May 1, 2026

Before it Breaks

“The flashing blue lights polluted the somber night.”

That’s how I started one of my college admissions essays.

I became an EMT at 16. It checked a lot of boxes. Volunteer hours, pre-med exposure, time outside of my parents’ watchful eyes. Yes, yes, and yes.

But it was also real life. Consequences. Possible futures on display.

I was the lowest-ranking, least trained member of my squad.
I took patient details, checked vitals, and restocked the jump bag.

And I felt the importance of it.
The weight of what we were stepping into. The trust people placed in us. The care they deserved, and had so often not received for far too long.

My captain used to say, we go in when everyone else is going out.

Every eighth night, I left behind the familiar rhythm of high school, the contained world I knew, and stepped into something much bigger.

I was on shift with adults, college and medical school students.
We watched movies. I did homework. We waited for calls.

But we also ate dinner together, and we talked. About their lives, their paths, the decisions in front of them.

And then the calls would come.

Twisted metal: Firefighters prying open cars while we waited to reach someone inside.

Screams of pain: A teenage girl delivering a baby in the backseat of a car.
The smell of neglect: A person too heavy to get out of bed.
Words I hadn’t heard before: an inmate with chest pain, and catcalls not meant for 16-year-old ears.

And the quieter moments too. Walking into homes in neighborhoods I had never even driven through, seeing how people lived, realizing how different those lives were from my own.

It wasn’t just the exposure to crisis that was sobering.
It was the realization of how many different lives existed outside the one I had always known.

Outside the bubble of privilege I had been so accustomed to.

Too Late

And, over time, something else became clear:
I didn’t want to arrive that late.

I didn’t go into emergency medicine.
Firefighting is not for me.

My career, my calling, has been about education.
What happens if people are equipped earlier?
If they understand their bodies, know what to expect, and know when to ask for help… do fewer of them end up needing to call 911, literally or metaphorically?

I found myself drawn to something earlier.
To the moments before things break.
To the places where support, information, or simply being seen can change the trajectory.

That’s how I think about the work we do at And You.

Because becoming a parent is the biggest life change I’ve ever been through.
And yet, there is no real version of preventative care here.
No instruction manual handed to you at birth.

I’m not even talking about parenting.

I’m talking about caring for a healing body,
and a self that is adjusting, questioning, becoming.

All of it layered with the responsibility of providing everything to a helpless being you just met.

Shelter. Nourishment. Patience. Love.

Too often, support shows up once someone is already struggling.

Once sleep deprivation has taken over.
Once confidence is shaken.
Once work feels overwhelming, and it starts to feel like you have to choose between your baby and your job.

But what if?
a woman felt seen by her employer
a manager knew what to say
there was space to ask questions
there was real, practical guidance, and 1:1 care

then maybe we don’t start from behind.

The experience is still intense. It always will be.
But it can be more supported.
A little less isolating.
A lot more human.

This is what “arriving earlier” looks like in practice.

And it’s what we’re building at And You.

So what would actually help?

At home.
At work.

Last year, many of you helped us answer that question.

You shared your experiences of postpartum and returning to work. And yes, we turned it into a whitepaper.

The Untold Story of Postpartum at Work_And You 2025.pdf

(In case you didn't read it, yet)

But more importantly, it guided us this past year.

It shifted our focus.

From supporting only the woman,
to supporting the environment around her.

Because that’s where so much of this experience is shaped.

What a manager says.
What a partner understands.
What support actually looks like, day to day.

So we built.

Return-to-work coaching.
Manager training.
A pumping and back-to-work course.

Not because we thought they were good ideas, but because you told us:

Return to work is one of the most stressful parts of the entire postpartum experience for women.
Breastfeeding and pumping challenges affect over 40% of women.
HR wants to invest in return-to-work coach and manager training

And now, we do it again.

This work only works if we keep listening.

This time, we want to hear from two voices we don’t hear from enough:

Fathers & Managers.

Because they shape this experience just as much.
And because the companies we work with want to support them better, too.

If you manage a team, I would really value your perspective.
If you have a partner, could you share this with them? And with your manager as well?

Fathers, Managers & Parental Leave Survey

If you’re navigating this now

Next week, I’ll be speaking at the Blooming Beyond Birth summit, alongside 20 other speakers.

My session is called:
Becoming a Mother, Staying You: An And You Conversation

It’s built around something I see over and over again in my work:

That feeling of being pulled in different directions,
and not quite knowing how to rebalance.

In this session, I’ll share a framework you can use to recalibrate,
whether you’re in the thick of it now or feeling things shift again later.

You won’t just listen. You’ll leave with a workbook and exercises to help you reflect, reset, and make small, intentional changes you can actually implement.

If it feels like something you could use, or know someone who could: