MY STORY

At 33, a gynaecologist told me I would struggle to conceive due to severe endometriosis. In a panic, I rushed into trying for a baby — no preparation, no support, no roadmap. What followed taught me everything I now dedicate my practice to.

"I fell pregnant easily — but I was completely unprepared for what came next."

Living on remote Norfolk Island, I faced a reality many women here know all too well: at 36 weeks, you board a flight to mainland Australia alone, away from your partner, your home, your community. I never made that flight. I was medevaced the morning I was due to leave, already in pre-labour.

What followed was one of the most isolating experiences of my life. Discharged against medical advice, I made my way to Lismore to pursue the home birth I had planned. And then, in the middle of active labour, my support disappeared. I called my private midwife ten times through contractions. When she finally answered the door, she was unable to help. I was alone, in an unfamiliar city, in severe labour, with nowhere to turn.

I laboured for two days under immense stress with no progression. When I finally went to hospital, I met a midwife who changed everything — she fought for me, advocated for my birth plan, and helped me bring my baby into the world the way I had always hoped. That contrast — between abandonment and fierce advocacy — lives in everything I do today.

But the system's failures didn't end at birth. In those raw early weeks, my baby was waking 17 times a night. Exhausted and desperate, I reached out to a child health support worker — and was told it was normal.

"Normal doesn't mean acceptable. You don't have to suffer in silence just because someone gives it a name."

I was already a naturopath. But every one of these experiences — the dismissal, the isolation, the moments the system let me down — made me a women's health naturopath. Someone who has lived the gaps firsthand, and built a practice to close them.