And everything she taught me was birthing gold.
Erykah Badu, the Godmother of Neo-Soul, Was My Doula
The morning my water broke, my doula told me something about women that I will never forget: “You’ve known your baby for longer than you think. Forever,” she says, explaining that life as an egg starts in the mother’s developing ovary before she is born; like a Russian doll, my child was in my fetal body when I was in my mom’s womb, over thirty years ago. “You share all of the memories, all of the fears, all of the joys, all of the mistakes, all of the trauma, all of the brilliance, all of the beautiful struggle.” Her smooth voice and rhythm was reassuring and familiar. Though I’d only spoken to her over the phone a handful of times—and only once face to face—I’ve been soothed by her soft vibrato since 1997, with the release of her debut album Baduizm that launched her career and a new genre in music known as neo-soul.
I’m not sure exactly how it happened, but yes, Erykah Badu, the Godmother of Neo-Soul, was my doula. And everything she taught me was birthing gold.
In late November, 2018, after I saw the two pink stripes on that pregnancy test, and the two more sticks that followed, and confirming with my doctor that I was already six weeks pregnant, I texted Badu a rambling message that went like this:
“Badu, it’s Kate Branch from Vogue. I hope you don’t mind me texting you, but I just found out I am six weeks pregnant and while I’m really excited about having a baby I’m also feeling really guilty—I just spent the last week in Mexico drinking mezcal and eating ceviche on the beach where there were plenty of mosquitos. I should have known I was pregnant and now I just feel... late.”
Badu texted me back around midnight my time—I was in bed but wide awake, feeling anxious and afraid of the damage I may have unknowingly caused my unborn child. She wrote back one single line: “Oh girl, you’re right on time.”
How to dismiss guilt is one of the first lessons Badu teaches her clients, mostly friends like Teyana Tayor and Slick Woods, relatives—and even a woman she met in Whole Foods once—all of whom she worked with from conception to at least six to twelve months after birth. “As human beings, we feel guilty because maybe we don’t know enough, or we don’t think we have enough, or are enough, or that we can collect enough,” says the Dallas-based musician and certified direct entry midwife, who has three children of her own, all home births. “By walking through the steps of eliminating or peeling away a layer of guilt, the mom is able to have a much easier time emotionally, physically, spiritually and vitally.” Other teachings from her two decades worth of experience as a doula include maintaining good nutrition, regular exercise, consistent sleep, and how to build an altar or talk to your partner. “It’s very hard for a woman’s womb to open if the throat is not open,” she says, reinforcing the importance of communication during pregnancy. Some exchanges, even before the pandemic, were virtual due to her heavy tour schedule, and always for no monetary charge to the mother. “I just want to make sure that with all the compassion inside of me I am giving people what I feel they really need in the moment,” she says, explaining that sometimes that’s truth, or a lie, a reminder, or a scolding. “Whatever my heart feels they need in the moment is what I try to give them in order to get them to the next moment. I just wanna be a well built boat to get somebody to the next shore.”
This story originally appeared on: Vogue - Author:Kate Branch
