesn’t automatically mean something is wrong. A placenta that takes a little while doesn’t automatically require panic. Bleeding can sometimes be recognized and addressed before it becomes an emergency. A tired, dehydrated laboring person may need nourishment, fluids, rest, reassurance, a change of position, or simply time. A baby transitioning after birth may need patience and support rather than immediate separation.
Knowing what is normal can be just as important as recognizing what isn’t.
Sometimes my job is to recognize an emergency. Sometimes my job is to recognize that something is NOT an emergency. Both require experience.
And yes, there are rare moments when birth changes quickly. A baby may need help breathing. A shoulder may become stuck. A cord may prolapse. Bleeding may become significant. A mother or baby who appeared completely well can unexpectedly need help. Those situations are uncommon, but they are not always predictable.
That doesn’t make birth inherently dangerous. It makes preparation valuable.
There is an enormous space between unnecessary medical intervention and having no skilled support at all. That space is where good midwifery lives.
Most of the time, I hope I don’t need to “do” very much at your birth. I may sit quietly in the corner, listen periodically to your baby, watch you, bring you water, suggest a position when you ask, remind your partner how to apply counterpressure, reassure you when you hit the moment when you think you can’t do it anymore, protect the quiet, keep everyone else calm, make sure you eat, warm the towels, watch your bleeding, watch your baby, and trust you.
Then, when it’s over, we’ll clean up the room. We’ll get you comfortable. We’ll make sure you’ve eaten. We’ll admire your baby. We’ll probably tell you ten times how beautiful they are. We’ll tuck your new family into bed and quietly leave your house looking remarkably normal for a place where someone was just born.
That has value, too.
Birth isn’t only a medical event to survive. It is a milestone. It deserves witnessing. It deserves celebration. It deserves tenderness.
I don’t believe you need a midwife because your body is incapable of giving birth without one. I believe there is tremendous value in having someone beside you who trusts birth, knows birth, knows you, respects your autonomy, and is prepared for both the ordinary and the unexpected.
You can be the captain of your ship and still have a trusted navigator beside you.
The navigator doesn’t take the wheel. She knows the waters. She watches the horizon. She reminds you where you wanted to go. And if a storm comes, she doesn’t suddenly become your enemy.
She helps you navigate through it.
That is the kind of midwifery I believe in.
