14/02/2026
My practice quietly turned 9 years old last month. Nine years. Crazy to think that I’ve been in birthwork for 15 years, 9 of them running a rural, solo practice midwifery business. And real talk, some days I don’t know how much I have left in me. Not because I’ve grown tired of birth but because being a professional in a world that treats you like you are a danger is exhausting. Not because I’ve lost passion for the birthdyad but because when you have to continually chase reimbursement for one of the most time consuming careers, one that you pour your entire being into, you grow weary to continue. Not because I have stopped believing in the power of families or the safety of physiological birth, but because to show up outside of mainstream medicine is a constant, quiet act of protest and I am tired.
But every time I feel jaded, exhausted, scared, ready to “retire” from birth work…the birth dyad reminds me why I am here. I don’t have words for how it feels to be a community midwife…because there are no words to encapsulate the love, the passion, the reverence, the exhaustion, the dedication, the fear. It’s like a salted caramel, all rolled into one sticky, sweet, delicious morsel and all you can do is let it melt in your mouth.
Reading reviews from my clients leaves me wanting to do this work until I’m old and gray and my community stops calling…I want to be here until they let me go, just as they called me in. It makes me want to dig deeper, never leaving families without someone who believes in them, in their ability to birth their baby physiologically, on their terms, in their full power, in the comfort and safety of where they call home. It makes me want to continue my silent protest forever.
Being a midwife sometimes feels no longer like a choice…but a requirement to fulfill the reason I was put on this earth. It feels bigger than me and I don’t know how one can escape its gravitational hold and honestly I don’t know if I want to. 📸: Breanna Kitchen Photography