A Birth, A Rebirth

I was born on a winter’s night in the Netherlands, the only baby in the hospital, wrapped in stillness and snow. At four, I moved to the southern suburbs of Paris, a place of contrasts—beauty and struggle, art and resistance. My mother, an artist and feminist, painted stories of women’s strength. My father, an ecologist and activist, taught me to question everything. I grew up between cultures, between worlds, between the fight for justice and the call to create.

Dance became my first language. I moved to speak, to feel, to heal. First contemporary, then hip-hop—where rhythm became rebellion, where movement held all that words could not. But life pulled me elsewhere. I studied business, convinced I could make a difference within the system. Instead, the system drained me. At 26, burnout stopped me in my tracks. I walked away from everything I had built and left to make a documentary on dance—on the power of movement to transform, to reclaim, to return us to ourselves.

Then came Cape Town. A city of wild beauty, of winds that shift the soul. I fell in love, worked in development, and soon found myself standing at the edge of a new threshold: motherhood. Birth unraveled me. I labored at home, guided by a doula who held me through the fire. And on the other side, I emerged—changed, raw, powerful. But postpartum was another kind of initiation. The sleepless nights, the aching body, the return to work too soon. When I became pregnant again, I knew: this time, I would slow down. And so I did. My second home birth was different—peaceful, fluid, a lesson in trust.

Then came Amsterdam. I arrived alone with my baby in my arms, stepping into a city that did not yet know me. In six weeks, I found a job and a home to welcome my other son and husband. On the outside, I had everything. Inside, I was crumbling. The weight of two young children, the demands of a job that took more than it gave—until my body said no. In 2021, burnout found me again, deeper this time. Panic attacks. Exhaustion. Silence. I let go of everything.

And then, slowly, I found my way back—through the laughter of children, through the magic of play, through creativity, through movement. But something kept calling me back to birth. To the women standing at their own thresholds, uncertain but ready. To the ones holding life in their hands, searching for their own power.

I hear the call now. I am stepping into it fully. To hold space. To honor transformation. To walk alongside mothers as they birth not only their children but themselves.

Because birth is not just the beginning of a baby’s life. It is the rebirth of a woman. And I am here to hold that sacred journey.

With love,

Amélie