When and why did you decide to become an end-of-life doula?

In 2016, my dear friend Lisa received a shock diagnosis of stage 4 cancer. We were good friends, but the only reason I was with her when she received the news was because her future wife was out of the country, and her best friend was also traveling. The inartfully delivered prognosis hit us like a ton of bricks. I dropped to my knees beside her and hugged her, but I couldn’t think of any words to say. I excused myself to use the restroom, and on the way back to Lisa’s room, I stopped at the nurse’s station to request that a chaplain come by to offer comfort. I walked back into Lisa’s room accompanied by the very kind and understanding chaplain, who was remarkably unfazed that Lisa was furious I’d invited her into Lisa’s space. The chaplain left, and Lisa vented a little more at me, asking why I possibly thought asking for a chaplain was the right move. Lisa wasn’t religious, and as the two middle fingers she held up to me reminded me, she had no use for organized religion. Within seconds she forgave me for my misstep, and Lisa and I remained good friends. And yet it continued to bother me that I didn’t know what to say or do in that situation. By running for a chaplain rather than being fully present to Lisa, I felt I wasn’t living up to my end of the friendship. Perhaps I wasn’t even living up to being fully human. At first I blamed myself, but I grew to understand it wasn’t my fault that I’d never been taught how to navigate these conversations. It wasn’t my fault that I had no practice standing face-to-face in grief. As a White Midwestern man, I knew I had some learning to do. I also had a growing sense of urgency surrounding my realization that everyone deserves spiritual support at the end of life, including people who don’t have any desire to participate in religious rituals or organizations. A couple of years later, a friend suggested I look into INELDA. When I dug into the INELDA website, I felt relieved that I wasn’t going to have to reinvent the wheel. I signed up for the 2019 Minneapolis INELDA training with Nicole Heidbreder and Kris Kington-Barker. By the end of the first day of training I knew I was answering a call.

How long have you been doing this type of work?

I established my practice in 2020, right before the COVID lockdown, when I was living in a tiny village in rural Ohio. I was fortunate to have two online teaching positions at the time because it was nearly impossible to find clients to support during those tragic days when not even family members were allowed to visit local hospices and hospitals. In 2021, I moved to Columbus in search of greater economic opportunities. I received my first check from a client the last month of that year.

What type of environment do you work in?

I do most of my work in clients’ homes, but I’ve been surprised by how many clients have asked me to serve remotely. The pandemic really taught people how to be comfortable meeting over a video call, and depending on how a client is feeling, sometimes they prefer an online check-in to a face-to-face visit. Currently I have two out-of-state clients who found me through my website, and a third who was recommended by a colleague who thought we’d be a good match. None of them are actively dying. When that time comes, they understand I’ll likely not be able to sit vigil at their bedside, and they’re prepared to enlist a doula who lives closer. To that end, I’ve been so thankful for the INELDA directory! 

What do you do before you meet with a new client?

I clear my head. For me, that involves acknowledging all the stressful things that might be going on in my life. I spend a little time worrying about that upcoming doctor’s appointment or my increasing car insurance premium. That might seem counterintuitive, but I’ve found if I don’t acknowledge all that and set it aside, it might creep in when I’m with a client. I think about all the people I’ve lost (not just clients, but loved ones), and I remind myself that this person’s journey isn’t going to be like any of theirs. I remind myself that I’m not going to offer any solutions or fix anything during this first meeting. I’m going to listen, and I’m going to validate their concerns, worries, and joys. Then I silence my phone, and walk in empty-handed. I leave my doula bag in my car.

Can you share a short anecdote or insight that changed you?

On my website’s contact form, one of the fields asks, “What else would you like me to know before I contact you to schedule a consult?” One request I received said only three words in that space: “I hate men.” I was thrown for a loop! I couldn’t imagine why they’d be contacting me, a man, and so I spent a few hours questioning whether the request was real. With my beard and my he/him pronouns, I clearly identify as male on my website. Most doulas are women, and there are other wonderful doulas practicing in Columbus. I thought about it some more, but still confused, I decided to just let it go. I reached out and we scheduled a meeting. She ended up hiring me, but it was months before she explained to me why she wrote those words on my intake form. “Looking through your website, I could tell you were the doula for me. Our personalities were a good fit. But most of the people I’ve had trouble with over the years have been men, and most of that subgroup of men have been the type of men who would be really triggered by a woman saying ‘I hate men.’ I had to make sure you weren’t one of them.” I wouldn’t necessarily say this experience changed me, but it reinforced a basic tenet of my doula approach. It’s never about me. Any pain or anger that’s expressed near me isn’t expressed at me. We doulas are often highly sensitive people, so it’s good to keep this reminder front-of-mind.

Who has been one of your teachers or mentors?

I am so grateful for my doula mentors who have become my colleagues, and yet I find myself wanting to recognize my dear friend Rebecca Kemble, a journalist, activist, and worker-organizer living in Madison, Wisconsin. In so many ways, she planted the seeds in my heart and mind that would later bloom as I set out on this doula path. When my mother was actively dying in 2010, I called Rebecca from my mother’s bedside, explaining to her that while it was the most difficult thing I’d ever experienced, it was also the most beautiful, and that I’d never felt so much peace. “Take note of that liminal space,” she said. “You get it. Not everyone is at home there.” Her observation stuck with me.

I feel lucky to have a friend whom I can also call a mentor. In my 20s, I was running away from anything resembling a spiritual life. Rebecca took notice and started asking me the right questions. When I was deciding whether to remain in academia or change careers, Rebecca asked me quite pointedly, “Why do you keep giving your energy to things that aren’t returning that energy in kind?” I didn’t have an answer, but I knew it was time to look for something else, something that aligned my life with a greater purpose. Today I still draw on my musical knowledge and training in so many aspects of my doula work, but I do so in an effort to help clients create (or uncover) meaning. What does the music a client likes say about who they are? What memories are recalled when listening to a certain song? There’s nothing I enjoy more than supporting someone as they work to discover their foundational truths along with the nuances that have added so much color to their lives. I don’t know that I’d be drawing on my skills in such a purposeful way if Rebecca hadn’t encouraged me to focus on what really matters to me. 

What do you wish you had known when you started as a doula?

Self-care is so important, but remember that your self-care isn’t necessarily going to look like anyone else’s. Self-care is a call to balance. I was a cab driver for several years. Looking back on those years, I can see how the experience sharpened what would become the skills I draw on in my doula tool kit. In particular, if one rider was particularly rude or obnoxious, I wouldn’t let that spill over into how I interacted with my next passenger. But some nights, carload after carload of drunk and loud 21-year-olds could feel like a bit too much, and I’d head home at the end of a long night absolutely frazzled. I wouldn’t turn the radio or TV on; I’d just sit and zone out in a quiet room until I recovered. Looking back, a meditation practice would surely have helped me.

But today, as a doula, so much of my work life already resembles a meditation practice. It’s sitting still, staying focused, and quieting my mind. It’s holding sacred space, sometimes for hours upon hours. And it’s tough, tender work. So what does my self-care routine look like now? It’s getting loud and silly on stage at improv comedy shows. It’s standing for hours in the supporters’ section at Columbus Crew soccer matches, singing along for the chants and screaming my lungs out when we score a goal. Had you told me 10 years ago this is what my self-care routine would look like, I would have wondered who you were talking about, because it wasn’t me. 

Do you have any words of encouragement for fellow doulas?

Many doulas I know are wonderful advocacy doulas, and I honor that work. It takes all of us working together to spread the word that we exist. For as much as the profession has grown over the past five years, most people still don’t know what an end-of-life doula does. Launching any small business is a challenge, but it’s particularly difficult when you’re offering a service people don’t know exists. I applaud all of us who serve as community educators in the hope that a rising tide lifts all boats. But I encourage you not to stop there. Think about what sets your doula practice apart from all the others. Why should people choose you from the doula directory? We all have skills, gifts, and strengths. Lean into those and advertise them. For me, two that come to mind are my musical insight and my desire to serve clients whose support circles are atypical. What are yours?

What is your dream for your practice or doulas in general?

My dream is for doulas to be as familiar and accessible to people as tax preparers. Some people say that the work we do doesn’t require training, that it’s work we should be taught to do by our families as we come of age. That’s true to a point, and I understand the sentiment: Absolutely, we should strive to be better as a society when it comes to knowing how to be present for our loved ones when they approach the end of life! But what happens if someone has outlived their loved ones? What if their situation is particularly tricky, filled with lots of competing personalities? A year ago I was describing this ongoing discussion to a client who is a retired tax-preparer. He pointed out that what I was describing was a lot like tax preparation. Some people have a relatively straightforward situation. But others have health issues that might make preparing their own taxes impossible. And what if there’s a recent divorce? Or a kid is out-of-state in college? Or what if numbers and attention to detail just aren’t your thing? Not everyone hires a tax preparer, but I’m sure glad the service is available for those who need it.