My Story

So here it goes—

In 2021, after years of fertility challenges and miscarriages, I gave birth to my rainbow baby. What should have been a joyful and empowering season was instead filled with uncertainty, fear, and isolation. The pandemic turned everything upside down—my dream of a home birth was taken off the table, access to care and education was limited, and everything felt so fear-based. At one point, I was even told my husband might not be allowed in the room with me.

I tried to give birth at a birthing center, but the policies in place meant I had little opportunity to connect with my midwives or secure a doula. When labor came, it was long and exhausting—nearly 38 hours. I labored in a water tub, but I felt disembodied, scared, and alone. Eventually, I received this deep inner nudge: go to the hospital.

The hospital transfer was overwhelming. I was put to sleep, and when I woke up, I was given an hour to deliver my baby before a cesarean was pushed. With my history of medical trauma, the pressure and the way the doctor spoke to me sent me spiraling into fear. I could barely speak. Thankfully, a midwife advocated for me and quite literally pushed the doctor out of the room. With her guidance, I gave birth vaginally.

I’m grateful for her, but I also carry mixed feelings. Her approach felt militant, even dismissive of my wishes. I wanted to delay cord cutting and honor my placenta, but my requests were brushed aside and shamed. While I birthed my baby, I left the experience feeling like my body had failed me.

And yet—moments later—I was overcome with euphoric love. I watched my baby crawl up my belly and self-latch, a moment of pure beauty that showed me how capable we both were. But even that was disrupted when a lactation consultant told me the latch was “wrong” and pushed a forceful method that led to pain, challenges, and emotional distress.

When we came home, my husband returned to work just 10 days later. I spent many hours alone, living with my parents in a strained environment, craving more support than I had. Though I was already trained in nervous system regulation and working with mothers and infants, I was still struggling in silence.

The truth is, even with all my education about pregnancy, birth, and postpartum—I still needed more. I needed guidance, advocacy, and consistent support. Without it, my birth was not what I hoped for, and postpartum was darker than I ever expected. That’s why I share this. Because I know now, without question: if I had a doula by my side, so much would have been different.

The truth is, even with all my education about pregnancy, birth, and postpartum—I still needed more. I needed guidance, advocacy, and consistent support. Without it, my birth was not what I hoped for, and postpartum was darker than I ever expected. That experience became my turning point. I realized that no parent should have to navigate birth and postpartum feeling alone, dismissed, or unsupported.

It’s why I chose to step fully into birthwork.

Today, as a doula, I bring not only my professional training but also the lived experience of knowing what it feels like to be unheard, overwhelmed, and left without the support I needed most.

My role now is to offer what I wish I’d had:

Compassionate presence when everything feels uncertain

Education and advocacy so your voice and choices are respected

Practical and emotional support that helps you feel steady, safe, and cared for in every stage

Becoming a doula is more than a profession for me—it’s a calling to change the story for other families. I want you to feel empowered, connected, and supported in ways I never did, so your birth and postpartum experience can be one you carry with strength and pride, not shame or regret.

With so much love,

Deborah Dickey