Seasons of a Birthkeeper
When birth work was first ignited in me, I was a young woman entering my own childbearing years. I was learning about pregnancy, birth and motherhood not only through books and teachers, but through my own body and through my own babies. My children and my work grew alongside one another. The seasons of my family and the seasons of my work became deeply intertwined. Now, almost three decades later, something feels different. My children are grown. They are young adults making their own way in the world. They are now around the age that I was when I was becoming a mother myself. As I look at them, I realise that I, too, am standing at the threshold of a new season. Not yet a grandmother, perhaps, but certainly no longer the young mother who first stepped onto this path. This week I also quietly moved into inactive status with my professional midwifery certification. It was not a decision made in a moment. Like many decisions that matter, it unfolded over time. There were practical realities, changing requirements, and many months of trying to find a way forward. But alongside all of that was a growing sense of acceptance. Sometimes life gently asks us to pause, not because we are giving up, but because we are being invited to listen more deeply. Although there is definitely an aspect of experiencing the loss of something I worked hard to achieve, it also feels like an opportunity to stop for a while and ask a different question. Who am I, in relation to birth, in this season of my life? For many years I have cared deeply about building bridges between different worlds. I have been grateful to study and work within traditional, academic and medical spaces. Each has taught me something valuable. Each has helped me understand birth from a different perspective. I have appreciated being able to move between those worlds, and I remain deeply thankful for the opportunities my professional certification has opened for me. But over recent years I have also found myself reflecting on something else. Can the deepest work of birth ever be fully held by institutions? Not because institutions are without value. They have an important role. Good legislation can protect women. Education can deepen understanding. Professional standards can help create safer care. Yet the healing of birth itself begins elsewhere. It begins in homes. In quiet rooms. In relationships. With women and with babies. In communities willing to sit beside one another with humility, love and presence. I don’t know whether I will return to active certification. I don’t know what new forms this work may take. Birth has taught me many things over the years. One of the greatest has been that life cannot always be forced into our timelines. There are moments for action. And there are moments for waiting. There are seasons for pushing. And there are seasons for allowing something new to gather itself before it enters the world. Perhaps this is one of those seasons. And for now, that feels like that is...
Read MoreStories are teachers. Stories are guides.
Last week I found myself immersed in stories. Within the Ubuntu Birth Attendant Reflection Spiral we began sharing the stories that have shaped us as birth attendants. A few days later, within the Silent Birthkeeper, we spent our session reflecting on birth stories themselves and the many ways they continue to teach us. It reminded me that stories are one of the oldest ways knowledge has been passed from one birth attendant to another. Stories are teachers. And they are guides. Long before textbooks and research papers, there were stories. The woman who laboured for days before her baby was born. The breech baby who suddenly flipped in mid labour and surprised everyone by being born head first. The haemorrhage that looked frightening but resolved beautifully. The births that changed everything we thought we knew… These stories become part of us. They quietly shape how we think, how we respond, and what we notice when we sit beside another woman. They feed our intuition: that quiet, embodied knowing that cannot be taught in a classroom but only by sitting with birth. They deepen our gut sense as birth attendants. And they expand our understanding of what is possible. Like a tree that is slowly shaped by the elements, so too are we, as birth attendants, shaped by the births we attend. Over the years, I have learnt as much from the births that unfolded gently as I have from those that ended in heartbreak. Both have been my teachers. But stories ask something important of us. They ask us to learn without projecting. To remain open to the uniqueness of each mother and baby. To allow every birth to unfold on its own terms, rather than through the lens of the last one we witnessed. Perhaps this is why gathering together matters so much. When we share our stories, we preserve knowledge that might otherwise be lost. We remind one another that we are not carrying this work alone. And together we slowly grow not only in knowledge, but in discernment. I feel deeply grateful that the True Midwifery community continues to create spaces where these stories can be spoken, witnessed, and held with great...
Read MoreYou Are Not Alone | A Message for Young Men, Boys and the People Who Love Them
This past week, our community lost a young man. He was nineteen years old. A friend of both of my sons. In fact, he and my youngest son were born just a day apart. Like so many who knew him, I have found myself carrying a mixture of sadness, confusion and unanswered questions. By all accounts he was well liked. A young man with friends. A young man with a future. A young man who seemed to have so much going for him. And yet, for reasons known only to him, the weight of what he was carrying became too much. As a mother, this loss has touched me deeply. As a birth attendant, it has touched me in a different way. The day we learned of his death, I had just returned from attending a beautiful birth. A little boy had been born gently through the water into his mother’s loving arms. Later he rested skin-to-skin on his father’s chest, welcomed by a family overflowing with love, wonder and belonging. As I sat with the news of this young man’s death, I found myself holding these two images side by side. A newborn baby boy entering the world. A nineteen-year-old young man leaving it. Between those two moments lies an entire lifetime. Every man was once a baby. Every man was once held. Every man somebody’s son. Every man once arrived carrying his own unique gifts, dreams and possibilities. And yet we are living in a time when many boys and young men are struggling. Loneliness is increasing. Rates of anxiety and depression are rising. Many young men feel uncertain about where they belong, what is expected of them, and where they can safely bring their fears, grief and vulnerability. As a mother of two sons, I often find myself wondering what it means to raise boys in this world. What helps a boy grow into a man who feels welcome here? What helps him know that he belongs? What helps him trust that he can ask for help when he needs it? I do not have answers. But I do believe these are questions worth asking. Perhaps one of the greatest gifts we can offer our sons is not advice, solutions or certainty. Perhaps it is relationship. Perhaps it is presence. Perhaps it is creating families, friendships and communities where boys and men know they can arrive exactly as they are. Not only when they are successful. Not only when they are strong. Not only when they have everything figured out. But also when they are struggling. When they are lost. When they are hurting. When they need help. Men’s Mental Health Awareness Month invites us to have conversations that are often difficult and uncomfortable. But perhaps these conversations are necessary. Not because we have all the answers, but because silence has never been a good companion to suffering. If you are reading this and carrying something heavy, please know that you do not have to carry it alone. Reach out. Speak to a friend. Speak to a family member. Speak to a counsellor. Speak to someone. And if you are the parent, sibling, partner or friend of a young man, perhaps today is a good day to reach out. Not because you suspect something is wrong. But because connection matters. Because belonging matters. Because our sons matter. To this young man, whose life touched so many people, and to every boy and man who may be struggling silently today: You matter. Your life matters. And to his family, friends and loved ones, who now carry the...
Read MoreTHE BASIC NEEDS OF THE NEWBORN
Listening at the Threshold of Life There is a moment, just after birth, when everything is still tender, open, and profoundly alive. The newborn is adapting to life outside the womb.The mother is adapting to life with her baby in her arms.Both are exquisitely sensitive to their surroundings. How we meet this moment matters. The first hours and days after birth are not simply a time of transition; they are a time of imprinting. What is felt, sensed, and experienced here echoes forward: into bonding, regulation, health, and our capacity to meet the world. When we speak about the basic needs of the newborn, we are not speaking about techniques or protocols. We are speaking about conditions. About atmosphere. About the quality of presence offered around new life. In this reflection, we turn toward a simple yet radical orientation:zero separation and zero interruption. ––––––––– LISTENING THROUGH THE LENS OF MONTESSORI AND ODENT Looking through the lens of Maria Montessori and Michel Odent, we are invited to reconsider what care truly means in the earliest moments of life. Montessori understood that birth and early life must be protected, not managed. She spoke about the newborn as a “spiritual embryo,” a being in a profound state of formation, deeply affected by the environment into which they arrive. Privacy, warmth, continuity, and calm were not luxuries, but basic needs. Michel Odent later articulated this understanding through the language of physiology and Primal Health. He showed how early experiences shape the interaction between the primal brain, the hormonal system, and the immune system: systems that guide us for a lifetime. High levels of stress and interruption in the early hours after birth can have lasting effects on bonding, regulation, and health. Both Montessori and Odent remind us of something quietly challenging:any unnecessary help can become an obstacle. ––––––––– THE NEED FOR SAFETY, SERENITY, AND SILENCE The most fundamental need of the mother and newborn is to feel safe. Safety allows the body to soften.Serenity allows hormones to flow.Silence allows adaptation and bonding to unfold. After birth, both mother and baby are recovering from an immense physiological and emotional passage. They are learning each other. Their senses are heightened. Their nervous systems are open and impressionable. When the space around them is filled with noise, conversation, observation, or subtle interference, energy is pulled outward. When the space is quiet, respectful, and restrained, energy can turn inward: toward healing, connection, and rest. Silence is not emptiness.It is an offering. It allows mother and baby to reconnect after an abrupt separation. From this reconnection, everything else flows. ––––––––– LEARNING WITH KARIN SLABAUGH This work is at the heart of the teaching shared by Karin Slabaugh, who has dedicated her life’s work to studying, guarding, and protecting the newborn. Karin brings together Montessori’s original insights with decades of lived experience and careful observation, bridging traditional wisdom with contemporary understanding. Her work is grounded, humble, and deeply respectful of the newborn as a sensitive, relational being. Karin and I collaborate closely on the Basic Needs of Babies work, and it is a deep honour to walk alongside her in exploring how we meet life at its very beginning. You can learn more about this shared work here:https://www.montessori-for-life.org/the-basic-needs-of-babies/ ––––––––– A QUIET INVITATION When we change how we meet the newborn, we change something fundamental, not only for individual families, but for the wider culture. This reflection is an invitation to listen more closely.To protect the earliest moments of life.And to remember that sometimes the most powerful care we can offer is silence, trust, and reverence. ––––––––– This session is...
Read MoreReflections on Our Study Spiral Honouring Michel Odent
Last week’s Study Spiral, Peace on Earth Begins at Birth, was one of those gatherings that quietly settles into the bones. Days later, I am still carrying the tenderness and the sense of profound connection that arose as we came together to honour the life and legacy of Michel Odent, a man whose work has shaped, guided, and challenged so many of us walking the path of True Midwifery. There are moments in this work that feel like thresholds, where something subtle shifts in the collective field. This Spiral felt like one of them. A Visit From Liliana The most moving part of our time together was the presence of Liliana, Michel’s partner in life, birth, and death. With an honesty that was both steady and fragile, she shared a recent birth she attended, a story woven with sensitivity, intuition, and that unmistakable presence of someone who has lived and breathed birth for decades. She also spoke about the tenderness of Michel’s passing, her own grieving, and the intimacy of accompanying someone you have walked beside for so long. Her words did not come as teaching, but as transmission: a kind of living echo of Michel’s essence. We became, without needing to try, a circle of elephants, quietly standing with her, holding her experience, her remembering, and her love. In that moment, the Spiral became what it always hopes to be:a place where wisdom meets humanity, and where our collective holding becomes a form of care. The Lineage of Love and Attention One of Michel’s most important teachings — and one Liliana echoed — is this: “Birth is a story between two people — the mother and the baby.” It’s such a simple sentence. And yet, in a world where birth has become increasingly technologised, politicised, and crowded with opinions, this truth feels more radical than ever. The mother.The baby.Two nervous systems finding each other.Two bodies completing an ancient dance. Everything else is secondary. Our Spiral felt like a return to that simplicity, not in a nostalgic way, but in a deeply embodied, grounded way. A remembering of what is actually essential. Continuing Michel’s Care After the session, I reached out to thank Liliana and asked whether there was a charity or cause that reflected Michel’s values, something to which we could donate the proceeds of the gathering. Her answer surprised me with its sweetness. She told me that Michel had always been especially protective of the birds and squirrels in their neighbourhood in London. Feeding them was a daily ritual of kindness. She still continues this small act on his behalf. She suggested we donate to London Wildlife Protection, a local organisation that cares for urban wildlife. And so, in honour of Michel, that is exactly what we will do. I find something beautiful in this:that our Spiral community, gathered in his name, will help feed the birds and squirrels he loved. A simple, humble continuation of his care. An Invitation Into Our Final Spiral of 2025 As we close this year of Study Spirals, a year rich with learning, remembering, and returning to the roots of our craft, we have one final gathering remaining. And it is a special one. Closing the Bones with Jodi Jade In December, we welcome Jodi Jade, who will guide us into the lineage, history, and deeper purpose of the Traditional Mexican Closing of the Bones ceremony. This Spiral will be an exploration of: the origins of the Rebozothe wisdom of rites of passagehow ritual restores what modern life often fracturesthe variations and deep healing potential of Closing the Bonesand the essential elements of postpartum care and community holding It feels like...
Read MoreCarrying the Thread: A Soft Tribute to Michel Odent
As I prepare for my talk this coming Thursday, Peace on Earth Begins at Birth — Honouring the Work and Legacy of Michel Odent with Ruth Ehrhardt and Clara Scropetta, alongside my friend Clara Scropetta, I am filled with tender emotion.
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