I offer trauma‑informed guidance rooted in ancestral wisdom, self-direction, and a cross‑cultural lens, grounded in my background in archaeology and anthropology.

I have embodied experience across the spectrum of the birth world—from a hospital birth that ended in a cesarean to an unassisted freebirth at home, where I worked with midwives but chose to have them arrive after my baby was born. Living both stories changed me. It taught me what happens when power is outsourced—and what’s possible when it returns to the family. It led me to a new calling focused on supporting individuals and families through this rite of passage and beyond.

THE FIRST BIRTH: When Birth Happened TO Me

For my first pregnancy, I let insurance dictate where I received care. I had no fear of homebirth; I simply didn’t want to pay for it. So, like many, I went to the hospital. I laugh at myself now—I thought the hospital was “progressive” because they had a yoga ball. I had a doula, but I didn’t understand the paradigm I was entering: the historical and cultural context of birth in a for‑profit system, the job of a hospital to manage birth, and what it means to give birth inside institutional timelines.

My pregnancy was healthy and easy. I was hiking, working out, and delighting in the liminal space of becoming a mother. And yet, what unfolded in labor was a cascade of interventions that culminated in an “emergency” cesarean (in medical terms any cesarean after labor begins is called an emergency) largely because my body didn’t meet hospital timelines that I didn’t even know existed. I hadn’t considered the possibility of a cesarean and didn’t advocate for family‑centered measures. I was separated from my baby immediately. When I finally received him back, I was depleted and falling asleep from the three-day birth. Nurses wouldn’t allow him to sleep beside me. They took him again and, without my consent, fed him formula. He never latched or was able to nurse, and I pumped exclusively for a year.

The aftermath was disorienting and traumatic. My gut and nervous system felt scrambled from the antibiotics and narcotics. I didn’t protect my postpartum space. I allowed too many visitors too soon and had no time to integrate what happened because I was tending to everyone else’s needs. My son seemed unsure he’d been born, he didn’t cry for two weeks and was life‑flighted to Colorado Springs Children’s Hospital for low oxygen. No cause was found. It was a jarring initiation into motherhood. In the months and years that followed, I devoted myself to realignment—of my body, his body, and our birth cycle. The first threads of our bond were frayed, but I have worked hard and rewoven them into something strong and deeply connected.

THE SECOND BIRTH: When I Took My Power Back

By the time I conceived again, I knew something had been taken from me, and I would not allow it to be taken again. In much of America, once you’ve had a cesarean, you’re steered toward repeat surgery. I chose a different path. I committed to a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean). I began in the same hospital system but couldn’t find a provider who truly supported me, so I started working with homebirth midwives.

This pregnancy transformed me. I stopped outsourcing my power. I developed my intuition and learned to trust my body, my baby, and birth completely. In my third trimester, I received visions from my ancestors and my child. She told me her name, and I knew how the birth would unfold before it happened. I created a protective nest around myself with clear boundaries around my space, time, and energy. I used gratitude and curiosity as my guides.

I had a pain‑free birth that changed my life. Postpartum was the cocoon I didn’t have the first time: quiet, protected, designed to nourish our bond. I rested for three months, and I didn’t leave my bed for the first month. The rest was medicine. It accelerated healing. Within a year, I was stronger than before I had the baby—because I honored rest as part of recovery.

WHAT MOTHERHOOD TAUGHT ME ABOUT POWER

I wasn’t someone who always wanted children. I didn’t decide to become a mother until six months before conceiving. I didn’t become an embodied mother until my second child was born. I once believed that being a powerful woman meant working like a man. Now I know that all true power(and dis-empowerment) begins with conception and birth. Now I understand femininity as the creative intelligence that carries life and holds thresholds.

I do not believe everyone needs an unassisted birth to experience this rite of passage. That was simply my path. The difference between a “good” birth and a traumatic birth is not being at home or opting for an epidural; it is making informed decisions from a place of power. I believe in evidence‑based care rooted in parent‑led decision‑making, in providers who listen, and in systems that honor time, physiology, and family. Birth must be returned to families.

Because I have lived the consequences of surrendering my power—and the liberation of reclaiming it—I stand for care that centers parents, protects postpartum, and trusts bodies and babies. That is the future of birth I’m committed to.

ALL families are welcome. I am deeply committed to serving BIPOC and LGBTQ2S communities.