Sometimes I'd offer one-to-one sessions at group prices just to avoid an empty room. Sometimes nobody booked at all. I'd delete posts from my social media that hadn't landed, wonder if I'd made a terrible mistake, and lie awake genuinely questioning whether it was possible to make a real living from this work - even when you were good at it, even when you cared deeply.

I told myself it was the competition. That my area was oversaturated. That maybe birth work just wasn't something you could build a proper business around.

But I wasn't ready to give up.

So I did what most of us do. I invested in mentoring, joined memberships, listened to podcasts, bought courses. I spent real money trying to find the answer. And again and again, I hit the same wall: the advice didn't fit. The people teaching it had never worked with pregnant or postnatal families. The strategies felt pushy, transactional, and completely at odds with the ethics of this work. There was endless talk about funnels and closing and scaling and almost nothing about trust, relationship, or the specific reality of being on call for someone at one of the most vulnerable moments of their life.

So slowly — very slowly — I started figuring it out for myself.

I tested things. I refined things. I paid attention to what actually worked, and why. And over time, something shifted. The cancelled classes became fully booked courses with waiting lists. The lactation side of my practice grew. And eventually, I was earning the living I always knew should be possible from this work.

What I learned wasn't a magic formula. It was simpler than that: clarity about what I was offering and who it was for, consistency that didn't burn me out, marketing that felt honest, and the kind of support and accountability that kept me moving even when I wanted to quit.

I also had a background that shaped everything. Before birth work, I spent years as a Social Care Worker in youth justice and homeless services. That work taught me what it means to sit with people in genuinely difficult moments — and it gave me a deep, unshakeable belief that how you support someone matters just as much as what you do for them. That belief runs through everything I do at Your Birth Biz.

What finally pushed me to start coaching other birth workers was a pattern I kept seeing: people leaving the industry. Not because they'd stopped loving the work. But because they couldn't earn a living from it. They were burning out trying to figure it out alone, following advice that didn't fit, and slowly losing faith that it was possible.

I knew it was possible. I'd lived it.

So I took everything that had worked, left out everything that felt wrong, and built the kind of support I'd desperately needed when I was starting out — designed specifically for birth and postpartum professionals. Not just strategies, but real implementation. Not just information, but confidence. Not just a course to buy and forget, but a community to grow alongside.