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

The seed of my death doula work was planted back in 2012, after my mom died. I first came across the term on Twitter, and it felt like a clear calling. During my mom’s illness, her health care and hospice teams often commented on how naturally I connected with her and with the process of dying. But I knew the medical system wasn’t where I wanted to be.

I chose to give myself time before deciding to become a death doula. I was young and deep in the rawness of my grief. I needed space to sit with loss and with the idea of this path before stepping into it fully. In 2023, I met someone who had trained with INELDA, and that conversation reopened the door. For the first time in years, I felt a sense of readiness—not just to revisit the calling, but to commit to it. Now, as my husband and I prepare to return to the United States, the timing feels aligned. I’m finally bringing this long-held dream into form.

What is your pathway to practicing as a doula?

I’m in the early stages of building my death doula practice, with the long-term goal of making it my full-time career once I return to the United States. While I’m still in Korea, my focus is primarily on grief work—I’m offering one-on-one sessions and hosting community events to support anyone navigating loss. This chapter has been a meaningful way to deepen my practice and connect with others through shared grief.

What type of environment do you work in?

Currently, I’m hosting community grief events in public parks, local yoga studios, and neighborhood bars. I also hold online grief circles through Zoom.

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

Before meeting with a potential client or holding space for a grief event, I always take time to sit at my altar. I speak with my ancestors—both of blood and of practice—the ones who cared for the Dying long before me. I also call on the goddesses and guardians from my Iranian and Celtic lineages, those I’ve chosen and those who have chosen me. Their presence offers guidance and a reminder that I am never doing this work alone. They anchor me in my purpose, especially when I’m meeting someone for the first time.

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

Learning to surrender to my calling—and to trust that my death work is both needed and guided—has been life-changing. In the beginning, I was hesitant to define my work too specifically. I worried that focusing on the Iranian-American community might limit me, might make my practice too narrow. But my mentor, Narinder Elizabeth Bazen, asked me a question that shifted everything: “Do you want someone like me serving your community? No! Who better to serve the Iranian-American community than you?” Her words unlocked something in me. I began to see my cultural specificity not as a limitation, but as a gift—something deeply needed. I started to trust that the instinct to serve Iranian-Americans was not just personal, but purposeful. This work is an offering to my community, and I believe I was called to it for a reason.

Who has been one of your teachers or mentors?

My mentor is Narinder Elizabeth Bazen. I participated in her Nine Keys Apprenticeship after I completed my INELDA training, and her mentorship provided me with the tools to build a spiritual foundation for my death work, which I didn’t even know I needed. Her mentorship helped me root my death work in something deeper—something sacred. Narinder’s guidance has been both grounding and expansive. She helped me trust my intuition, build confidence in my own voice, and honor the unique way I’m meant to show up in this work. Much of what she’s given me can’t be put into words, but it continues to shape every aspect of my practice.

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

I still feel like I’m just at the beginning of this journey. But one thing I wish I had known when I began the INELDA training a year ago is how much courage it takes to put yourself out into the world as a death doula. This work asks not only for skill and compassion, but also a deep trust in yourself and your calling. Cultivating that confidence—quietly and consistently—has been one of the most important parts of the path so far.

Do you have any words of encouragement for fellow doulas?

I encourage my fellow death doulas to expand the scope of this work to include collective grief—and to recognize that our role is deeply intertwined with movements for justice, dignity, and liberation. Supporting people at the end of life, and tending to grief in all its forms, is not only sacred work—it’s political. It challenges systems that dehumanize, isolate, and silence. Our death work is a form of activism. It is radical. It is revolutionary. 

Also, don’t be afraid to charge for your work. Your labor is worth it!

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

I dream of building spaces where Iranian and SWANA (Southwest Asia and North Africa) diasporic communities can grieve in ways that feel whole, communal, and connected to ancestral tradition. I want to help normalize public grief, ritual-making, and collective care—especially in cultures impacted by exile, political violence, and ongoing colonial trauma.

I am especially committed to supporting Iranian elders as they approach the end of life—many of whom carry the weight of migration, war, exile, and separation from homeland. I want them to have access to care that honors their language, rituals, memories, and spiritual needs—not just clinical attention, but presence and dignity.