The Antenatal Journey - Building Trust, Bravery & a Birth-Pool Tea Party

Kirsten and Mark’s Homebirth Story — Part 1

This is the true story of a homebirth I supported a couple of years ago. The names I have used are not their real names, and they know I have written this account (which I will be sharing with them).

There are certain enquiry emails that land in my inbox and instantly feel great. Not because of what they say, but because of the energy in them. Kirsten’s was like that. Warm but a bit weary. Hopeful but bruised around the edges. She spoke openly from the start about her first birth - how unprepared they’d felt, how quickly things had become medicalised, and how her partner Mark had spent months afterwards feeling like he’d failed her.

It was honest in a way that told me she was absolutely ready to do the deep work required to rewrite that story. Enquiries like this are honestly the best, because you know you can make a difference.

I was free to take on a birth around their guess dates, so we arranged to meet in one of my favourite coffee shops - always a good omen for compatibility - because if you understand my love language (coffee, coffee, and more coffee), chances are we’re going to get on brilliantly. I don’t always have the initial meeting in a café, but I’m usually led by what the potential client chooses. Sometimes they want to meet you somewhere neutral before inviting you into their home, and I totally respect that.

Coffee, connection, and the spark of “yes, we’re a good match”

I’ve done many meetings like this one over the last 15+ years. I don’t really like to call them interviews; I refer to them as an initial chat, because that’s exactly what they are.

Early (ish) on in my doula career, I discovered the importance of the first chat being a two-way thing. These days I’m vetting them as much as they’re vetting me.

I’d love to say that was my “doula wisdom” shining through from the start, but sadly, there wasn’t much wisdom back in my early doula days. Being a new doula, I was desperate to get any experience going and felt like I needed to book every single job and never say no to anyone. This, unfortunately, meant I learned my lesson the hard way. I once booked in a client I didn’t gel with - even when my gut was telling me otherwise.

My gut was actually yelling at me, but I chose to ignore it and opted instead for a life-lesson in what not to do as a doula. If it doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t right… but that’s a whole other story.

So, back to Kirsten and Mark. As soon as we started talking, I felt at ease with them. I asked what they were looking for, what had led them to reach out for a doula. We talked through what hadn’t felt right during their first birth, what they wanted instead, and what really mattered to them.

They told me about their son, Fynn, who was being looked after by a friend of theirs. The chaos of having a toddler, and the emotional guilt of “how can I love another child as much?” They told me they were a bit concerned about him being at home during the birth, and we laughed about Kirsten trying to practise hypnobirthing breathing while he had a meltdown because he “wanted the blue cup, not the green one!!!”

There is often a moment in these initial meetings where I think to myself:
Yes. I can walk this path with you.

At one point Mark made a comment along the lines of, “I just want her to feel safe this time.”

I knew I wanted to help them.

I reassured them and explained exactly what my role is; how I could help them bring calm to the chaos. I told them that I would walk alongside them both as they prepared. That we could plan for this birth together, helping them make sense of the information they received and make choices that felt aligned with what they actually wanted. I talked about helping them advocate for themselves.

During the birth I’d be there to remind Kirsten to tap into her body and her breath. I’d be there if Mark needed to be with Fynn and there was no one else to help. I’d answer the door, make tea for midwives - whatever was needed. Emotional support and practical support, all rolled into one.

A few days later they paid the deposit and I booked them into my diary.

A pregnancy of honesty - and some big mindset shifts

Over the next couple of months, as we prepared together, I saw both of them open up in ways that were incredible. Kirsten was determined to have a homebirth this time, and they were both committed to doing the work and owning this birth story. After their first experience, they weren’t taking any chances.

Kirsten did her best to practise hypnobirthing daily - though realistically, most sessions involved her trying to do so whilst also rescuing Fynn from whatever questionable climbing expedition he’d launched himself into. She was able to relax at bedtime though, and was really good at listening to the recordings each night.

We talked a lot about environment - how the atmosphere around her would impact her birth, affect her hormones, how her nervous system needed softness, dimness, calmness, and how Mark could be her anchor. We explored what she needed from him in labour, how they’d make decisions together, and what informed choice actually feels like in the moment.

And we spent a good amount of time on the big one:

Vaginal examinations. A hard “no.”

Her first birth had been full of them and they’d been painful, invasive and it seemed they’d often been performed with little care or explanation.

This time she wanted ownership over her body. This was a non-negotiable.

We talked through:

• How to decline confidently but respectfully
• How NO is a full sentence
• When a VE might be useful
• The fact that she could always change her mind if it felt right for her

Empowerment isn’t about rigid rules.
It’s about understanding your choices.

It was exciting to watch them do the work and we felt like a great team.

And then there was Fynn - the joyful chaos agent!

Many doulas have a story about a toddler who steals the show.
Fynn was certainly mine, he’ was a real cutie.

One afternoon we’d arranged to do a dry run of the pool together. And by “dry run” I mean we inflated it in the lounge. To talk through logistics, work out pumps, hose attachments and dodgy boilers - all the boring but important stuff.

Within seconds, Fynn had climbed in, declared it a pirate ship, and promptly invited us all to a tea party. So there we were: me, Kirsten, and Mark, sitting cross-legged squished into an empty birth pool being served imaginary tea by a tiny captain who insisted his cuddly giraffe sit between us.

Honestly? It was perfect. Because birth preparation is more than practical planning - it’s connection, trust, laughter, and the unspoken agreement that, come what may, we’re in this together.

The ritual of packing my doula bag and quietly waiting

A few weeks before her due date, things were feeling steady. Calm. The good kind of anticipation. I packed my doula bag (I should probably write a whole blog about that) - the usual essentials and the all-important Mars bar. (Yes, I will write a blog about this soon.)

Somehow it became a tradition - and I don’t remember how it happened - but I always celebrate the joy of birth by shovelling a gigantic Mars bar into my gob. It’s just how I roll.

Then the day came. Kirsten spent the morning wrangling Fynn, but she also spent it having irregular but niggly surges that she mostly ignored - because toddlers generally don’t give a toss about early labour. We had been exchanging WhatsApp messages throughout the day and my “ducks” were well and truly “all lined up” so I could leave when I was needed.

Fynn’s bedtime rolled around - he went off surprisingly well for a bouncy ball of toddler chaos - and that’s when everything shifted.

I got the message…

“It’s time, can you come now?”

Part 2 coming soon...