The decision to become a birthworker can often feel like a simple one. Many of us are drawn to this path through our own experiences as parents or by witnessing someone else’s perinatal journey. But even though the choice might seem clear, diving into this work and bringing your goals to life isn’t always easy. It’s common to second guess ourselves at the start. Am I truly qualified to support someone during such an intimate and sacred time? Do I know enough about newborn care to provide hands-on support?
Birthwork, whether it’s focused on birth or postpartum, involves a significant amount of emotional labor. We often feel a deep responsibility to provide families with the best possible experience, even when the outcomes are beyond our control. Even as a trained doula and peer support facilitator, I find myself questioning my qualifications every time I step into a new situation—whether it’s finding clients or starting a new support group. It’s difficult to feel confident in something you’re passionate about when self-doubt creeps in.
This is why a sense of community is so important to me. As someone who runs peer support groups, I’ve seen firsthand how sharing our truths can create meaningful change for both ourselves and others. Often, someone else in the room is feeling the same sense of inadequacy. As birthworkers, we need to be mindful of the negative self-talk that arises—the inner critic that criticizes, belittles, and makes us second guess ourselves. It’s easy to believe that voice, especially when we’re feeling burned out or struggling with our own mental health.
I know my anxiety tends to latch onto the idea that I’m not good enough, that I’m not the right person to do this work. How dare I believe I’m capable? But when I take a step back, I realize I have the skills, the experience, and the evidence to prove that I am, in fact, good at what I do. In those moments of doubt, I try to re-frame the inner dialogue: “Thanks for your opinion, inner critic, but I’m a rockstar at what I do.”
It’s during these moments that I need to reconnect with my “why.” Many of us come to this work from a place of compassion, lived experience, and a desire to serve. These qualities can’t be measured by a certification or degree. My “why” is simple: I don’t want anyone else to feel as lonely and lost as I did during my postpartum journey. The early weeks were frightening. I didn’t know what support I needed, and I couldn’t find the resources to help me feel human again. I never want another person to go through that.
My “why” is simple: I don’t want anyone else to feel as lonely and lost as I did during my postpartum journey.
For me, it’s about finding peace with impact, not perfection. I know I can make a difference just by being a listening ear, validating someone’s experience, or lending a hand to a family. The impact might not always seem huge, but even the smallest ripple can create a wave.
Take a moment to look at yourself—the things you’ve accomplished, the work you’ve done, the families you’ve supported. You did that. This is your passion, your drive, your purpose. You’ve got this. And you are not alone.