At the Turning of the Year: Support Through Life’s Thresholds from a Doula’s Perspective

Late October brings a natural turning of attention toward what has changed, what has been gathered, and who we carry with us. Many cultures mark this shift. In Celtic traditions, it is Samhain, the moment that opens the darker half of the year. Across Latin America, families celebrate Día de los Muertos. Christian communities observe All Souls’ and All Saints’ Days. Each in its own way honors the harvest, remembers loved ones who have died, and recognizes that this season invites reflection, release, and care.

In Jewish life, the High Holy Days and Sukkot have just passed, inviting renewal, forgiveness, and gratitude for shelter and sustenance. In Islamic tradition, the lunar months bring their own moments of remembrance and devotion. Around the world, autumn and early winter call us inward — to gather what remains, tend to what endures, and trust that light will return.

Doulas spend a lot of time at turning points. Birth, postpartum healing, caregiving, and end-of-life transitions all ask people to step into the unknown. Even when change is welcome, stepping into a new chapter can feel tender. It helps to have someone steady beside you.

Notice what is changing. Trees do not hold tight to their leaves when the season shifts. They let go so new growth can return in spring. People change, too. Welcoming a baby means letting go of who you once were. Dying asks for a release that can feel both natural and enormous. Care that acknowledges and honors the change is how we support others to move forward with steadiness and less fear.

Honor what is unseen. Much of life happens underneath the surface. Babies grow in quiet places. Grief often hides behind a polite smile. Even joy can feel too exquisite to touch at first. A doula’s attention spans the room and attends to what can sometimes be easy to miss. Gentle questions and presence help bring what matters into the light, so no one has to carry it silently.

Carry our stories forward. Families hold history in the way they love, worry, celebrate, and adapt. New parents begin to notice the influences of those who came before them. People nearing the end of life often return to the stories that shaped them most. When someone listens and honors those threads, meaning and comfort become easier to find.

Rest while the world resets. As winter approaches, we are reminded that rest is not a break from living. It is how life continues. Postpartum bodies heal through sleep and stillness. Grief takes patience and support. Caregivers also need time to refill the well. When someone walks beside you, it becomes possible to pause without fear of falling behind.

This season is a quiet teacher. It encourages us to slow our pace, listen more closely, and recognize what deserves our attention. It reminds us that life is full of thresholds, and every threshold deserves care. Whether someone is welcoming new life, rebuilding after loss, or nearing the end of their days, no one should have to move through those moments without a steady companion.

Transitions deserve tenderness. We deserve support when everything is shifting around us. If this season has you reflecting on change in your own life or the life of someone you love, may you feel permission to seek out the presence and help that brings comfort, clarity, and connection.

The Ground on Which We Stand

Our nation is currently enduring a government shutdown.

For many, it’s a headline.

For others, it’s a breaking point.

When the government stops, the consequences are not abstract. Families who rely on SNAP benefits or school meal programs will face empty cupboards. Health care costs are climbing, and the proposed changes to insurance threaten to make care that much more out of reach for millions. These choices don’t just affect numbers on a page. They touch dinner tables, doctors’ offices,  and every person’s day-to-day life.

This is a time for clarity. It is a time for self-reflection and conscience. It is a time to remember what we know deep in our bones: that every person deserves to eat, to have access to care, and to live with respect and dignity. No one should walk alone. 

When what we have isn’t enough, we turn to one another. That’s what communities have always done.

As a doula, I’ve learned that the heart of care is presence. A doula’s work isn’t about fixing what is broken; it’s about showing up, listening, and tending to what is human and alive in the moment. Whether at the beginning or end of life, we witness again and again that compassion is not a luxury; it is the ground on which everything else stands.

This is true for our communities. We don’t all need to be a doula, and we don’t all need to rally or write blogs. Now is not the time to look away. It is the time to lean in and lend a hand in any number of small ways. We can cook a meal and share it with a neighbor, check in on an elder or a new parent, offer a listening ear, or fold a load of laundry.

Each of these gestures - humble, human, and unrecorded- is the ground on which we stand.  Care, multiplied across neighborhoods and towns, becomes a safety net that no shutdown can take away. This is how compassion moves: through hands, through kitchens, through the quiet ways we hold one another up. 

And yes, it’s natural to grow weary. These are heavy days, and no one can carry everything alone. Caring for others doesn’t mean ignoring our own limits; it means tending in ways we can, where we are, and allowing others to tend to us, too. Rest and receiving are also forms of care. Compassion, even in small doses, keeps the ground steady beneath us. 

In this uncertain time, let’s remember that our strength lives in relationships. Let’s reach out, offer what we can, and be of service at this time. Every meal shared, every kindness offered, every moment of presence is a quiet act of solidarity in the face of despair. 

Together, we hold one another steady on a ground built of compassion.