When my twins were born at 26 weeks at University of Cincinnati Hospital, everything I thought I knew about motherhood was turned upside down. They spent three months in the NICU, fighting and growing stronger every day, while I was learning how to navigate my own postpartum recovery. Those early weeks weren’t filled with soft moments of bonding- they were a blur of hospital walls, pumping, medical updates, and trying to take care of myself while worrying about my tiny babies. I didn’t know how to soothe the overwhelm or rebuild my strength without feeling guilty, and I wish I had.

There are moments in life that don’t just change you — they call you. For me, birth was one of those moments. I didn’t step into this work because it was trendy. I didn’t do it because it seemed like a good business idea. I stepped into birth work because something inside me would not stay quiet.

I was the woman who cried during birth stories. The one who leaned in when other people leaned back. The one who felt the sacredness of the room even before I had language for it.

There is something powerful about watching a woman realize her strength in real time. Something life-altering about witnessing a family being born. I remember thinking, This matters. This is holy work. And I knew I wanted to be part of it.