My Story: How I Became a Reproductive Health Educator & Doula

There wasn’t a single moment where everything clicked and I suddenly knew, this is what I’m meant to do.
It was slower than that. Quieter. More layered.

My path into reproductive health education and doula work unfolded the same way our bodies do—cyclically, intuitively, sometimes messily, and always with wisdom beneath the surface.

Even though I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do professionally, there were signs early on. I was always a curious kid—especially when it came to the body. During sex education classes in middle school and high school, I was genuinely interested. I wanted to understand why things worked the way they did, not just memorize the basics or get through the unit. I asked questions. I paid attention. I actually enjoyed learning about reproduction, anatomy, and health when many of my peers felt awkward or disengaged.

That curiosity stayed with me through college, where I continued gravitating toward conversations and coursework that explored bodies, health, and human experience. At the time, I didn’t see this as a career path. I just knew I was interested. Drawn in. Paying attention.

Looking back now, I see those moments clearly for what they were: early seeds.

Listening Before I Had the Words

Like many people, I didn’t grow up being taught how my body actually worked. I learned the basics—periods meant bleeding, pregnancy happened if you weren’t “careful,” hormones were something to fear or suppress. My menstrual cycle was framed as an inconvenience at best, a liability at worst.

And yet, even then, I felt there was something deeper happening. Something meaningful that wasn’t being named.

Before I ever had the language for “cycle awareness” or “body literacy,” I noticed patterns. Energy shifts. Emotional waves. I noticed how my motivation changed throughout the month, how my body craved different foods, different movement, different levels of rest. I noticed how stress showed up physically, how overwhelm lived in my shoulders and jaw, how grounding myself made a difference.

At the time, I thought I was just sensitive.

Now I understand that sensitivity was my first teacher.

The Limits of the System

As I moved through adulthood, I spent time in healthcare spaces that often felt rushed, impersonal, and incomplete. I watched friends struggle with side effects from hormonal birth control without being offered real education or alternatives. I saw how fertility, menstruation, pregnancy, and postpartum experiences were either overly medicalized or completely dismissed.

There was very little nuance.
Very little education.
Very little space for curiosity.

The same questions I had been asking since middle school—why does this work this way? what’s actually happening? what are my options?—were still largely unanswered.

The Gap That Changed Everything

What finally shifted things for me wasn’t a diagnosis or a crisis—it was learning that there is an evidence-based way to understand your menstrual cycle in real time.

Discovering fertility awareness was like someone turning the lights on in a room I’d been navigating in the dark. For the first time, I understood that ovulation is a sign, not a guess. That cervical fluid is communication. That the cycle isn’t just about reproduction—it’s a vital sign of overall health.

It connected so many dots.

Suddenly, my lifelong curiosity made sense. My questions weren’t “too much.” They were appropriate—and overdue.

More importantly, I realized how many of us had been failed.

Failed by an education system that reduced sex ed to fear-based messaging.
Failed by a medical model that often prioritizes management over understanding.
Failed by a culture that disconnects us from our bodies and then tells us to trust experts more than ourselves.

Once I saw that, I couldn’t unsee it.

From Personal Learning to Purpose

At first, I was just learning for myself. Charting. Reading. Asking questions. Noticing how empowering it felt to know what was happening in my body instead of guessing or outsourcing that knowledge.

Then people started asking me questions.

Friends. Clients. Coworkers. People navigating irregular cycles, coming off hormonal birth control, trying to conceive, trying to avoid pregnancy, entering postpartum, or feeling completely disconnected from their bodies.

I found myself explaining things simply, gently—because I remembered how overwhelming this information could feel when it was delivered without care.

And I loved it.

I loved breaking complex concepts down into accessible language.
I loved watching someone’s face soften when they realized their body wasn’t broken.
I loved hearing, “Why didn’t anyone tell me this before?”

That question became a compass.

Becoming a Doula: Holding the In-Between

My entry into doula work felt like a natural extension of everything I was already doing—supporting, listening, advocating, witnessing.

What drew me to doula work wasn’t just birth itself, but the in-between spaces: pregnancy decisions, postpartum vulnerability, identity shifts, exhaustion, joy, grief, uncertainty. I was deeply aware of how little support many families receive during some of the most transformative moments of their lives.

Being a doula taught me that education alone isn’t enough.

People need to feel safe.
They need to feel seen.
They need someone who can sit with them without fixing, rushing, or minimizing.

This work grounded me in the reality that reproductive health doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It’s shaped by stress, relationships, trauma, culture, access, and support systems. It’s embodied. It’s emotional. It’s deeply human.

Education Without Dogma

One of the core values I hold in my work is non-coercive education.

I don’t believe in telling people what they should do with their bodies. I don’t believe in shaming medical interventions or glorifying “natural” approaches without nuance. And I don’t believe there is one right path for everyone.

What I do believe in is informed choice.

I believe people deserve complete, accurate, evidence-based information presented in a way that honors autonomy. I believe fertility awareness should be taught as a skill—not a moral stance. And I believe menstrual cycles deserve the same respect as any other vital sign.

My role is not to be the authority over someone’s body.
My role is to be a guide, an educator, and a steady presence.

Why This Work Matters to Me

This work is personal because it’s political, cultural, and generational.

So many of us carry inherited silence around our bodies. Shame passed down without intention. Fear that was never questioned. Misinformation that became normalized.

Every time someone learns how ovulation actually works…
Every time someone stops blaming themselves for a “problem” that was never explained…
Every time someone feels more at home in their body…

That matters.

The Educator I Strive to Be

I strive to be the educator I wish I had—the one who would have welcomed my middle-school questions instead of brushing past them.

One who explains without overwhelming.
One who welcomes curiosity instead of shutting it down.
One who understands that learning about your body can bring up grief as well as relief.

I don’t rush people. I don’t assume goals. I don’t flatten experiences into protocols.

Instead, I meet people where they are.

Where I Am Now

Today, my work weaves together fertility awareness education, doula support, mentorship, and advocacy. It’s grounded in evidence, informed by lived experience, and guided by deep respect for bodily autonomy. I see this work as part of a larger movement toward body literacy—not as a trend, but as a reclamation.

A remembering. Because our bodies have always been speaking. I’ve just been listening for a long time. And now, I get to help others learn how to listen too.