What a Year on a Sailboat Taught Me About Birth, Life, and Listening to Your Own Rhythm

There’s something about living on a 30-something-foot sailboat that strips life down to its essentials. Space gets tighter, choices get simpler, and the things that truly matter begin to glow with clarity.

Last year, I traded land-life for a small sailboat and spent twelve months learning, unlearning, fixing engines I’d never touched, swapping out sinks I had no business removing, swimming with dolphins, facing fears, and finding family in unexpected places.

And honestly? It changed me — as a person, a doula, a healer, and a human doing her best to live with intention.

Birth and sailing may seem like wildly different worlds, but the lessons I learned on the water mirror the truths I see in pregnancy, labor, and early parenthood every day.

Here are the big ones. 🐬🌿✨

1. Appreciate what you’ve got — even when it’s not perfect

On a sailboat, everything matters: a working head, fresh water, one tiny fan keeping the cabin cool. Gratitude becomes a daily practice, not a Pinterest quote.

Birth is the same. Sometimes the plan shifts — the provider on call isn’t your favorite, contractions pick up fast, or the tub isn’t ready yet. But inside those imperfect moments, there’s always something steady to hold onto: your breath, your support team, your strength, your wisdom.

Gratitude doesn’t mean pretending everything is fine. It means noticing the small anchors that help you through.

2. Everyone loves differently — honor their rhythm

Sailing communities are full of people who show care in unexpected ways: a stranger dinghies over with a spare part, someone shares their last mango, another checks your anchor at 2am without saying a word.

In birth, people “love” differently too.Your partner might be hands-on and emotional, or quiet and steady. Your mother might bring food instead of words. Your doula might sit close in silence because that’s what your nervous system needs.

There’s no one way to support a birthing person. There’s only your way, their way, and the grace to let it all be okay.

3. Slow your roll — island time is real

Nothing moves fast on an island. Need a part? “Maybe tomorrow.” Need the ferry? “When it gets here.” Need the wind? Well… good luck.

Labor has its own “island time,” too. You can’t rush dilation or force a baby into a position they’re not ready for. Slowing down — breathing, hydrating, resting — often moves things forward more than pushing harder ever could.

Patience isn’t passive. It’s active trust.

4. Pay attention to what feeds your soul

On the boat, I found joy in simple things: sunlight on my skin, morning coffee in the cockpit, drifting with dolphins, laughing with new friends, fixing things I’d never imagined I’d touch.

And I also learned what my soul missed: hands-on birthwork, holding space, witnessing families in their power.

Pregnancy and postpartum invite the same kind of noticing: What nourishes you? What drains you? What brings you back to yourself?

Your body and spirit are always communicating. The trick is letting yourself listen.

5. Do what makes you happy while you can still function

Life on a sailboat is a constant reminder that bodies age, storms come, and opportunities shift. If something lights you up — ocean swims, morning walks, naps, dancing in your kitchen — do the thing.

This is powerful birth wisdom, too. Sing if you feel like singing.Move if you feel like moving.Soak in the tub. Laugh with your partner. Eat the popsicle. Claim the joy that’s available to you right now.

Birth isn’t just intensity. It’s also pleasure, slowness, connection, surprise, and the tiny moments that make the big ones possible.

6. And finally: Just do the thing

I didn’t think I could find where that leak was coming from. Or fix my sink. Or navigate in the dark. But you learn by doing — sometimes with shaking hands, sometimes with tears, sometimes with total exhilaration.

Birth can feel the same. You prepare, you practice, you gather your people… and then you step into the unknown with courage you didn’t know you had.

It doesn’t matter if you’re birthing a baby, a new version of yourself, or a new chapter of your life:

Trust your instincts. Take the next step. Just do the thing.

Coming Home

When I eventually returned to land, I felt stronger, softer, braver, and more deeply committed to supporting birthing families. The sea gave me gifts I didn’t expect — patience, perspective, gratitude, and a reminder that intuition is a compass worth following.

Birth teaches these same lessons every day. And I’m honored to walk that shoreline with you.