There’s something surreal about sitting down to write this — because for a long time, the idea of being a qualified midwife felt so far away. And yet, here I am.
Starting this blog feels like the natural next step. I’ve always used words to mark moments, to make sense of the chaos and celebrate the quiet wins. This post is for all the memories — the brilliant, the bonkers, the blurry — from my years as a student midwife.
When I first started out, I didn’t know what to expect. I was full of nerves, hope, and the kind of excitement that makes your hands shake. But I was proud — proud to wear the uniform, proud to have made it onto the course, and proud of the friendships I was beginning to build. Connections that I hoped would last a lifetime.
That first placement on the antenatal and postnatal ward wasn’t just good — it was awesome. I loved every minute. I knew how lucky I was just to be there, and I found myself surrounded by midwives who were so generous with their knowledge. I remember thinking;
“If I can become even half the midwife they are, I’ll be happy!”
Of course, things changed quickly. When the pandemic hit, it felt like the world turned on its head. Suddenly, I was delivering pizzas by night and dreaming of attending births again by day. It was wild and sobering and strangely funny — all at once. It was also the moment I realised how much I missed it all. I missed practice. I missed my lecturers. I missed being in the room, learning from real people, making real connections. When I came back, I promised myself I wouldn’t take a single moment for granted ever again.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, I started to grow.
In May 2021, we had our first face-to-face skills session of the year. I forgot how much I’d missed being on campus. We practiced cannulation, perineal repair, maternal collapse, and neonatal resuscitation — on not-so-realistic models that still somehow gave me the confidence I needed to put myself forward in practice. I sweated through every second of those simulations, but I loved it.
As second year rolled into final placement, I started to feel the pressure. Stress, panic, a whole load of babies — and a creeping homesickness that reminded me how far I was from what was familiar. But I knew what I’d signed up for. And five weeks on labour ward felt like the closest I’d ever been to my dream.
In December that year, just as Omicron cast another shadow over the holidays, I pulled myself together and presented my quality improvement project.
I sat there (virtually of course) in front of colleagues and lecturers, showing what I’d learned not just from the module, but from every moment of my time as a student. It was a proud moment. A stressful one too, but I loved it. That project will stay with me. I hope, one day, it’ll help bring about real, meaningful change.
And then — quietly, somehow anticlimactically — it ended.
We had our last day on campus. There were a few pictures, a few smiles, and a lot of memories. All that was left was to catch a few more babies and hand in the last bits of paperwork. I remember thinking how proud I was. Of myself. Of my cohort. Of what we’d overcome.
In October 2022, I hit a personal milestone: my 40th birth. The next day, I walked out of the university building for the last time, having submitted everything — every essay, exam, reflection, and record of clinical hours. I was done. Three years, one month, and eight days as a student. 2436 clinical hours. And a dead-in-the-water social life to show for it.
It wasn’t easy. In fact, it was incredibly hard — and I know this is a difficult time to enter the profession. But I made it. And I know I’m here for the right reasons. I want to offer the best care I possibly can, to every person and every family I meet. Even on the bad days.
The end of 2022 was a blur — from final placements to my PIN finally arriving, to donning the gown and graduating surrounded by friends and family. It was a special time. I thought about deleting this account then. I was no longer a student. But something told me not to. That this journey wasn’t ending — it was just changing.
The first few months of working as a midwife have been challenging in new and unexpected ways. The job is everything I knew it would be — difficult, emotional, beautiful. And I’m learning so much. I’ve gained new skills, grown in confidence, and finally started to understand what lifelong learning really means. It used to sound like a warning. Now, it just feels like life.
Of course, there have been moments that shook me — emotionally tough experiences that stayed with me and reshaped how I see the world. But I’m still here. Still learning. Still proud to wear the uniform. Still smiling when someone calls me “midwife” for the first time.
And I guess that’s where this story really begins.
Thank you very much for reading. This first post will hopefully act as a simple taste of what is to come.
I’m planning to continue to share the stories from my journey so far and write as honestly as I can. For myself. For anyone thinking of joining this profession of ours. And for the moments I never want to forget.
Thank you for walking this path with me. Whether you’ve been here from day one or just found your way to this blog.
A Midwifery Blog 
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