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

The decision came gradually, like the unfolding of something I already knew deep inside. After years as a chaplain, I saw how often people approached death without the presence and intentional care their spirit longed for. Becoming a doula wasn’t about adding something new; it was about naming what had always been true: that my call is to walk with the beloved through the threshold of life into death with tenderness, courage, and reverence. Death, for me, is not the end but a sacred return, part of the great arc of love.

What is your pathway to practicing as a doula?

In some ways, this path began long before I had words for it. I grew up in a traveling carnival, a world of impermanence, color, and humanity in all its forms. It was there that I first learned to listen, to notice, and to embrace people from all walks of life. That early exposure shaped how I see the world: Everyone is worthy of welcome, and everyone carries a story. Over time, this inner knowing led me to chaplaincy, clinical pastoral education, and training as an end-of-life doula through INELDA. Along the way, I have integrated grief support, guided imagery, legacy storytelling, breathwork, and spiritual care. Whether sitting quietly beside someone dying or supporting first responders after a critical incident, the work is the same: to be present with the beloved, wherever they are, and to honor the sacred light within them.

What type of environment do you work in?

My work spans a wide range of settings, including independent and assisted living facilities, memory care and transitional care centers, skilled nursing facilities, hospice care, private homes, and trauma scenes. I also work alongside law enforcement in moments of crisis and loss. Whether it’s a quiet bedside or an emergency response, I carry the same intention: to hold sacred space with gentleness and steadiness, offering a grounded presence amid what can feel overwhelming. My true environment is relational, and my aim is always to return agency, dignity, and spiritual meaning to the person before me.

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

Before I meet someone, I pause and listen inward. I often say a quiet prayer, center my breath, and clear the inner space I’ll need to receive the beloved as they are. Guided imagery may help me hold a calm, spacious field within myself. I don’t come with answers; I come with presence.
Afterward, I ask: What now needs tending in me? This work touches the soul and requires intentional restoration. I turn to breathwork, meditation, movement, nourishing food, and rest. These aren’t just wellness habits; they are sacred acts of integration. In caring for others, we are also invited to remember our own inherent worth and belovedness.

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

I once sat with a woman navigating the emotional and spiritual terrain of dying. After many quiet visits, she turned to me and said, “You listened me into this transition.” Her words have never left me. They reminded me that deep listening is not a passive act; it is a transformative experience. When we hold space without judgment, the soul finds room to shift, to speak, to surrender. At that moment, I felt the presence of the Cosmic Christ not as a doctrine but as love embodied between us.

Who has been one of your teachers or mentors?

My most enduring teachers are those I accompany—the beloveds who trust me with their grief, stories, and silence. However, among the mystics, three voices guide me daily.
Rumi’s “The Guest House” taught me to welcome each feeling as a visitor from beyond bearing a hidden gift. Henri Nouwen showed me that genuine hospitality is not about fixing but about offering space where the other can become fully themselves. And the vision of the Cosmic Christ reminds me that nothing is outside of love’s reach, that every moment, every person, every threshold is shot through with divine presence, waiting to be seen. These teachings are deeply ingrained in my doula work.

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

That love—agape—really is enough. I do not need to prove myself or have all the answers. I wish I had known sooner that a grounded, compassionate presence is often the most healing thing we can offer another. The sacred doesn’t ask us to control the outcome; it asks us to be faithful in the moment, to trust that grace is already moving beneath the surface.

Do you have any words of encouragement for fellow doulas?

Yes. Stay close to what is calling you. Your presence carries light, even when no one sees it. Trust the slowness. Trust the silence. Stay rooted in your own belovedness. There will be moments when you feel too small for the work, but remember: You are not the one doing the transformation. You are the one holding space for it to emerge.

You are part of a quiet, sacred movement, restoring dignity, wonder, and beauty to the end of life. And you don’t walk it alone.

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

I dream of a world where doulas are recognized as essential members of the care team, offering not only stillness and compassion but insight into the emotional, spiritual, and relational aspects of the journey. We are not just witnesses to dying; we are companions to becoming.
As we take our seats at the interdisciplinary table, may we never lose our essence, our sacred slowness, our soulfulness, our mystical knowing that each person we serve is the beloved. My dream is also rooted in the vision of the Cosmic Christ: that all of creation is held in love and that each death is not an end but a movement toward union, toward the fullness of what we already are.
As Ram Dass said, “We’re all just walking each other home.” May we continue doing so with tenderness, courage, and grace.