We caught up with the brilliant and insightful Zophia a few weeks ago and have shared our conversation below.
Alright, Zophia thanks for taking the time to share your stories and insights with us today. Was there a defining moment in your professional career? A moment that changed the trajectory of your career?
I became a mother in 2005 at the tender age of 19. I was the kind of young woman who lived at the library, devouring anything I could find about pregnancy and birth. My first delivery was a so-called “natural hospital birth.” On paper, no dramatic interventions. But the memory was far from natural. I left with my daughter Stella in my arms and a hollow feeling I couldn’t explain. Everyone told me to “just be grateful she’s healthy,” but gratitude couldn’t erase the sense that something vital had been taken. And I wouldn’t have the language for a long time.
Not long after, friends began asking me to come to their births. I read their bodies, sat by their bedsides, and offered the presence they seemed to need. At a friend’s hospital birth on my 20th birthday in 2005, a nurse looked at me and said, “You’re her doula?” I had never heard the word before, but I said yes! Afterwards I looked it up and it fit…
By 2008 I was certified as a doula and pregnant with my second child. The documentary The Business of Being Born had just shaken the world awake, and I was reading everything I could about home birth. I dreamed of an unassisted, peaceful birth with only my partner present. Still, I kept one foot in the medical world, attending OB appointments — what I jokingly call “half n’ half.”
As the weeks went on, my doctor brought me in constantly for ultrasounds stress tests. Looking back, I believe he was searching for justification to push me toward more control. At 38 weeks and five days, he told me if I didn’t induce right then, my baby would be twelve pounds within ten days. That would terrify most people! Against every instinct in my being, I said yes.
What followed was the full “domino effect” of intervention: pitocin, unbearable pain, artificial rupture of membranes, my begging for an epidural, hours of numbness, endless vaginal exams and constant threats of a C-section when dilation stalled. Finally, I reached 10 cm, but after nearly two hours of coached pushing, my son’s heart rate plummeted and terror swallowed me. Then I heard the dreaded phrase, ” it’s TIME to get this baby out”, and they wheeled me into the operating room,
When Isaac was born, he weighed 8 pounds 4 ounces. He came into the world bruised and struggling to breathe, he spent a week in the NICU fighting through pneumonia, common after this type of birth. We were both alive—but I felt carved open and broken. As I lay in that recovery bed, I overheard the nurses talking at the station just outside my door. Their voices carried easily through the hall. They were whispering, horrified, saying my doctor had rushed my surgery because he was leaving for vacation—if he stayed any longer, he’d miss his first tee time. The birth of my child was treated as someone else’s inconvenience, I was living “The Business of Being Born”!
Five days later, my gallbladder failed. Another surgery. Then came the staph infection that landed me in the ICU. At twenty-two, I was told to make wills and power of attorney for my children. At one point on that operating table, I flatlined. I died — and somehow came back. Miracles carried me through months of brutal recovery, even if the doctors couldn’t quite explain why.
Those months gave me too much time to think and feel: the grief of being robbed of a chance to breastfed because of the meds, missing my son’s first 6 months, the disappointment in myself for handing over power, the rage of hearing nurses confirm that I had been cut open for someone’s convenience. All of it burned into resolve.
That was my defining moment. In my fury, I plotted my “revenge”: not with lawsuits or shouting, but with a mission. To stand with other mothers. To help them avoid that hollow gratitude, that silent grief. To remind them that being thankful for a healthy baby does not erase the right to mourn how you were treated. To make sure fewer women would ever hand over their power the way I had.
That brush with death and betrayal didn’t just change my life. It clarified it. It made me not only a mother, but a birthkeeper. A protector of women’s voices at the threshold of birth.
Awesome – so before we get into the rest of our questions, can you briefly introduce yourself to our readers.
Birth work isn’t just a career, it’s a divine calling. I came to this work through the traditional apprentice and independent study route, learning not only from midwives and birth keepers, but especially from the women I served. Books and research gave me knowledge, but it was the mothers and families who entrusted me with their births that gave me wisdom. For a season, I entertained the idea of becoming a Certified Professional Midwife (CPM), but I quickly realized I would have to sacrifice my clients’ autonomy to fulfill the system’s requirements. That realization clarified my path: while I follow the midwifery model of care, I hold my clients’ autonomy as my highest priority. The word midwife literally means “with women,” and that is exactly what I am—I answer to no institution, only to the families I walk alongside.
Since 2014, I have supported the freebirth community by educating, mentoring, and offering virtual support for families who choose to birth outside of the medical system. Today, I provide holistic midwifery care, doula and birth keeper services, and a range of offerings from prenatal education to postpartum healing and family guidance.I offer my services on a sliding scale basis to ensure that everyone has access to care,I also create learning tools, write about birth and motherhood, and mentor others who feel called to this work. My goal is always the same: to meet families where they are, restore trust in the body’s wisdom, and provide non-judgmental, empowering support.
What sets me apart is that my work blends deep tradition with a modern understanding of the realities families face today. I don’t just walk into a birth with skills—I bring lived experience, intuition, creativity, and an unwavering respect for the sacredness of the process. Families tell me that what makes me different is the way I listen, the way I see them—not just as clients, but as whole people.
I am most proud of the way my work has grown organically out of real life, real relationships, and a commitment to service. I’ve attended births in living rooms, kitchens, and bedrooms; I’ve sat with mothers through joy and grief; I’ve taught classes, built community groups, and created resources that make this knowledge more accessible. My motto is, “Your body, Your baby, Your birth, Your choice.”
What I most want people to know about me and my work is this, birth is not just a medical event, it’s a profound rite of passage. Whether through education, support, or hands-on care, my mission is to safeguard that rite of passage and to ensure families feel empowered, respected, and connected throughout their journey. I believe that the right to choose where and with whom we give birth is among the most sacred and fundamental human rights. Birth is not a medical event to be managed — it is a profoundly spiritual, physiological, and transformative experience that belongs to the mother. My vision is of a future where every woman, regardless of circumstance, has access to education, support, and the freedom to birth in safety and peace.
I imagine a world where we hold the lowest maternal and infant mortality rates on Earth, not because women are controlled, but because they are trusted — where birth choices are honored, providers of every kind and mothers work in harmony, and the system itself is built on respect for autonomy, informed consent, and reverence for life.
Because when women are supported in birth, entire generations are transformed.
Are there any books, videos or other content that you feel have meaningfully impacted your thinking?
Absolutely, several key works and models have deeply shaped both my philosophy of birth work and my approach to running a business rooted in service.
The Holistic Midwifery series by Anne Frye gave me a foundation in practical midwifery skills, anatomy, and physiology, while also grounding me in the art, intuition, and sacredness of attending birth.
Spiritual Midwifery by Ina May Gaskin inspired me with its stories of community, trust, and the power of women supporting women—reminding me that birth is as much a spiritual and emotional experience as it is a physical one.
Herbal wisdom has also played a huge role in my work. Wise Woman Herbal for the Childbearing Year by Susun S. Weed instilled in me a deep respect for plant medicine and its ability to gently support women through every stage of fertility, pregnancy, and postpartum healing.
The Business of Being Born, the groundbreaking documentary by Ricki Lake and Abby Epstein, opened my eyes to the fundamental flaws in our maternal healthcare system. It deepened my understanding of how institutionalized fear and profit-driven models have distanced women from their innate power to birth and taught me the importance of restoring trust, education, and autonomy to the birthing process.
Silent Knife: Cesarean Prevention and Vaginal Birth after Cesarean (VBAC) by Nancy Wainer Cohen and Lois J. Estner illuminated the lasting physical and emotional impact of unnecessary cesarean surgeries and fueled my determination to advocate for safer, more respectful birth options.
I have also been deeply inspired by Successful Home Birth and Midwifery: The Dutch Model by Tew, van der Hulst, and Treffers, which recognizes birth as a normal life event rather than an automatic medical emergency. Their system of midwife-led care, home birth as a safe and supported option, and a cultural respect for physiologic birth has influenced how I envision care here—one where women’s autonomy, trust in the body, and accessible midwifery support are central.
Another profound influence is the 1953 educational film All My Babies: A Midwife’s Own Story, directed by George C. Stoney, which follows a Black “granny midwife” in the rural American South. It offers a raw, deeply respectful glimpse into traditional community midwifery and reminds me of the deep ancestral roots of this work and the wisdom of those who walked this path before us.
Finally, Killing the Medical Self-Help Tradition among African Americans: The Case of Lay Midwifery in North Carolina, 1912–1983 by Holly F. Mathews, Ph.D., has been profoundly impactful. It exposes how systemic racism and public policy worked to dismantle traditional midwifery within African American communities—erasing not just a model of care, but also a vital expression of self-determination and cultural strength. It also opened my eyes to the parallels we face today, as increasing licensure and regulation once again threaten to suppress traditional birth practices and limit a woman’s fundamental right to choose where and with whom she gives birth.
Together, and with many more than I could mention, these works and models didn’t just teach me facts or skills—they taught me how to think about birth, women, and service. They continue to shape the way I support families, teach others, and my craft with integrity, reverence, and heart.
Learning and unlearning are both critical parts of growth – can you share a story of a time when you had to unlearn a lesson?
The biggest lesson I had to unlearn is that there isn’t just one “right” way to give birth, or one single pathway into this work. Each of my children has been a teacher, showing me different aspects of autonomy, fear, loss, and trust.
With my third child, my son Charlie, born in 2015. I was being pressured into a repeat C-section. Instead, I rallied support, I chose to trust my body, and I birthed him in the comfort of my home, an HBA1C (home birth after 1 C-section) surrounded by people I love. That experience taught me firsthand the power of autonomy, informed choice and the importance of honoring the divine process of physiological birth.
With my fourth child, my son Ben, born in 2016. I learned how much fear licensed midwives often carry, navigating regulations and restrictions that can limit true support. He was born during a blizzard, and the midwife initially refused to come because she wanted me to drive to the birth center. I refused to labor in the car in a parking lot while waiting for her to arrive. She finally came to my home, but after the birth she lectured me about how “inconvenient” it had been—for her, not for me. That experience showed me just how bound by rules and rooted in fear the licensed system can be, and how it sometimes puts the midwive’s comfort or liability over the family’s needs. It deepened my conviction to serve families without compromise, answering only to them.
With my fifth child, my son Theodore, born in 2021. I learned the hardest lesson of all, about death and loss. He was diagnosed with Trisomy 18 at 29 weeks, despite the fact that I had been under the care of a perinatologist until 20 weeks and was even “cleared” for a home birth. He was born sleeping at 35 weeks , which revealed not only the limitations of the medical model but also how deeply flawed and inconsistent it can be. No law, license, regulation, or medical surveillance can erase the mystery of life and death. That grief continues to shape the compassion and honesty I bring to my work.
And with my sixth child, my daughter Josie, born in 2022. I learned the lesson of surrender and trust. She was a 10.5-pound breech baby, born at home in an unassisted birth surrounded by my children and partner. Her birth showed me the strength of my body, the importance of releasing fear and control, and the beauty of being fully present in the moment.
All of these lessons together have shaped my philosophy: that birth is not something to be controlled or regulated, but something to be honored, with the mother’s autonomy at the very center.
In the last twenty years, the greatest lesson I’ve learned is that birth works. No matter what pathway you choose, it is a journey; wild, unpredictable, and profoundly transformative. It humbles and teaches us in ways that words can barely touch.
I’ve witnessed birth in its many forms; quiet and fierce, sacred and ordinary, and each time, it reminds me that women are powerful beyond measure. My hope is to continue walking beside them, holding space for their strength and sovereignty, their joy and their pain, their triumph and tragedy, until I take my very last breath.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.zophiabirthworx.com
- Instagram: @ZophiaBirthWorx
Image Credits
Taylor Owen and Family, The Parker Family, The Thomas Family