xo, Haley

What shaped me into the roles i hold within the birth community

Hi, I’m Haley.

My path into birth work wasn’t a straight one. It was shaped by motherhood, birth trauma, infertility and loss, surrogacy, healing, and ultimately discovering the kind of care I believe every family deserves.

When I was younger, I had this beautiful picture in my head of what becoming a mother would look like. I imagined pregnancy, a peaceful birth, laboring in water, and feeling connected to and in control of my own body.

Then I became pregnant at 16, and suddenly that vision didn’t feel like mine anymore.

I was told that a water birth wasn’t an option because of my age—something I now look back on very differently. I was convinced that an epidural was what I needed, and Pitocin was administered before I truly understood why it was being given, what it would do, or how my body might respond.

I remember feeling like the entire experience was happening to me instead of with me.

My birth wasn’t peaceful. It wasn’t what I had envisioned. I walked away feeling sad, defeated, and disconnected from an experience that was supposed to be one of the most important moments of my life.

I told myself that when I had another baby, it would be different. I would speak up. I would advocate for myself. I would finally have the birth I had dreamed about.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t my experience the second time either.

My provider pushed for an induction, and even though I tried to advocate for what I wanted, I felt as though my wishes continued to fall on deaf ears. I was heartbroken. At the time, I believed he would be my last baby, and I had to grieve the fact that I might never experience the birth I had always wanted.

For years, I simply accepted that this was what birth looked like.

I heard similar stories from other mothers—women who felt unheard, pressured, uninformed, or like decisions had been made for them—and I began to believe that this was just the norm.

My journey into motherhood also wasn’t without loss. I have experienced infertility struggles of my own, including two tubal pregnancies. Those experiences gave me an entirely different understanding of how complicated the road to parenthood can be. Pregnancy isn’t always easy to achieve, a positive pregnancy test doesn’t always end with a baby in your arms, and sometimes becoming a parent involves an incredible amount of grief, waiting, medicine, science, and hope.

Through my personal experiences and later through surrogacy, I also became very familiar with IVF—the medications, monitoring, transfers, waiting, uncertainty, and emotions that can come with assisted reproduction. It has given me an especially tender place in my heart for families navigating infertility, IVF, pregnancy after loss, and alternative paths to parenthood.

Before birth work became my calling, I became a pre-K teacher and went through nursing school. I loved caring for people, I loved children, and I knew there was something about healthcare that continued to pull at me. But eventually, I realized I still hadn’t found where I was truly supposed to be.

I knew hospitals felt familiar to me. I knew babies made me light up. I knew helping people brought me a kind of peace and purpose I couldn’t find anywhere else.

So I took a year away from working and gave myself permission to figure out what came next.

Almost exactly one year later, I enrolled in a DONA doula training.

Within two hours, I knew.

This was it. I was home.

As I learned more about physiologic birth, informed consent, advocacy, evidence-based care, and the role of continuous labor support, I also began unpacking my own experiences. Through conversations with my trainer and fellow doulas, I finally had language for feelings I had carried for years.

I realized how deeply my own births had affected me.

And that realization became part of my purpose.

I became a doula because I never wanted another mother to feel as though she disappeared inside her own birth experience. I wanted women to understand their options, ask questions, feel supported in their decisions, and know that their voices matter.

Then birth work began healing me, too.

In 2022, I chose to help another family become parents—not as their doula, but as their surrogate.

In May 2023, surrounded by my husband, an incredible doula, and a supportive, hands-off birth team at Full Circle and St. Vincent’s, I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl.

That birth changed something inside of me.

For the first time, I experienced what it felt like to be trusted.

I was supported without being controlled. Encouraged without being pressured. My body was given space to do what it knew how to do, and the people around me genuinely believed in me.

That birth helped heal wounds I had carried since I was 16.

And then, in 2025, I became a surrogate again.

I went into that journey with so much more knowledge and experience than I had before, but somehow birth still found another way to teach me.

This time, I worked with a new doula and birth photographer who completely shifted my perspective yet again. Having someone present who could support the experience while also preserving it showed me another layer of just how powerful birth work can be. It reinforced my belief that support isn’t simply about what happens clinically during labor. It’s about how a mother feels, what she remembers, the moments she doesn’t get to see herself, and the story she carries with her afterward.

That journey also taught me that even a beautiful birth doesn’t guarantee an easy postpartum.

I struggled with postpartum anxiety and the baby blues. As a birth worker who had spent so much time supporting other women, it was humbling to experience just how vulnerable the postpartum period can be firsthand. I understood professionally that postpartum support mattered—but living it gave those words an entirely different meaning.

It changed the way I support families.

It made me more attentive to the mother after everyone else has turned their attention to the baby. It made me ask different questions. It made me understand that sometimes the person who seems knowledgeable, prepared, capable, and “fine” is still struggling.

Today, all of those experiences have woven themselves together into the birth worker I am.

I am a mother.
I am a surrogate.
I am a doula.
I am a birth and motherhood photographer.
I am someone who has experienced infertility and pregnancy loss.
I am someone who has experienced birth trauma and birth healing.
I am someone who has experienced postpartum anxiety and the baby blues.
And I am still learning.

I am currently working toward certification through CAPPA, continuing to expand my education and the level of support I can offer families. My long-term goal has also become incredibly clear: I want to become a Certified Nurse-Midwife (CNM).

I want to take everything birth work has taught me—the importance of informed consent, evidence-based care, autonomy, emotional safety, physiologic birth, advocacy, and simply listening to women—and carry those values with me into clinical practice.

My goal has never been to promise anyone a particular kind of birth.

Birth is unpredictable, and sometimes plans have to change.

My goal is for you to never look back and wonder, Why didn’t anyone tell me I had options? Why didn’t anyone explain that to me? Why didn’t anyone listen to me?

Whether your birth involves an epidural or no medication, an induction or spontaneous labor, a hospital room, birth center, operating room, or your own home—you deserve to be informed, respected, supported, and heard.

My experiences have taught me that a doula isn’t there to create someone’s “perfect birth.” We are there to bring steadiness when things feel uncertain. To educate without making decisions for you. To advocate for communication. To remind you of your strength when you’ve forgotten it. To protect the emotional space surrounding one of the most vulnerable and transformative experiences of your life.

And sometimes, we’re simply there to hold a hand and say, I’m still right here.

Every chapter of my story—the beautiful ones and the painful ones—has brought me here.

And I wouldn’t be the birth worker I am today without all of them.