Why I Don’t Call Myself a Doula
This has been coming up a lot lately so I wanted to write a blog post as an educational resource. I have always been fascinated by the intersections of language, etymology and culture. Words are powerful. How we speak, what we speak and why we speak matters.
Though the word “doula” has become a common term for many people, particularly in birth spaces, not everyone knows its origins or how it entered popular vernacular. Doula comes from both modern Greek (δούλα, doúla, meaning “slave”) and ancient Greek (δούλα), when it specifically referred to a “female slave” who tended to a woman during pregnancy, birth and postpartum. Though ancient Greek is not widely spoken or read anymore, modern Greek is a living language with many native speakers who take pride in the richness of their history and culture, including their language. It is important to note that irregardless of ancient or modern use of the word, doula still means a slave.
Sometimes, the word is translated to mean “a servant” or a “female servant” and lately I’ve been seeing “a woman who serves other women.” I will highlight, though, that in my research, Greek speakers and scholars do not define doula this way. They interpret doula to mean a slave - and consider it to be negative.
How did the word doula come to mean what we think of it in the United States today? The term was first used in English in 1969 by Dana Raphael, a medical anthropologist, in a study she conducted about female caregivers during childbirth. Dana was a prominent member of the natural birth movement which was rising in popularity in the United States at the time. Her work and advocacy insisted on the naturalness and need for women to have supportive companionship as they transitioned to motherhood. Dana was introduced to the word doula by an elderly Greek woman, Eleni Rassias, who explained the history and concept to her. Dana, who had been looking for a term to describe the companioning she was trying to advocate for, began using the word - even though modern day Greeks, including birth workers, no longer use doula in this context. Other American researchers adopted the term and in a relatively short amount of time, it stuck. Death workers in the United States, recognizing the many similarities and connections between birthing and dying, took on the title, too.
I think about those ancient Greek doulas a lot. I have not been able to find descriptions about what their lives were like, how their labor was viewed or what their bondage looked like. But I wonder about who they were. I feel a lot of anguish over their enslavement. Maybe I would have better luck if I read Greek and could turn to primary sources.
As a descendant of African diaspora people who were also enslaved, I do not feel comfortable calling myself by a word that still means slave. To be honest, I feel squeamish referring to any person as a doula. I call myself a death worker and an End-of-Life consultant. When I refer to my End-of-Life peers and colleagues, I call them death workers, too, in addition to their preferred terms.
Aside from the etymology of doula, I also do not use that term because of cultural differences. Though the Greek doulas were inevitably encountering death through their skilled labor as birth workers, I am more consciously pulling from the skilled labor of Black and Pacific Islanders. In the United States, particularly in the South, “granny midwives” were Black women (many who were very young at first) who were renowned for their knowledge in all matters related to birth and postpartum care. They were called to the bedsides of Black and white women. These midwives often helped lift their communities through creating access to education, trades and opportunities for self and collective empowerment. Many of these midwives, like Sarah Grant, were documented as being both “the women who caught the babies” and the same people who would tend to folks during the dying process. They knew how to be at a dying person’s bedside, take care of their postmortem body, bury them and care for the grieving family. My work is dedicated to them.
In Pacific Islander culture, as is the case among many Indigenous groups, we also have a long history of death workers. Traditionally, when someone was reaching the end of their life, a certain person in the village with experience in this major transition was called to come and prepare the person for death. This preparation was not physical. Instead, the dying person would be given the chance to tell their life story, share regrets and wishes, and begin to spiritually release their hold on this life and prepare for their upcoming role as an ancestor. It was sacred work. Though the custom has shifted, many Pasifika communities still carry on pieces of this death preparation. As a young person, I witnessed my maternal grandparents continue to fill this spiritual and cultural role throughout their lives. My work is dedicated to them.
Everyone gets to determine for themselves the words they want to use. For many birth and death workers, doula is a term that encapsulates the compassionate, non-judgmental presence and coaching that is at the heart of what we all do. For people like me in the birth and death care spaces, especially many Black, Indigenous, and People of Color in these fields, the word doula is not one we want to reclaim or redefine. We all get to show respect and curiosity, though. And, hopefully, knowing more about the history and context of the word doula helps keep the conversation moving about how to make death care more accessible, more equitable and more welcoming to everyone at every stage of life.
To learn even more, check out the Doula Wikipedia page, this Reddit forum or this very thorough article by Èské Addams.
