Hi, I’m Chelsea.

I’m drawn to the moments when life is changing and you can’t quite see what comes next. Pregnancy. Birth. Becoming someone’s parent. Becoming a parent again and wondering how this new person will fit into the family you already love.

There can be excitement, uncertainty, fierce confidence, and a hundred questions—all in the same afternoon. I want you to have someone you can be honest with through all of it.

I’m someone who wants to know the why. Why we do things a certain way. Who decided. Whether it still makes sense. Once something catches my attention, I tend to end up with seventeen tabs open and a book on the way. I love helping someone reach that moment of, “Oh. Now I understand.” Especially when understanding helps them find their voice.

I care about how you’re treated while you’re making decisions. Whether you have time to ask questions. Whether someone asks before touching you. Whether your partner feels included and knows how to help. Whether you feel comfortable saying, “Wait—I need a minute.”

Those things matter long before labor begins.

And when birth comes, I want there to be room for you to be yourself. Quiet or loud. Focused or uncertain. Asking for touch or asking everyone to please stop touching you. You can hold something sacred and still swear through it. There is no personality you need to perform and no particular kind of birth you need to want.

I used to think my goal was to help people have a positive birth experience. I still want that, but my understanding of it has grown. I care about whether you felt heard, understood your choices, and had someone beside you when things were hard or plans changed.

I care about what happens when you get home, too. When everyone has met the baby, the messages slow down, and you’re figuring out feeding, recovery, relationships, and who you are in the middle of it all. You can love your baby fiercely and need a damn break. You can be grateful and struggling at the same time.

You don’t have to tidy those feelings up for me.

That willingness to make room for the whole person comes from my own life, too. Raising a blended, multicultural family keeps teaching me how differently people experience the world—even under the same roof. Love asks me to listen, question my assumptions, apologize when I get it wrong, and try again. I bring those lessons with me when I meet a family whose story is different from mine.

At home, care often looks ordinary: feeding people, homeschooling, growing things, and working alongside my husband on our homestead. There’s usually dirt somewhere and a project waiting to be finished. I love the idea of a slow, peaceful life. Our household occasionally participates.

I find something meaningful in that everyday tending. Nature and spirituality help me slow down and pay attention, while my curious brain keeps asking questions. I can feel the sacredness of birth and still want to read the research. I want to understand what we know and leave room for what an experience means to the person living it.

That’s how I hope you’ll experience me: curious, practical, willing to laugh, and able to sit with something hard without rushing you through it.

Whether we’re talking through your hopes during pregnancy, working together through a contraction, or making space for you to eat and rest after your baby arrives, I want our relationship to be one where you can tell me what you need—and tell me when something isn’t helping.

You don’t need to impress me, agree with me, or have everything figured out.

Come with your questions, your hopes, your uncertainty, and your own way of doing things. I’d like to get to know you.