The Dish on Doulas

As this past October dawned, I woke early on a Saturday, put on some presentable clothes, and drove an hour north to a farmers’ market – and I didn’t even need any produce.

I was researching an article on doulas for Rhode Island Moms. My initial idea was “An Interview with a Doula” to create a personal connection introducing how and what doulas offer. After discussions with three doulas I either knew personally or through a few degrees of separation, the article’s focus became more broad-based. When I saw that Doulas of Rhode Island (DORI) was hosting a Meet the Doulas event at Lippitt Park in conjunction with the farmers’ market, I knew I’d learn even more.

What is a doula?

Click to read more of my article on rhodeislandmoms.com

My trusty little notebook quickly became filled with the emotional and physical support these women provide to mothers everyday in hospitals and homes. I spoke to Emma setting up the table and welcoming guests. I spoke to Katherine, membership coordinator for the doula organization (who connected me with Paulette who gave me more info via phone). I met Ava, based in my neck of the woods and friends with a Warrior Mom doula I know. I met Emily, who had just relocated to Rhode Island and was getting the lay of the land for mamas here. I met Shay who translated her own birth experience into a way forward with future moms. Some of these women prepare mothers in the prenatal phase and see them through labor. Others support them during labor and at home postpartum. Some prepare nutritious foods and provide childcare while mom sleeps. Some do it all. All establish a solid and supportive foundation for moms to thrive.

While it wasn’t meant to be an article about mental health, that is often the lens through which I view issues. I asked several of the doulas what they do to support and assess mental health/illness in their clients. They obviously all watch for the signs and know when to call in help, but I was shocked by the surprisingly simple, yet profound, response Lily had. As a postpartum doula and overnight nanny, she emphasized the benefit of sleep, how even PMAD treatment programs and hospitals focus on mom getting adequate sleep.

How refreshing that if we ensure moms get what they need (ie sleep, nutritious food, companionship, informed decision making), mood disorders may not even arise!

And THAT is why doulas are a force to be employed, paid attention to, and celebrated.

I spent over two hours speaking to and circulating around the doulas of Rhode Island and their table. I told Emily that I could talk about maternal (mental) health all day. “Me too,” she said.

The article that went to press November 5, 2024 could not contain all the stories and wonderful women I met. The way I serve women and mothers is affected by them. I am thankful for their work and their sharing.

With a community like this, women and mothers cannot go wrong.

The doulas who shared their work and time with me. . .

Many thanks

motherhood, Survival

Exposed

I’m always late.

Not because I’m an asshole.

But my best intentions to leave and arrive in a timely fashion just never seem to progress as intended.

Sometimes a progression of stuff that you just can’t make up stacks up and against and over each other and makes for a royal shit show.

As I breathlessly explained to my daughter’s Girl Scout leader why we were late to one activity last year, “it’s been one of those days”.

She said, “I feel like that’s everyday for you.”

I felt my face stiffen. It often betrays that initial ego reaction you’d usually like to keep under wraps.

She said it with a warm smile and a laugh. She did not mean it as a dig.

My face was more my own sober realization that, while our life may not be, very often our logistics are a shit show.

I do often rush into a room, feeling (and quite possibly sweating) as if I’ve just run a marathon. More pressing than my pulse is the urge to explain. If that old woman with the disapprovingly dipped eyelids knew the gauntlet we’d just run to get here, she’d be impressed we were only x minutes late.

There was the teen who refused to get out of bed. The kid who hid the hairbrush. The one who needed help with socks.

A forgotten book.

You didn’t get my coat?

Shut up

Stop it

I don’t know what to wear

We’re leaving in five minutes?

And that’s when we’re all headed to the same place.

Forget multiple work schedules, sport schedules, driving abilities and available cars.

And compliance is always on a sliding scale with six bars.

I have always been such a good control freak. A logistics queen. Responsible. Trustworthy. With follow-through like we the people. I was never the harried hot mess mom with a shoe full of kids.

Now it seems like everyday is one of those days.

As I said, this woman had not remarked in judgement. And I should not be concerned with the opinions of others. And we do deal with a lot on a daily basis.

I guess I just didn’t want my struggle to be so public.

News

Rainy Reckoning

It wasn’t 18th century France. The room was not a gilded salon. I still am not a high society lady.

But last Wednesday in Westerly, we had a grand conversation. Granted, a small one, but it was grand.

In Salon of Self, the groundwork was laid for a recurring gathering of women and mothers, a place to lay out daily travails and how they translate to the overall journey of motherhood. I envision this workshop to grow and change as its participants do, enhancing our caregiving and individual experiences.

The rain poured down as we shut the lights and closed the door on our session, but a picture my friend sent, seen in a storefront less than a block from where we parted, set a bright tone for the future.

Obviously I see the kismit in this, obsessed as I am with all things writing, but what a potent message for all women and mothers moving forward.

The fact that a dear friend spied this and shared it with me, steps away from sharing such heady things, synthesized everything about female connection and support that I am trying to accomplish.

We all can determine the next step, the next chapter in our lives. We need only take the initiative.

Join us for the next Salon of Self to construct our ideal of not only motherhood, but our personal existence. Be a part of the discussion – if for no one else than your SELF.

News

Salon of Self

To register for the workshop, please submit:

your registration info (SEND)
your payment info (SAVE MY SPOT)

Go back

Your message has been sent

SAVE MY SPOT!

Thank you for allowing me to walk this journey of motherhood with you.

mother vs self, Write to Heal

Impossible Job

Whether consciously or not, when our needs are subjugated, it is still impossible to do everything perfectly. And whether that failure brings us guilt or utter exhaustion, it was an unfair fight to begin with.

As I neared the end of an unpaid year of leave following the birth of my second child, I saw a colleague of mine who asked when I would be coming back to work. When I stated that I’d decided to resign my position to care for our two children, she said, “Must be nice.” Insinuating, I presume, that it must be nice to have the means to not return to a full-time position. The reality of returning would be putting infinite emotional, physical, and mental resources into a full-time job that would yield approximately half of my previous income due to childcare costs. For our family, and my sanity, it made more sense for me to resign and care for my own children.

Neither situation is necessarily a winning one.

And this example illustrates much more than the financial struggles facing mothers.

First, it exploits the perfect mother stereotype; that I somehow was doing something better or worse than another mother’s decision; adding a layer of judgment to a personal decision.

Then, it pits career/employment vs. caring for children. It shouldn’t be an either/or.

Which rolls right into shared responsibilities, or lack thereof, of maintaining a household/family logistics.

Perhaps if my employer offered reliable flexible working options, I would have been able to scale back or arrange my work hours instead of leaving.

If safe and quality childcare was affordably available, perhaps I wouldn’t have had to work full-time to receive a part-time wage while spending less quality time with my children.

Nevermind that our medical systems drop mothers six weeks after birth, shifting care solely to the infant.

What parts of the job of motherhood do you find impossible?

In the first ever Mother vs. Self workshop, we listed the duties and tasks we completed throughout a typical day.

Which of those things do you find difficult? Why?

Does the difficulty come from error in execution, a personal place for growth – or are you holding yourself to an impossible standard?

I want you to isolate two aspects of your daily mothering. One must be something essential that’s just difficult. One must be something that stems from an unrealistic unattainable expectation.

Once you have addressed these two prompts, take some time to plan for the future by writing/reflecting in your notebook. How can you plan for better support surrounding the first goal? How can you cut the second goal out of your life? What needs to shift in your feelings and self-perceptions to make either of those happen?

mother vs self, Write to Heal

Propped up by Patriarchy

Where did your picture of ‘the perfect mom’ come from? What sources or sociology helped paint it? Were your ideas strictly of your own thoughts and feelings? Or influenced by someone or somewhere else?

Could it be patriarchy?

So much of what we see in our society now regarding the roles of both men and women, fathers and mothers, is based on understandings of nature, physiology, and psychology.

“The struggle to escape the restrictions of society is part of what makes progress for both women and men so challenging. Some of that struggle is caused by underlying biology. While physical strength is no longer needed to govern, big seemingly strong men typically do. That biological difference, coupled with centuries-old cultural precedent, still holds excessive influence.” Leslie Lehr

It is ‘centuries-old cultural precedent’ like those cited in the timeline that keep women stuck in such restricted roles of motherhood.

It even keeps women isolated from each other.

If we orbit in a patriarchal sphere, governed by rules created by male rulers, it is the males who reward obedience to the system. And if they judge success, it does not foster cooperation but competition amongst similar contestants.

“Female bonding is extraordinarily difficult in patriarchy: women almost inevitably turn against women because the voice of the looking glass sets them against each other.” Gilbert and Gubar

And so, does this patriarchal poison infect even the most feminine process – that of growing and giving life? Of course it does. The ‘Mommy Wars’ rage furiously, pitting women against each other in comparison and competition rather than collaboration.

Even fictional literature addresses the isolation and rootlessness patriarchy has put upon women: case in point, Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte (as analyzed by Gilbert and Gubar).

Reflect upon the ideals of the perfect mother you recorded last week. From what roots of patriarchy did these come? From what male-centered or male-serving roots did those images and ideals sprout? Many of the ‘innocuous’ givens of motherhood, ones that we judge others on for adhering to or not, were born not of necessity, but some other sociological structure. Dig into those roots now and record them below. (Print the PDF if you’d like to label each root of the graphic)

from-the-roots-of-patriarchy Download

ideal-vs-reality-module-2-related-reading Download

mother vs self, Uncategorized, Write to Heal

How Did We Get Here?

In 2012, I began this blog as an exploration of my experience with postpartum depression. I wasn’t doing it to publicly rehash all the difficult details; I was hoping that in sharing my story, women who had been to the deepest depths that I had wouldn’t feel so hopelessly alone. And I did find others. They found me. I’ve forged some amazing friendships through the wonders of the web.

In the first part of 2015, I embarked on a new leg of the journey. My research began in earnest, collecting evidence of pre- and postnatal care and experiences, outcomes and interventions – all through the lens of maternal mental health. I completed Postpartum Support International’s Perinatal Social Support Webinar Series. In July, I attended Postpartum Progress’ Warrior Mom Conference in Boston, the first ever large-scale gathering of survivors of perinatal mood and anxiety disorders.

I was poised to bring my advocacy to a new level.

I sent my ‘baby’ off to kindergarten – and a month later, got pregnant.

Truly, she was the pleasantest surprise.

My past experiences armed me with a proactivity I hadn’t had in previous pregnancies. And I see now that my knowledge and experience have deepened in the intervening time to enrich my advocacy even more.

Still, even with my depression ‘managed’, motherhood was challenging. And not in a growth mindset sort of way; in a soul-sucking, all-encompassing sort of way. I realized that mothers needed support whether they were suffering from a mental illness or not. Untenable conditions with no support could mean a tip into mental illness. And even if it didn’t, what of a mother’s mental wellness?

With writing being such a cathartic and expanding experience for myself, I sought ways to share it with others. How could I use journalling prompts, easily accessible and customizable to anyone – even if they weren’t in love with writing like I was, to aid women in their journey to authentic and fulfilling mother- and personhood?

In a synthesis of my writing, experience as an educator, and lived-in motherhood, the idea of a workshop was born. A chance for women to share their experiences in a community of empathetic peers and to explore their own personal questions, fears, joys, and challenges through writing. A release and a way forward.

I knew I wanted to offer the inaugural in-person workshops in the month of May, to coincide with Mothers’ Day – not to commemorate that holiday, but to give mothers an alternative celebration of themselves in a world that often lets them down. This finally happened in May 2023. I gave three workshops in three different locations in my surrounding area. But that only served those within driving distance. Readers and supporters reached out to me from other states, even Canada, suggesting a virtual option.

Nothing can replace in-person dialogue and the energy of community and I am no Zoom-inista – but the subscription series was born. I tried to translate the thought and writing prompts into weekly sessions across a monthly theme.

I endeavor to make this a virtual community, even if the gathering place may initially be in the comments section of each weekly module. With the dream of gathering us all in a center of our own someday. A center dedicated not only to the worthy and fulfilling vocation of motherhood – but to the sacredness of our individual personhoods as well.

motherhood

Telling the Truth about Motherhood

The other evening, as I lay in my seven year-old’s bed waiting for sleep – hers, though my own comatose mini-nap usually comes first – an unexpected thing happened.

No, it wasn’t my questioning whether I should still be or have ever even started lying with her before bed without: a. spoiling her, b. impeding her sleep progress, c. prolonging this nighttime ritual until we’re both old and gray. That’s been a constant since she first balked at sleep as an infant.

As they usually do, an important revelation snuck out in those twilight murmurs.

“When I grow up, I don’t want to have children.”

My heart instantly hurt for so many reasons.

Sadness for her, that she wouldn’t experience the wonder that is mothering. The fierce, warming, all-enveloping love that it is to raise a little human into a big one.

Regret for me, that I somehow portrayed motherhood to my children in a poor light. That I did them a disservice by not loving it enough or not showing them enough love.

But even as I type that, I can’t believe that I don’t show my children enough love. Surely, they know they are loved. Does my fault lie in my sometimes less-than-joyful servitude?

As beautiful a sentiment Mother Teresa of Calcutta shares about washing the dish because you love the person who will use it next, that doesn’t make me more likely to wash dishes or to do so without complaining. Perhaps you’ve seen the list of things your mother never told you.

While many of these ten things are true on some level, I cannot subscribe to this level of subterfuge. Sacrifice and selflessness certainly have their place in parenting, but to sacrifice to the extermination of self is something for which I cannot get on board. Perhaps that means I am not destined for sainthood, but I also believe God created each of us as a special, sacred self to be celebrated – not obliterated.

I also feel it is disingenuous to serve with a smile when anger and resentment broil below. Why can’t we be authentic with our partners and children about how hard this path is? How we serve with love, but also appreciate being appreciated and, even more, equal distribution and support.

By speaking truth about my struggles in motherhood, I hope my daughters will see the inequalities in expectation and systems of modern motherhood. I also hope they will realize the hard-earned worth of fighting for a connected, loved, valued family.

Because while I stand as a symbol of the greater mantle of motherhood for my children, I am also human.

I hope the toil I am totally transparent about will not dissuade my daughters from becoming mothers themselves, but make them realize there is no perfect ideal – except perhaps love.

I also hope that my seven year-old’s proclamation didn’t stem from Cookie World C’s unnecessarily medicalized version of a plastic horse giving birth she viewed earlier that day.

In any event, I have some work to do, but tomorrow’s another day . . .

Write to Heal

Chopping out a Shared Space

After nearly three years of living with postpartum depression and anxiety and four months less treatment, my mind and heart began to yearn for processing through the written word – as it always has. I should have known I was coming back into myself if I began to get that itch, to set pen to paper and excise those thoughts, soothe those frayed nerves.

I even got the urge to share these thoughts online. Still, the stigma – that keeps many mothers from seeking help at all – gave me pause. Did I want to air my dirty tattered laundry for all the world to see – and judge? The fact that all my secrets would be laid bare became the determining factor. If I was to write my story, I was to own it and post it for all mothers to see that they were not alone in their struggle.

Motherhood – be it ‘typical’ or out-of-the-ordinary, adoptive, biological, or step, mentally fit or ill, of littles, teens, or empty-nested, sought-after or surprised, happy or hard – is a challenging road. As I’ve risen out of the deep depths of environmental, mental, emotional, and hormonal morass, I’ve talked. I’ve sat around tables in the dappled sunlight of backyards, holding cups of coffee long since gone cold or empty, on sidewalks, at kitchen counters, in the unearthly glow of the computer screen late at night, in the darkness of a lone streetlamp that just closed its pool of light. And the more I talked, the more I learned that I wasn’t alone. The more I shared, the more it opened the floodgates of similar experiences and struggles.

There is community in common experiences. There is solace in shared realities. There is strength in vulnerability.

If you’ve read a blog post and thought, yes, that’s exactly how I feel, I’m honored that I’ve given a struggle a voice.

If you’ve joined in a discussion at a workshop and felt, yes, I see a way forward, I am humbled that a question sparked an answer.

If you’ve been yearning for a way to hold space for yourself and fortify or expand that space’s edges, I hope you’ll join our journey with its weekly promptings.

Subscription Details Coming Soon!

Identity, motherhood

Your Strength Comes from Within

Flashback to that time in prenatal yoga. The first time you were pregnant and had no other job, maternally anyway, than growing that tiny human and channeling all your energy into it. When you could go to a class once a week by yourself, surrounded by other expectant mothers. Where you could bask in the beauty of rounded bellies, orbs in profile as your fingertips pointed forward. The potential energy of abdomens and archetypes. Muscles taut and ready to tense, to push a new soul earthward. And while intuition and multigenerational muscle memory take hold in the throes of labor,

it is you

who fire the muscles

who isolate the exact ones at the precise time

who activate the strength within

and gasp the first lung-filling breath.

Chopping Potatoes

and other metaphors for motherhood

Tag Archives: motherhood