I See You, Sis: Holding Space as an Afro Latino Doula

In the sacred space of birth and postpartum, being seen is everything.

Not just acknowledged, but truly seen—in your language, your skin tone, your hair texture, your cultural rhythm, your fears, your joy, your power. As an Afro-Latina doula, I walk into every room holding that intention for my clients: I see you, sis. All of you. And I honor you deeply.

🌿 More Than Just a Service: Creating a Culturally Safe Space

For Afro-Latina and Black birthing people, it’s not just about giving birth—it’s about navigating a medical system that too often fails to listen, respect, or protect us. Creating a safe space means:

• Making room for Spanglish, code-switching, or silence—however you need to express yourself.

• Knowing the difference between 3A curls and 4C coils, and how trauma can live in our scalps.

• Protecting brown bodies from unnecessary interventions and biased assumptions.

• Affirming that your baby bump and your accent are not up for question or curiosity.

Safe space isn't neutral. It's intentional. It's rooted in anti-racism, cultural humility, and emotional intelligence. It's about centering the patient, not the provider’s comfort.

👩🏾‍⚕️ The Importance of Representation in Maternal Health

When I walk into a birth space as a Black, Afro-Latina doula, I’m often the only person in the room who looks like my client.

That’s a problem. Representation saves lives. When we are supported by providers who understand our cultural context, who don’t flinch at our hair, who know how to pronounce our names, and who believe our pain, outcomes improve.

Studies show that Black women are 3–4 times more likely to die from pregnancy-related causes than white women in the U.S. For Afro-Latinas, the data is even murkier because we're often invisible in the research. And when you’re invisible, your care becomes an afterthought.

That’s why my presence is not just about support—it’s about resistance. It’s about advocacy. It’s about reclaiming birth as a place of joy, power, and autonomy for Black and Brown women. Representation in maternal health isn’t about checking a diversity box. It’s about correcting a history of harm and building a future where every birthing person feels safe, seen, and respected.

Because when Black, Brown, and Afro-Latinx bodies see themselves reflected in their care team, something powerful happens:

• They breathe easier.

• They speak more freely.

• They are more likely to be heard.

🤱🏽 Holding Afro-Latina Mamas in Postpartum

The postpartum period is tender, raw, and often overlooked. And for Afro-Latina moms? It can be isolating.

There’s a cultural expectation to “be strong,” to “snap back,” or to “just be grateful.” But sis, you deserve to:

• Be held without being judged.

• Rest without guilt.

• Cry without feeling weak.

• Be vulnerable and still be powerful.

In my postpartum care, I bring in warm meals seasoned like abuela made them, conversations that don’t require translation, space for emotional release, and support with hair, breastfeeding, sleep, and everything in between. We talk about postpartum depression, about ancestors, about relationships shifting. We talk about real life, not just diaper changes.

Because your healing is not just physical—it's emotional, cultural, and spiritual.

🌈 Raising Melanated Babies in Today’s World

Our babies are born into a world that doesn’t always love them the way we do. And that reality is heavy. There’s a quiet fear that lives in the hearts of mothers like me. A sacred tension between letting our sons be soft and strong, free and prepared.

• As an Afro-Latina boy mom, I wake up every day with love and intention, braiding culture, protection, and prayers into the lives of my children. But I’m also a doula. I witness the beginnings of life, the first breath, the first cry. And I carry the weight of knowing that some babies born with brown skin are not given the same world to grow into. My sons are beautiful. But beauty doesn’t shield them. So I teach them how to be kind, but not too passive. To speak up—but know when to stay silent. To lead—but not threaten. To dream—but stay aware. The duality is exhausting. And while some parents get to raise their children with the innocence of protection, I parent with a sense of layered preparation.

So I create space to talk about:

• How to protect their joy.

• How to build a village.

• How to nurture their identity in both Black and Latinx roots.

• How to prepare without passing on fear.

I help mamas prepare for pediatric visits where they might be questioned. I help partners feel seen, too. I affirm that your baby’s curls are perfect, their skin divine, and that your parenting instincts are valid—even when the system makes you doubt them.

Raising Black and Brown babies is revolutionary. And birthwork that affirms that truth? That’s soul work.

💛 Final Thoughts: I See You, Sis

I see your full lips, your brown skin, your stretch marks, your exhaustion, your laughter, your doubt, your strength. I see the layers you carry—from ancestral wisdom to generational trauma. And I want you to know: You don’t have to shrink to be cared for. You don’t have to explain to be understood. You deserve patient-centered, culturally rooted care. Period.

Whether you’re preparing for birth, navigating postpartum, or learning how to mother in a world that wasn’t built for you, you are not alone. I am here to walk beside you. With hands open, heart soft, and eyes that truly see you. Every time I support a mother bringing a child into this world—especially a Black or Afro-Latinx child—I feel it in my spirit:

We are not just birthing babies. We are birthing futures. You are worthy of care that feels like home. Let’s build that space together.