My friends, this post is going to be a short one. My birthday is tomorrow, and tomorrow is in 21 minutes. I think a little sleep would be a pretty nice gift to my future self.
Story time. Here we go.
My business was created in my heart back in 2022. It was an incredible event I went to called "Impact 2.0" with hundreds (maybe thousands?) of women gathered in Salt Lake City, Utah. When I walked into that enormous room on day 1, I had a few half-baked ideas, just inklings really about what I wanted to be. But after hearing incredibly inspiring story after story, and thinking "if they can do it, maybe I can too!" over and over, I found myself introducing myself as a postpartum doula to the random lady waiting for the bathroom ahead of me in line. I knew that day my business would be called, "Hold the Mom". Because everyone wants to hold the baby, I want to hold the mom. And I believed it would be big. Maybe even change postpartum culture one day. No longer would moms say "I probably had postpartum depression... I just didn't want to ask for help." No more needless suffering when I had tools that could help so many. Needless to say, I started it all with a huge amount of naïve optimism driving me.
That Fall I began the certification journey, and in the Spring of 2023 I became officially certified as a postpartum doula. In the beginning of 2024 I began the online coaching part of my business, took a little break when I had my baby, and jumped back in.
It's a year after that when I post this blog, and I want you to picture me feeling incredibly awkward at the soccer field.
As I entered the field with my picnic blanket and several kids in tow, I was confident. There were so many moms here to support their kids who were in a soccer camp. And every one of those moms had a baby (duh- "moms"), which meant they experienced birth and postpartum. They were likely holding onto birth and/or postpartum trauma which was affecting them and their ability to feel fulfillment and joy even if it had been a while since their baby was born. I was sure that every person here was someone I could help with the coaching tools I had learned and developed, or, if not every person, at least they all surely knew someone I could help. I just needed to be brave and spread the message: "Hey! Good news! Somebody's here to Hold the Mom!"
And it seemed soooo easy. Until. My kids decided the playground wasn't what they wanted to be doing while their sister was doing her camp. Especially one of my kids who would've rather been playing Minecraft, really wanted me to know how much he was suffering every second that we weren't going back home. And then in moments when they weren't seeking my undivided attention, the predictable brain-chatter began. Almost paralyzing me. What if they thought I was weird to come over as a stranger and just start a conversation out of the blue? What if they thought I was salesy, or awkward, or even rude to offer to coach them? What if they just wanted to enjoy watching their kids practice instead of talking to me?
I've noticed that with every good idea, a whole slew of why that's actually a terrible idea follows almost immediately.
So I sat there, trying to entertain grumpy kids, wondering who I could talk to, and what I would say if I had a chance. Not really fully present either way.
Finally I found somebody who I felt brave enough to start talking to. It all started well enough, I thought. We had plenty in common and she sort of opened up to me about some hard things going on.
And then comes the awkward. I literally started my sentence with "I have an awkward question to ask you..." I wonder what she was expecting in the hesitation before I spoke again! I sort of shudder to imagine 😆.
As soon as she began to share a little of what was going on for her, my coach hat went on my head, casting the friend hat or even the you're a stranger, calm down hat to tumble to the ground.
It was like my behavior could've been a Carly Rae Jepsen song with slightly different lyrics: "Hey, I just met you. And this is crazy. But here's my number. Can I coach you maybe?"
She was very nice about her "no", but I felt shut down. I made it mean so many things.
Like maybe I wasn't cut out for this. Maybe it was too hard to tell people what I do and help them. Maybe I should be like most of the moms I see on that field and scroll my phone or read and keep to myself.
I was coached on this today by the amazing Emily Cheney (shoutout!) and in our conversation I realized a truth that I had completely forgotten about.
You see, in my quest to Hold the Mom, I forgot how many other people hold her too. I forgot the Ultimate one who is always there for her.
If I "blew it" to give this mom the tools to sort through her grief, it didn't mean she wasn't going to figure it out. It didn't mean that I failed.
Or even if I did, it didn't mean I shouldn't have.
I love this painting so much. This is a print of it by Brian Kershisnik that I see every time I sit down to work, because it's right above my computer.
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