Rejection as a Doula sucks 🤮

People think the hardest part of being a doula is the lack of sleep and long births.

It’s really not. Well , not for me.

Yes, there are the 2am phone calls. The crazily long labours. The times where I’ve forgotten to eat because somebody else’s baby is making their way into the world. There are the weeks where my washing basket is overflowing because I’ve spent more time in other people’s homes than my own or driving up and down the M4 800 times in 5 days.

But none of that is the hardest part.

The hardest part is caring. Really caring.

The kind of caring where a family you’ve only known for a few weeks suddenly occupies a little corner of your brain. Where you find yourself wondering how their appointment went. Whether that headache settled. Whether they’ve finally decided where they want to give birth. Whether they’ve started believing in themselves yet. And whether she’s forgiven him for eating her yoghurt, or is it divorce time still 😂

People ask me how or why families let a stranger be at their heir babies birth.

The truth is, we’re not strangers for very long.

Something deeply magical happens when people start telling you about the baby they’ve waited years for. The IVF journey. The miscarriages they still cry about. The birth that broke them. The excitement. The fear. The dreams they’ve carried into this pregnancy.

You can’t hear those stories and not care.

At least… I can’t. If I ever felt I didn’t care anymore, I’d go back to my corporate sales job.

And that’s where this story starts I guess.

A few days ago I had a discovery call with a lovely couple.

From the moment we started talking, something just clicked.

We laughed.

We wandered off on tangents. If you know me, you won’t be surprised by that bit😂

We talked about birth in the way I love talking about birth. Not just the mechanics of labour, but the emotion behind it. What it feels like to witness someone become a parent. Why I’ll never stop believing that women deserve to understand their options before anyone starts telling them what they “should” do.

There were moments where we both went quiet because we’d both got goosebumps at the same time.

At one point we both had tears in our eyes. It was when I described one of the incredible births id witnessed.

If you’ve ever spoken to me about birth, you’ll know I can’t help myself. The passion isn’t rehearsed. I don’t put it on because I’m trying to win clients or impress anyone.

I genuinely love this work. I’m bloody obsessed.

I still get emotional talking about births I attended years ago.

Sometimes I tell a story and halfway through I realise I’ve got goosebumps all over again.

Birth has completely changed who I am as a person, and I don’t think I could hide that passion if someone paid me to. I don’t want to.

By the end of the call they said some of the kindest things anyone could say.

They told me I’d been recommended over and over again in local birth groups.

That I’d been highly recommended.

They said that out of all the doulas they’d spoken to, I had the most experience and knowledge.

They told me they thought I was amazing.

I finished that call absolutely buzzing like a 10 year old 4 cokes deep in Tenerife.

Not because I thought, “Brilliant, I’ve got the booking.”

But because I’d already started imagining the journey.

I could picture sitting on their sofa during antenatal visits, drinking coffee while we talked birth.

I could imagine the late night messages asking, “Do you think this is labour?” or “Sorry, TMI but does this look normal”.

I could see myself walking through their front door when the day finally arrived.

I could already picture meeting their baby and seeing that look on their faces as they inhaled that incredible, magical scent of their newborn.

That’s the bit people probably don’t realise about me. I know I come across as bold and confident, like nothing could possibly bother me. But, rejection….. pffff, fuck rejection. It stung.

I don’t finish discovery calls thinking about invoices, money or contracts.

I finish them wondering what it would be like to walk alongside this family.

A couple of days ago, their email landed in my inbox. I was so excited to open it and read “You’re our Doula”.

Nioe 🤦🏾‍♀️ instead it was the loveliest rejection email I’ve ever received.

They told me again how wonderful they thought I was. They said it had been an incredibly difficult decision, but another doula felt like a better fit for their family.

And I’ll be completely honest.

It fucking winded me. I was hurt.

Not because I’d lost the work.

But because I’d lost the relationship I’d already started building in my own head.

For a couple of days I’ve carried that horrible, sick feeling around with me.

I questioned myself.

Was the other doula better?

Was there something about me they didn’t like?

Did I say too much?

Not enough?

Am I too common?

Was I too ‘keen’ ?

Should I have done something differently?

It’s amazing where your brain goes when you feel rejected. Mine went insane for a while.

Then this morning, while I was drinking a cup of tea, it hit me. Doh, of course it did, because my peri menopausal brain can only function once it’s been caffeinated.

I’d been asking myself completely the wrong questions. And believing every ridiculous answer I came up with.

The question wasn’t, “Why didn’t they choose me?”

The question was, “Would I really want someone to choose me if their instincts were telling them someone else was the right fit?”

The answer was immediate.

Absofuckinglutely NOT.

I spend my life telling women to trust themselves.

Trust your gut I’ll say.

Ask the questions, I’ll bang on about.

Choose the birth place that feels right.

Choose the care providers you connect with.

Don’t make decisions because someone else thinks you should or to make someone else happy.

Do whatever you feel is right.

So how could I possibly be upset that this family had done exactly what I bang on and on about constantly!

They listened to themselves., trusted their gut.

They followed the feeling that another doula was their person.

And isn’t that exactly what I want every family to do?

Of course it is. Sadly this is also what makes them my dream clients, haha damn.

That realisation didn’t magically make the disappointment disappear. I wish it bloody would though.

I’m still way more upset over it than I should be, but I’ve pulled up my big girl pants (slowly getting into the smaller size, thanks carnivore diet 🙌) and will be ok.

I’m still sad I won’t get to meet their baby.

I’m still gutted I won’t be there when they become parents.

But now that sadness feels different.

It isn’t rejection.

It’s simply accepting that not every wonderful family is meant to become my clients. And that’s ok.

Because somewhere else, there’s another family I’ll sit opposite. We’ll have that same spark. We’ll get goosebumps talking about birth. We’ll laugh, probably cry (I always do), and walk away knowing we’ve found each other. That’s the magic right there!

And that’s exactly how choosing a doula should feel.

Birth work has taught me so many things over the years.

It’s taught me about physiology.

About advocacy.

About trauma.

About joy.

But I’m finding that the biggest lessons have nothing to do with birth at all. They’re usually a painful lesson about moi.

Sometimes they’re about letting go.

About trusting that I don’t have to be the right doula for everyone.

Telling myself it’s ok to not be liked or loved by everyone.

And remembering that if I’m asking women to trust their instincts, I have to celebrate them when they bloody well do, even if it means they don’t choose me.

Because this work has never been about being chosen.

It’s always been about making sure families feel free to choose. Without worrying they’ll upset someone.

And if that means my heart gets bruised every now and then…

I’ll take that over becoming someone who stops caring. Because every birth fills my cup right back to the brim.

Every single damn time.