What Birth Work Taught Me About Showing Up in a Personal Crisis
Welcoming new life or supporting a partner in a medical emergency, doula instincts serve a powerful purpose.
When I arrived home to find my partner slurring his words, unable to verbalise who I was, my role as a birth doula seemed to guide me for what was to come.
Just as when challenging moments arise in birth, I quickly grasped how necessary it was to stay composed. I decided to phone my mum. Because mum’s know everything. Even as an adult, it still feels like the safest source. She calmly advised me to drive him to hospital or call the ambulance if in doubt. I abruptly hung up, nervously dropping my phone on the dining table, following my partner out of the room. He was hunched over on the bathroom floor. I crouched down to hold him and he turned to me, tears streaming down a lopsided mouth. I called an ambulance.
My senses became heightened and I tuned into what was happening on a more instinctive level; I scanned his body monitoring every sign and unknowingly stored it for later. Placing my hand on his chest, I made circular motions whilst tears streamed past his slanted mouth, his eyes communicating with me what his words couldn’t. My heart violently thumped out of my own chest and I tried my best to steady my own breathing so I could mirror calm to him; my inner doula making herself known. I sat and reassured him before rushing around the house, gathering anything that might be needed for the coming moments — adrenaline fuelling decisions. Many elements of this situation echoed a chaotic birth scene.
The residue that remains with me from this day was the piercing sensation of intuition burning through my chest. It screamed at me to not be complacent, to not go with the flow and to fight to get him to hospital as soon as I could without anyone getting in the way.
In this memory, everything is categorised into various ‘scenes’. In each scene, my instincts took over and emotions were amplified; especially fear. As a doula, I don’t advocate for my clients, but empower their birth partners to take on this role. I subconsciously stepped into the partner’s shoes, just like at a birth. In between moments of clarity and control, I panic texted my family, unsure where to channel the weight of responsibility I suddenly carried; whilst I could manage what was happening, it was also happening to someone I achingly loved. Remaining detached was not realistic.
Once we arrived at the hospital, I immediately started feeling my way around the room, looking for towels to clean up any mess or products to sanitise. I remember feeling comfortable to do so as if I would at a birth. It felt as if various doula traits were on autopilot as I exchanged with medical professionals in a language that was not my own. I was very conscious of the fact that I didn’t want my partner to sense my concern, so I did my best to regulate myself, reassuring him that I would stay by his side. Whilst he was not fully aware of what was happening, I sensed that he still had a deeper knowing, and I did not want to leave a negative imprint.
Reflecting on these moments reminds me that doulas often take on a role of invisible work; balancing the energy in the room, quietly handling the basics so others can focus on the essentials. This nuanced role equipped me to weave around a foreign space, assessing what was needed.
And now, as I wait for the birth of a doula client and my partner has begun his chemotherapy trajectory, the same presence is asked of me; life becomes smaller but so much richer. Instead of looking months ahead, focusing on the hours of the day is more productive. It asks that you find pleasure in the simpler things; staying closer to home, walking in the morning sun, enjoying coffees and books, observing the nature change in your sacred space. Practicing patience and complete openness for what might come. This in itself a gift.
