When I discovered that I was pregnant with our second child, excitement quickly turned into anxiety. Nearly six years had passed since we had our first child but with a tumultuous pregnancy and postpartum period, I was certain that I wanted a completely different experience this time around.

For starters, I wanted to be fully supported and heard. During my first pregnancy, I switched from an OB-GYN to a rotating hospital midwifery team in my third trimester. Both my husband and I were unexpectedly laid off and lost our health insurance. I never really had the chance to interact with my providers on a personal level, and I felt like nothing more than a number.

This time, I wanted a vaginal home birth after cesarean (HBAC). I craved an environment of learning, and one where my young daughter could share in the experience as well. Id be limited in who I could have in the delivery room at a hospital and with no additional child care support, birthing at home was the best option for me.

One of my biggest requests included having a microaggression-free experience. I dealt with an unhealthy and unnecessary amount of fatphobia throughout my first pregnancy. When questioning why I suffered from hyperemesis gravidarum, severe vomiting and nausea during pregnancy, Ill never forget being falsely accused of drinking too much soda and eating donuts. According to my doctor, the reason I was excessively puking every day was simply because I was fat.

What I craved most of all was a birth team that was fully aware of the seriousness of Americas Black maternal health crisis; people who would be fierce advocates for me and my family, prioritizing bodily autonomy and flexibility in our birthing plan.

According to the Centers for Disease Control, Black mothers are three times more likely to die from pregnancy-related causes than white women. There are numerous factors that contribute to these disparities in birthing care, including access to quality health care, undetected or misdiagnosed underlying conditions, racism and implicit bias.

After a few weeks of research, I was finally connected with a midwife who was interested in taking me on as a client. She drove nearly an hour in the rain to our home to administer a physical exam and pre-onboarding survey, in which I extensively discussed my previous pregnancies and birth. There were tough parts of that conversation, but I was comforted by her strong maternal presence and deep care as she rubbed tears from my eyes. As a 60-year-old former nurse who had four children and six grandchildren whom she helped deliver she empathized with me because she had heard my story so many times before.

At every subsequent appointment, I felt heard. I was not rushed. Sometimes, a session with my midwife (and her apprentice) lasted for hours. My doula, husband, and 6-year-old were also welcomed with open arms to all my appointments, too.