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As a birth doula, I have had the privilege of witnessing women at their strongest and most vulnerable. I’ve watched them bring life into the world with courage and power. But I’ve also seen what happens afterward — when the meals stop coming, the visitors leave, the partner goes back to work, and the world shifts its focus almost entirely to the baby. So often, we celebrate the newborn and quietly overlook the woman who was just born as a mother.

 

After having my own baby, I realized how deeply I had been blessed. I was surrounded. Fed. Checked on. Prayed over. My fire was tended by friends and family who understood that I, too, needed care. But not every mother has that. Only six months postpartum, I was diagnosed with a large brain tumor that needed to be removed promptly. After the craniotomy, once again my fire was tended with countless meals, care for my baby, and personal encouragement. 

 

I once heard a sermon about the desert — how the enemy wants you to believe it is a place of isolation. And yet, in Scripture, the desert is often the very place where God meets His people. It is not a place of abandonment, but of provision. Of strengthening. Of presence. That reframed postpartum for me. The early days of motherhood can feel like a wilderness — disorienting, beautiful, exhausting, holy. But they were never meant to be walked alone.

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