The Home Birth Files: Part II

At the time of writing this, I came across the story of Dr. Janell Green Smith. She was a Certified Nurse Midwife, Doctor of Nursing Practice, Black maternal health advocate, wife, and new mother who died during childbirth. She devoted her career to protecting birthing people. She understood the system. And still, it failed her. Stories like hers are a reminder of the broken system that Black women are forced to exist in, and bring life into this world in, regardless of education, access, and expertise. 

After that first OBGYN appointment, I knew I needed something different. I wanted a provider who listened and understood my concerns as a Black woman navigating pregnancy in this country. And I wanted to give birth in the safety of my home.

So I started researching home birth midwives in New York. On every train ride, I would type “home birth midwives in New York” into Google and read whatever came up. Websites, reviews, anything. Just absorbing everything I could find.

The process felt overwhelming at first. Giving birth at home is definitely not the norm, and there were moments when I wondered if wanting a home birth was even realistic. It took me more than a month, but I found Dr. Heather Findletar Hines, founder of One Love Midwifery. On her website, it mentioned that she founded her practice “to confront healthcare racism and maternal mortality in the United States,” and it felt like kismet.

During our consultation, she was warm but direct, which I appreciated immediately. We asked her about everything: her training, her approach to prenatal care, how she handled emergencies, the equipment she brought to births, what labor looked like in her care, and of course, the cost, because home birth is not free.

By the time I was 16 weeks pregnant, I had my first appointment with Heather and Noelle, One Love’s birth assistant, and it felt completely different. What stood out most was how she made space for both information and intuition. She wanted to know how I felt and what I worried about. I never felt rushed or dismissed. And we chose affirmation cards at the end of the appointment (something we did at the end of each appointment). I left feeling like my pregnancy was finally in the hands of someone who actually saw me.

Choosing Grace over Pressure

I’ve always loved New Year’s resolutions. Every January, I fell into the same cycle of trying to reinvent myself, start fresh, and create a long list of goals that I needed to accomplish by year end. Save “X” amount of money, apply to grad school, buy a house, etc. Every goal that I created needed to have physical proof of its accomplishment. My whole identity became the things that I could show for my hard work.

In 2025, I was a new mom but still pulled my white board out to write down everything I needed to accomplish by December 31, 2025. But my year didn’t go according to plan. In all honesty, I neglected to think about how much my life would change with a baby. So when December came around, I was overcome with sadness. Feelings of being a failure and trying to think back to what I did with my year.

But with a little distance, I realized something important: I ACTUALLY HAD DONE SO MUCH. It just didn’t look like the kind of progress that I used to measure. My growth wasn’t living on a spreadsheet or the white board on my wall. It was happening in the quiet moments, the messy moments, the moments where I was learning to be someone’s mother while still trying to remember how to be myself.

2025 was not about checking boxes. It was about adapting. It was about late nights, early mornings, figuring out things as I went, trusting myself, and giving love even when I felt like I had no more to give. It was about navigating a new season.

By the end of December, I realized that my worth doesn’t come from what I accomplish or produce. It comes from who I am becoming. And becoming takes time. More time than we often give ourselves permission to take.

So as we are halfway into January 2026, I am releasing the idea that a new year means reinvention and rebuilding. I’m not starting over. I’m continuing. Im choosing grace over goals, presence over performance, and gentleness over pressure. If you’re reading this and feeling heaviness of “I didn’t do enough,” I hope that you know that you are allowed to be proud of quieter victories. You are allowed to honor the unseen growth. You are allowed to be enough, exactly as you are, right now.

The Home Birth Files: Part I

I have always been afraid of hospitals. As an avid Grey’s Anatomy fan, I wish that hospitals were like what Shonda Rhimes has shown us. Instead, they have always signaled that something is deeply wrong, emergency, crisis, or end-of-life wrong. And layered on top of that, is the reality that medical spaces haven’t always been the safest place for women who look like me.

I once had an asthma attack so severe I could only breathe sitting upright, and I still didn’t go to the hospital until I absolutely had to. In another instance, I sliced my finger so deeply while opening a can. I needed stitches, but I sat at home for nearly two hours trying to stop the bleeding on my own. Some might call me stubborn. Some might call me irrational. And maybe both are true. But part of that fear comes from knowing that Black women’s pain and concerns are often dismissed in healthcare. 

Sha’Asia Washington was a paraprofessional at a Brooklyn charter school. She passed away after an emergency C-section, following an improperly administered epidural. And across the Atlantic, Nicole Thea, a London-based influencer known for her dance and beauty videos, died at eight months pregnant from an undiagnosed heart condition, despite repeatedly complaining about chest pain and shortness of breath. These are heartbreaking reminders of how easily Black women can be dismissed or overlooked in medical settings.

Black maternal mortality is a prevalent issue in the United States. I knew as early as 2020 that when I became pregnant, I wanted to give birth at home.

When I found out I was pregnant in 2024, I went to the doctor for my eight-week appointment expecting reassurance and guidance. Instead, I left feeling STRESSED. 

The OBGYN I had been seeing for years was short, rushed, and uninterested in my questions. She sped through a list of the appointments and tests I would need, referring me to different offices across the city. At one point she asked, “Have you ever been to that office before?” I said, “Yes. You sent me there last year.” Her response was, “Do you know how many patients I have? Do you think I remember you?” 

That moment lingered. And when she began speaking about birth plans, hospital options, her own availability, and the possibility that she might not even be there, I got very overwhelmed.

All of the worries that I had about the medical system came back immediately.

I walked out realizing I needed care that felt human.

Starting, Finally

In the summer of 2017, I was preparing to leave for four months in Ghana. I knew that I wanted to document my journey, and be able to share it with as many people as possible. “Why not create a blog?” I had high hopes of sharing bi-weekly stories about my Ghanaian adventures for the masses. I even created a Wordpress account! And never posted a thing.

I could blame it on the power surge that my laptop experienced a few days into my program, but the truth is I was scared. “Who cares about me studying abroad except for my closest friends and family?” “Who would want to read about visiting Ghana?” These were some of the intrusive thoughts that held me back from ever making a blog post. So, I journaled instead, and posted here and there on my Instagram page. When I came home that December, I printed out my journal entries and made a scrap book with all of my pictures from the prior four months. And shared it with my close friends and family.

Since then, every time I have experienced something monumental (homeownership, motherhood, even going back to school for my Masters degree), I’ve told myself and my friends that I wanted to blog about this current moment in my life and never did. I guess part of it is the fear of being uninteresting. But today, I am releasing that fear, and just doing the thing that I have been speaking on for years.

So pull up a chair, grab a glass of something good, and welcome to my blog. The place where I share the monumental to the insignificant. I hope that you enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing!