I was called to this work long before I even knew the word doula. As a mother of 11, I have walked the
path of pregnancy, birth, and postpartum more times than most. I have felt the raw beauty of bringing life
into the world and the deep challenges that come with it. I have experienced firsthand the gaps in our
maternal healthcare system, the lack of culturally competent care, and the silent battles so many Black
and Brown birthing people endure.
But I have also witnessed something else—resilience, power, and the undeniable strength of our
community.
Why Black Doulas Matter
For centuries, our ancestors have held space for birth as a sacred rite of passage. But today, in a system that has repeatedly failed Black, Indigenous, and People of Color (BIPOC), we are fighting for more than just a beautiful birth experience—we are fighting for survival.
Black women in the U.S. are three to four times more likely to die from pregnancy-related complications than white women. Black babies born in Ingham County are almost three times as likely to die before their first birthday, when compared to White babies born in the same community (16.1 deaths per 1,000 live births when compared to 5.6, Michigan Vital Records). Systemic racism, medical neglect, and implicit bias have left too many Black and Brown parents unheard, unseen, and unprotected.
But doulas change that narrative.
We provide continuous, culturally aligned, evidence-based support. We remind our clients that their voices matter, their intuition is powerful, and they deserve care that is centered on their well-being—not statistics.
My Own Painful Experience
Between my fourth and fifth child, I was almost three months pregnant when I started to feel off. I was used to pregnancy, and although each one is different, pregnancy has a way of letting you know it is there. But this time, something felt wrong. I had a little spotting and a sensation like something was detaching inside my stomach. My concern grew, so I went to the ER.
In that emergency room, my fears were confirmed—I had miscarried.
I was devastated. I cried. And then, as I was processing this deep, personal loss, a nurse walked in to grab some supplies. She glanced at me and, without an ounce of compassion, made a comment to the effect that I was inconveniencing her by taking up a room.
I was in utter disbelief.
As if I had the power to schedule when I had a miscarriage.
That moment—her words, her coldness—stayed with me. Even though this happened over 15 years ago, the wound of that experience still lingers. No one, in their most vulnerable moment, should ever be made to feel like they are an inconvenience. No one should be treated as though they don’t matter. But this is exactly what happens to so many Black and Brown birthing people every single day.
That day, I was alone in my pain. And I never want another person to feel that way.
My Daughter’s Birth & the Power of Advocacy
Years later, my daughter faced a different, yet equally troubling experience when giving birth to her first child.
She was due in a week when she noticed she was leaking fluid. It wasn’t much, but something wasn’t right. She called me, and I told her to go to her doctor’s office to get checked. She scheduled an appointment, saw a nurse, and underwent their standard tests. They told her that her water had not broken and sent her home.
She left the appointment troubled, uneasy. She called me again, and I told her something I’ve come to know deeply: We know our bodies. I asked her, “What other fluid could you be leaking like that? That’s not normal.” I told her I would take her to the hospital myself, straight to triage.
When we arrived, the truth was undeniable—her water had indeed broken.
For the next 32 hours, she labored. She was given Pitocin sporadically, her cervix was checked far more often than was necessary, and at one point, when I asked the nurse about an epidural, she assured us that none of the medication would pass into the baby’s system. I knew this wasn’t true, even if it was just minimal. But for so many birthing people who don’t have someone advocating for them, misinformation like this goes unquestioned.
When they attempted to check her cervix for the third time despite no progress or changes, I reminded her that she could "say no". She had a choice.
Eventually, a cesarean became medically necessary. Her baby was born but quickly developed jaundice. The medical team began pricking his tiny foot repeatedly, running tests without giving my daughter or her partner a clear explanation. She felt helpless.
Finally, I asked her, “Do you want me to step in?”
She looked at me, exhausted, and said, “Yes.”
I spoke with the resident doctor—firm, clear, unwavering. I didn’t yell. I didn’t raise my voice. But I made sure they heard us. And it was only then, after my daughter’s concerns were echoed through me, that there was any movement.
I am grateful that I was there to advocate for her. But the question that still haunts me is—how many others did not have this kind of support, but desperately needed it?
My Role in Lansing’s BIPOC Birth Community
As the founder of SunBurst Doulas, I am dedicated to transforming birth experiences for BIPOC families in Lansing. Through education, advocacy, and holistic care, I walk alongside my clients from pregnancy through postpartum, ensuring they feel informed, supported, and deeply empowered.
I meet families where they are—whether they’re birthing at home, in a hospital, or exploring options they never knew they had. I teach them to trust their bodies, to advocate for themselves in medical spaces, and to reclaim their birth experiences as moments of power rather than fear.
This is why we created “Together We Thrive”—a grant-funded initiative focused on addressing racial disparities in maternal-infant health. Through workshops, wellness classes, and community gatherings, we are building a network of support, education, and healing for Lansing’s BIPOC birthing families.
Hope for the Future
Every birth I attend, every mother I comfort, every parent I empower is a step toward a future where Black and Brown families no longer fear childbirth but embrace it with confidence, joy, and a village behind them.
This work is not just about me—it’s about us. It’s about rewriting our stories, reclaiming our power, and ensuring that every person who brings life into this world does so with the love, dignity, and respect they deserve.
To my fellow birth workers, to expecting parents, to those who have yet to find their voice in the birthing space—you are not alone. You are powerful. You are worthy of a birth experience that honors your whole being.
Together, we thrive.
~Davina
Davina Ryan
Sunburst Doulas
(517) 894-2091
IG: sunburst_doulas
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