Why I Named My Practice "Humbled by Motherhood" (And Why Clinical Expertise + Lived Experience Both Matter)
I thought I was smart enough to figure it out.
I had a bachelor's degree in biology and a master's degree in occupational therapy. I'd spent five years in hand therapy—one of the most technical, biomechanical specialties in OT. I could assess muscle activity precisely, splint and cast, and create beautiful treatment plans.
I understood bodies. I understood mechanics. I understood how things were supposed to work.
Then I had my first baby.
The Humbling
Traumatic birth. Emergency C-section. Rocky two weeks of feeding. Bloody nipples that made me horror movie scream every time my baby latched. A lactation consultant who was dismissive and racist.
I quit my hand therapy job and went straight to contracting work five weeks postpartum because that's what I had to do financially.
This was my starter recipe for postpartum depression and postpartum anxiety. The kind that makes you feel like you're drowning while everyone around you says, "You're doing great!"
I couldn't think my way out of the struggle. I couldn't smart my way out of the pain. I couldn't use my clinical expertise to intellectualize my way through the hardship.
No matter how educated I was, no matter how many letters came after my name—I wasn't immune.
And the people who were supposed to help? Most of them didn't have the depth or the training to actually connect the dots.
The lactation consultant only looked at my baby's latch. She didn't provide any hands-on assistance— ignored the tension I was holding, the C-section recovery, the way I was bracing every time I tried to feed. She didn't ask about my sleep, my nutrition, my mental health.
My mental health therapist pinned my depression on breastfeeding, gave me a book on sleep training, and didn't think I needed to follow up.
I knew there had to be a better way. But I also knew I couldn't build it from the medicalized, compartmentalized training I'd received.
The Turning Point
That same year, 2017, the year my first baby was born, I took my first postpartum doula training. Not because I had a grand plan to start a business. Not because I knew what I was doing. Because I needed to understand what "normal" was supposed to look like.
I needed to see the unmedicalized side of things. The traditional ways of caring for postpartum bodies. The holistic approach that looked at the whole person, not just isolated symptoms.
That training changed the game.
It showed me that there was wisdom outside of what I'd learned in OT school. That caring for new parents wasn't just about fixing problems—it was about supporting the whole system. Body, baby, sleep, nutrition, mental health, nervous system, all of it.
But here's what I also realized: there was a gap between "holistic" providers and “clinicians”. Holistic providers didn’t assess biomechanics or consider movement patterns or compensations.
And most of the clinical providers I knew were only looking at one piece of the puzzle with infant feeding. The mouth. The latch. The oral motor skills.
Nobody was looking at the whole body. Nobody was integrating both sides—the clinical precision and the holistic lens.
So I started building it myself.
The Building (2018-2025)
I didn't have a master plan. I just kept asking: What piece am I still missing?
Here's how it unfolded:
2017: I took my first postpartum doula training because I needed to understand what "normal" was supposed to look like.
2018: I got my first lactation certification. I still had hot, angry tears about how I'd been treated, and I knew I could do better. I wanted to understand feeding mechanics deeply—not just from the therapy side, but again, the holistic picture.
After my first lactation training, I knew I wanted to help other women who looked like me. The Black maternal health crisis is real, and this work is literally life-saving. I began to see lactation as a true specialty of maternal health OT—it's one of the only areas where you simultaneously support the parent and baby. And Black mothers and babies desperately need this support.
What mattered most was that I could move beyond anecdotal advice to providing evidence-based, effective information. Yes, I was an OT and it fit within scope of practice—but that doesn't automatically assume competency. I needed the training to do it right.
2019: I took another doula training. Learning from different teachers is really valuable to me.
2020: I became an IBCLC. I had the clinical depth of suck-swallow-breathe coordination and oral motor function, and I knew I needed to go deeper into the maternal pieces of feeding—so many therapists are missing this piece.
2021: I started bodywork training. Craniosacral therapy. Myofascial release. TMR for Tots. At first, I was skeptical. Some things just felt too "woo." But then it all started making sense. The body does hold tension. Babies do have restricted fascia. And when you release that tension, feeding gets easier. Not because of magic—because of mechanics.
2024: I trained in CBT-I for insomnia. I also became more intentional in learning about biological infant sleep. Because I kept seeing the same pattern: parents who weren't sleeping even though the baby was or babies who weren't sleeping well even when feeding issues resolved. Sleep and feeding are connected and I needed to know more.
2025: I completed perinatal nutrition training. I was more interested in learning about nutrition from the mental health aspect, not just the baby's colic symptoms or the parents' milk supply.
Each training answered questions the last one couldn't.
I didn't start with a plan to "integrate everything." I built it piece by piece because I kept running into walls—and I refused to tell parents, "I don't know," without finding a resource for them or someone who did know the answer.
But I also realized something crucial: clinical skills alone don't make a sustainable business. I had to learn business skills—accounting, graphic design, HR coaching programs, business books, all of it. I'm meticulous about making sure the math will always math💁🏽♀️.
My nervous system appreciates consistent, reliable income with the flexibility of time. That's why I'll never leave private practice.
Why "Humbled by Motherhood"?
Because that's the truth.
I thought my education would protect me. I thought my clinical skills would make it easier. I thought I could think my way through anything.
Motherhood humbled me.
It taught me that you can't smart your way out of hardship. That struggle doesn't care how many degrees you have. That sometimes the most educated, capable people still need help—and they need someone who gets it.
I named my practice "Humbled by Motherhood" because I want parents to know:
I've been there. I know what it's like to feel like you're failing at something that's supposed to be "natural."
And I have the clinical expertise to actually help. Not just "trust your body". Real assessment. Real answers. Real plans.
That combination—humility + expertise—is what I wish I'd had when I was bleeding and exhausted and dismissed.
It's what I offer now.
What I Bring Now
I've been an occupational therapist for 10+ years.
Those five years in hand therapy—learning how to assess with a high level of specificity, how to see compensations before they become chronic problems, how to look at the whole kinetic chain, not just the site of pain— is what I bring to infant feeding and bodywork now.
I assess like someone who's been humbled. Someone who knows that clinical expertise without compassion is ineffective. Who understands that parents need simple plans they can actually follow, not generic protocols that make them feel more overwhelmed.
Clinical expertise and lived humility.
My practice today reflects my multi-passionate personality. A visit with me can touch on feeding, bodywork, sleep, nutrition, and mental health—in a way that reflects the intentional direction of my continuing education based on my own story.
It's why I love collaboration with community partners and never worry about competition or helping other clinicians build their own practices—even with the same credentials and training. I also realize that I'm not for everyone—and that's okay too.
If You're Being Humbled Right Now
Maybe you thought you'd figure out feeding on your own. Maybe you've been told "nothing's wrong," but you know something isn't right. Maybe you've tried five different bottles, three feeding positions, and every piece of advice from Instagram—and nothing's working.
You're smart, capable—and you're still struggling.
Here's what I want you to know:
Being smart doesn't make you immune to feeding struggles.
Having a hard time doesn't mean you're doing it wrong.
And needing help—real, clinical, expert help—isn't a failure. It's just smart.
I assess babies with the same precision I used in hand therapy. I look at the whole system—not just the mouth, not just the body, but all of it. Feeding mechanics, body tension, sleep patterns, your mental health, and your nutrition.
I give you a plan that's simple and followable. Not 40-something steps. Not overwhelming protocols. Just: here's what's happening, here's what we can do, here's how you'll know it's working.
And I do it with compassion. A little humor. With the understanding that comes from being humbled myself.
Because I don't just know this work. I've lived it.
If you're struggling with feeding, body tension, or sleep—or if you just need someone who actually gets it—I'm here. Contact me.
For OTs, SLPs, and PTs: If you're building a non-traditional practice in maternal-infant health, need clinical mentorship in feeding/bodywork integration, or want support creating a sustainable private practice that actually makes the numbers work—I offer coaching and consultation. Someone will find value in what you offer, and only you can say it your way. Email me.
