'Hi David.

I just finished your 'Grace in Action' podcast, I binged listened to them, actually. My favourite researcher Brené Brown talks about living a brave life and it means a huge amount of fear and pain quite often as you can't pretend things don't matter. But it's a bit like fairy lights, where everything is dark and hard for a bit as you walk along the string and then suddenly you find the light again.

Listening to your podcast with Siobhan felt like one of the floodlit moments. So much clarity and beauty in the way you both love Grace. It was a masterclass in love.

Good to remember this as I go back into midwifery. I'm not sure how to say it but I think of Grace and you and Siobhan often as I'm sure many of us do. Do you remember that chat we had about BLM and you talked about turning situations that you can't control and break your heart into some kind of art?

I really hope it was helpful to you both but you know it was helpful to me, and that has to mean lots of others, right?

You gave plenty of evidence and useful information which is brilliant but we need the art so much. To help the women and the families and the midwives find their way through.

Anyway, I'll post the podcast on my blog and hope people find it.

Much Love x

Listen to David and Siobhan's podcast here.

This one was written by Nathan Welch. Thank you Nathan, you're brilliant.

'Should I use 'woman' or 'client' or something else in my personal statement? What's inclusive?'

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Part 1 ‘Are you sure you’re not in denial?’

It was March 2015. I don’t remember the exact date, but say it was a Monday. I was living in Leicester with my partner. We shared directorship of a small business. I was into writing and online midwifery community building; he did some Amazon trading and helped me with web design. We had a grey corner sofa, savings, a plan to have kids, and a long history of doing international cycling adventures together. We’d been in a relationship for almost 7 years, good friends for nearer 10.

By Thursday, I was living with my parents because he was in love with someone else. 

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In year nine we did Frankenstein. We covered it for our SATS. We didn't go into as much depth as anything we did at GCSE but I think we spent most of a term on it.

I might be misremembering, it's been a long time since I was 15. But the one fact I took from these classes was that Mary Shelley had experienced a miscarriage. This was the unnatural, horrific event which explained the monster in the story.

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I wrote something today. I think it's better listened to rather than read so I've uploaded an audio file. I recorded it while walking down by the river Cam.

I put the text below in case you'd prefer it.

Hope it helps x

It's 6.45 am and I'm sitting here with a plastic purple mug of strong coffee reading 'It Didn't Start With You', a book about inherited family trauma. There's another book on white guilt I'd like to cover after that. I'm wondering about the time my great uncle spent living in Kenya. And I have one of my Mum's early nursing essays to look at, circa 1979. It's been done on a typewriter with hand-drawn illustrations.

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I've just finished watching 'Unorthodox'. This is a Netflix series based on the life of Deborah Feldman, a young woman who escaped the extreme Hasidic Jewish sect that she was born into.

The Satmar community are based in Wlliamsburg, New York. Their arranged marriages take place age 17. Wives are expected to be homemakers and get pregnant asap. Their native language is Yiddish.

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This is a post that started as an email to my list. It's from a series of reflections I wrote as coronavirus ramped up. If you enjoy it, perhaps subscribe here.

I've spent the last two weeks having more meaningful conversations than I've had in the last two years.

Turns out my upbringing was much more British than I thought. Growing up, I never felt particularly distant from my friends and family, but our boundaries were in place. We never talked about death or love, way too heavy for everyday.

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This is a post that started as an email to my list. It's from a series of reflections I wrote as coronavirus ramped up. If you enjoy it, perhaps subscribe here.

When I was a staff midwife in New Zealand, the small coastal town I worked in would be hit by 'weather bombs'. These swept in off the sea, whipping tree ferns and scaring the sheep. I was never one to accept a lift home; being beaten up by this new country was perfect immersion for 24 year old outdoorsy me.

On one wild afternoon, I cycled home from the hospital, battling headwinds, then pushed by tailwinds. I had something to do.

I was soaked to the bone, but I didn't even shower, just towelled off and changed my clothes.

I wanted to do something. I read through my first midwifery blog post for the tenth time, pulled my guts together and hit publish.

It sounds like I'm making it up but there was a shift. My brain gave me an auditory metaphor, the raindrops on the roof as individual readers finding my writing.

I knew it wasn't that great and I had a long way to go, but I also knew this was going to work.

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This is a post that started as an email to my list. It's from a series of reflections I wrote as coronavirus ramped up. If you enjoy it, perhaps subscribe here.

I'm going to be vulnerable walking onto a ward. I'll try my best and I think if I'm paying attention it'll all come back but it's going to be awkward and hard.

At the same time, I'm talking to a lot of registered staff who are working and not one of them knows what's to come or feels prepared.

All I can do is turn up with what I have. A willingness to help goes a long way.

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