A few days ago, I attended my first birth as a birth doula. It was an absolutely incredible experience. You know when God sets you on a path and the steps are small to take you to his full vision and potential, but each step is taking you somewhere? That is how I feel about this birth.
Each step is taking me somewhere. A little over two years ago I became a childbirth educator. I taught my first class the day after my fourth miscarriage. Then, I had no idea all that was happening in my own journey for more children. But even since hitting this hurdle, I've never once questioned my love for the miracle of childbirth. And after attending this birth, my love is not dampered but increased.
Sometimes, I find it strange how I manage these two different worlds. The one where I instruct women on what childbirth is, what to expect, and techniques to manage labor well and now working with their partner to coach them through. Then the other world, where I rest in the peace that my time will come again but struggle with the unanswered question of when.
I'm not perfect, each day is different. It seems lately I've been more down about it than I have in the months previous. I'm not sure if it's because I've given up or if it's just the circumstances that have presented themselves around me make it more visible in my own eyes.
I don't think I've given up, I think I've given in.
I haven't given up the dream, nor the promise. But what was denial for several months, almost a year, has given way to grief. Is that the right word?
Is it okay to say that as happy as I am with my job, as happy as I am for my clients, as happy as I am for and with my friends, sometimes I am sad for me? Is that okay?
That is how I feel. I love my job. There is no other place I'd rather be.
I just long for the day when I can be the pregnant or laboring woman and someone can doula for me again.
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