I am not sure yet, about all that I have to say here. But what I am sure of, is that I am glad that you're here.
To witness me
inside of these words.
This place is being birthed from a need. And will be a practice of accountability.
It is an offering of myself, perhaps more for myself, than you.
but an offering nonetheless.
It is a prayer of courage and the vulnerability to be soft and tender and true.
And an invitation to tend to me and my path of becoming a midwife.
I have so much to say–
And I am not sure how it will unfold, but I imagine this will be a space to weave the stories that have allowed me to be here, in this moment. While simultaneously sharing my story as it unfolds in real time, as I become.
Part poem, part letter, part prayer.
I want to be generous with myself.
A reminder that this only part of my story.
I am not ready to tell you the story of need, in its fullness. Partly because I understand now. how my family’s experiences reach far beyond each moment in front of us, into our intergenerational stories. And the impact of these experiences continue, into this moment.
And partly because there is abundance. Woven in. In every tender part, there is abundance of love, and care, and courage. My dear people are holding me close, whispering, listening, reflecting, and conjuring spells of encouragement and success. My ancestors are holding me dear. This is true. This is true. This is true.
But I will say this about need:
The shame that comes when your needs are not being met, is a beast that I have allowed to take residence inside my body from when I was small.
To quiet the need beast’s thrashing and gnarling, I decided long ago
that I simply will not participate in having any.
In some moments, the most fearful thing I can do is to admit that I, in fact, have needs.
I have independently supported myself since I was a 16 year old when I left high school and began working, paycheck to paycheck. And this is how I have made a living; caring for young children and their families in the preschool setting, homecare setting, and now in birth advocacy and care work. Even now, as a business owner of a very busy and well loved + respected doula practice in the greater bay area (which I am SO damn proud of ), I cannot afford to put myself through midwifery school while meeting my own basic needs. This reality is a really hard one to be with. And one that highlights the ( lack of ) value of care work in general, and especially of the people who tend to this labor.
Care work has been an integral part of my becoming.
To hold the tremendous gift of making people feel held and seen and cared for brings bounty and joy. This has simultaneously been one of the greatest gifts of my life, to be of service,
and simply, a tool to survive.
The more I unfold the true path of service, the more I am able to center myself as a human who needs an abundance of care and softness. I am still steadily learning that, in being with need, I will not be swallowed by the beast of shame. And in fact, the divine practice of asking for what I need, lends the spaciousness to tend to, and rest from, the loneliness that a person without needs, lives with. Which in turn, allows me to more fully be of service.
First to myself, and then of others in my beloved community.
It is an amazing thing to recognize oneself as the person you have been fighting for all this time,
when you’ve told yourself you are fighting for others.
Becoming a community midwife is an unsustainable pathway. The current system to get licensure as an out-of hospital midwife is one that is built on free labor (for everyone involved). In California, the current representation of midwifery and the legality of licensure was put into place in 1996. This was an important step for midwives that are seeking licensure in California, and an important accessibility point to community midwifery care for birthing families in general, but has simultaneously created a high barrier, low access pathway for anyone pursuing the practice.
While I am grateful for the many midwives who fought to have this type of recognition, I also want to amplify that the majority of representation in the licensed community midwifery world has been, and continues to be, middle class white women.
Alongside my gratitude, is frustration at the oversight of who actually has access to the pathways of licensure, and the lack of acknowledgement (in curriculum and culture) that midwifery is an art and science that has been, and continues to be built upon the knowledge of traditional midwives of color.
So I ask, who is midwifery for?
We are, in fact, at a tipping point in the current medical system that serves birthing people in the US. Maternal and infant healthcare outcomes are some of the worst globally. Particularly in communities of color and people of theGlobal Majority. We are in a current emergency. We need more midwives who are independent; not affiliated with the industrial medical system. This ensures the ability to rework community practice guidelines that reflect the needs of the communities served and continue to be experts in normal physiological birth (something that is quickly being lost in the current mainstream hospital birth setting). We especially need more midwives of intersectional identity who can mirror and reflect the lived experience of the families that they serve. And yet, there are little to no systems of support in place to help make this happen.
I am currently at a crossroad in my own learning that requires an unpaid apprenticeship alongside my didactic study. Midwifery apprenticeship requires me to be available and present at a phone call’s notice, among long clinic days, meetings, skills workshops, and full time studies. My schedule changes each week– so this makes it impossible to secure any work during the day to meet my basic income needs. While it’s been my intention to work overnights as a way to support myself (perhaps a naive notion), I am recognizing this reality will not actually allow me to be present in my learning. Financial support for this pathway includes very limited scholarships (that I will continue to apply for when available) and predatory loans. This transition, as a single person without financial support has felt completely overwhelming.
And, I need help.
I am asking my community to financially invest in me. so that I can continue this path. This investment from you, will allow me to continue investing myself into the communities that I am a part of. To continue to care for birthing families, work towards more sustainable practices and support better outcomes for birthing people and their families.
I am bravely asking for enough money to support my basic financial needs being met for the length of my apprenticeship, so that I can work a full time, unpaid job, and remain present in my learning. This will allow me to complete my program in about two years time.
Remembering
Last week I sat on the floor as I listened to the voice of the midwife who helped me be born.
I haven't seen or spoken to her in any of the years that I can remember, but here she was, on speakerphone as I sat on the floor with a dear friend and their mama, and the tiny human that had emerged days prior and brought us all back together.
Here I was, listening to the soft spoken words of my midwife.
I have been wanting to talk to you, is what she said. I have a story to tell you.
“On the day that you were born, did you know there was lightning?!
It was a beautiful day,
blue skies,
and as you emerged
so did the lightning storm.
You know, I drove straight up to the mountains when I left you that day— I am not sure why. I think I wanted to touch the lightning.
I held this baby in my hands and I said to myself;
–This baby brought the lightning.”
When I was born, I received the name Quntaw Eneq.
Lightning Woman.
And so, this is where I will leave you for now.
More soon.
–This baby brings the lightning.
