I remember the first time I sat in a hospital waiting room in London, heart pounding, mind racing. Not as a friend or family member, but as a doula – there to support a Black woman about to give birth to her first child. She had done everything “right”: prenatal vitamins, midwife appointments, antenatal classes. Still, we were both carrying a quiet, unspoken fear. Not of childbirth itself, but of the statistics. The silent, suffocating reality that Black women in the UK are nearly four times more likely to die in pregnancy or childbirth than their white counterparts.
The numbers don’t lie. But they also don’t tell the whole story.
Behind every statistic is a mother. A family. A community. And a system that too often fails to listen.
Yet there is another truth we must hold onto with both hands: there are many Black-bodied people who experience beautiful, empowering births. Births filled with joy, love, and strength. Births where dignity is protected, voices are heard, and care is excellent.
As a doula, I witness first-hand how transformational birth can be when people are supported, informed, and respected. The presence of a doula – particularly one who understands the cultural context and lived experience of Black birthing people – can make a powerful difference. We are there to advocate, to nurture, to remind birthing people of their immense strength when the system around them forgets.
Our work must speak to both – the harsh realities and the radiant possibilities.
Black maternal health disparities aren’t just about biology or personal choices. They are about structural racism baked into our institutions. About implicit bias that sees Black pain as less urgent. About a healthcare system that doesn’t always offer culturally safe care.
It starts long before labour. Disparities in income. Exposure to environmental hazards. Lack of access to trusted providers. A history of medical mistrust born from lived experience. Daily micro aggressions.
The result? A compounding of risk at every stage of the journey to motherhood.
The numbers don’t lie. But they also don’t tell the whole story.
Behind every statistic is a mother. A family. A community. And a system that too often fails to listen.
Yet there is another truth we must hold onto with both hands: there are many Black-bodied people who experience beautiful, empowering births. Births filled with joy, love, and strength. Births where dignity is protected, voices are heard, and care is excellent.
As a doula, I witness first-hand how transformational birth can be when people are supported, informed, and respected. The presence of a doula – particularly one who understands the cultural context and lived experience of Black birthing people – can make a powerful difference. We are there to advocate, to nurture, to remind birthing people of their immense strength when the system around them forgets.
Our work must speak to both – the harsh realities and the radiant possibilities.
Advocacy is not just posting statistics during Black Maternal Health Awareness Week. It’s not just nodding in sympathy.
Advocacy is personal. It’s political. It’s persistent.
It looks like:
Demanding that all NHS trusts implement meaningful, ongoing anti-racism training.
Pushing for continuity of carer models, especially for Black and Brown women.
Supporting Black-led maternity organisations like Birthrights.
Challenging stereotypes and assumptions in every healthcare interaction.
Celebrating and elevating Black midwives, doulas, and birthworkers.
And just as importantly, it means amplifying the joy. The triumphs. The birth stories filled with power and pride.
We can’t just talk about “raising awareness” and stop there. Awareness without action is a hollow promise.
Action means:
Donating to organisations that fight for Black maternal health.
Writing to MPs to support policies that protect birthing people, like the Black Maternal Health Strategy.
Volunteering to support new mothers in your community.
Advocating for culturally sensitive, respectful maternity care.
Building systems that honour Black autonomy, expertise, and leadership.
Because Black women and birthing people don’t need saving. They need to be heard, trusted, celebrated, and supported.
Imagine a UK where Black mothers and birthing people walk into maternity wards free of fear. Where their concerns are met with respect, not dismissal. Where birth is a space of safety, dignity, and deep joy.
Imagine if we treated Black maternal health as sacred. Urgent. Non-negotiable.
Because it is.
We owe it to the mothers we’ve lost. We owe it to the ones bringing new life into the world right now. We owe it to ourselves.
Will you listen deeper? Advocate louder? Act bolder?
The weight we carry is heavy. But joy is also our birthright. And together, we can lift both.
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Abuela Doulas recognises that as well as doing the work, they need to support the work of others. With that in mind, here are some links to support not only us, but other organisations that we are involved in.
