Everything Changes
Published: 14 June 2026
Full circle moments have filled the last few weeks for me. I’m back practising what I love within the same NHS walls where I trained and later worked as a newly qualified midwife.
One of the most fitting moments so far was facilitating my first spontaneous labour and birth since returning. Alongside me was the same incredible midwife, EVJ, who guided me through both my first and fortieth birth as a student.
It’s been wonderful seeing familiar faces again and finding comfort in the fact that life goes on – despite the addition of children, marriages and mortgages for most people, so much still feels the same. The best friendships are the ones which don’t seem to have changed a single bit over time. People you can still laugh the same with regardless of the last two years spent on opposite sides of the world.
In terms of work, though, there have been some new additions and improvements across the service, which make returning feel exciting in a completely different way. The continuous talk of the new Baird Family Hospital and how the maternity service will adapt in the move from Aberdeen Maternity Hospital has inevitably piqued my interest. I’m excited to see where I find myself in the future and how the transition will shape my career.
Among the many privileges I’ve had since coming back, one of the most significant came exactly one week after that first birth.
With a team of fantastic colleagues beside me, I had the honour of caring for a couple in heartbreaking circumstances and supporting them through the birth of their premature baby, who sadly did not survive.
There’s not a great deal I need to say about that day beyond this: the atmosphere was beautifully calm, held together by the skill, compassion and steadiness of everyone in the room. The tears I shed that afternoon were tears of sadness, of course – but also of immense pride in what we were able to give that family.
Earlier that same day, my big brother Ross died suddenly at home in Edinburgh.
We didn’t receive the news until the following day.
My relationship with my brother is just that – mine. I didn’t speak about him all that often outside of my family circle, and I imagine I’ll continue to work through my own feelings around that in the coming weeks, months and years ahead.
I do know this, though: he came up often in stories I shared with families I would speak to in the labour ward, triage and inpatient wards. Namely, when we’d chat about big age gaps between kids or blended families who were starting a new journey, I’d talk about him. And for that, I’m grateful.
There’s an emotion in all of this that I haven’t yet found the words for. On the day my brother died, I was supporting another family through the very beginning of their own grief. I’m not sure whether it feels like irony, coincidence or something else entirely.
I won’t grieve for the sake of others. The things I feel in private are not something I’m ashamed of or that I want to hide. In the last few weeks, I’ve come to work, gone shopping, had dinner, drunk tea, laughed, cried and felt everything in between. I’ve also had moments of guilt where I feel like I’m not portraying the ‘right’ amount of sadness. My grief is personal, unconditional and not for public consumption. And I’m saying that more for my benefit than anyone else’s.
In all the anticipation I felt at the beginning of this year – and in all the indecision over what my next steps might look like – these recent events were nowhere near my radar.
It feels redundant to say because it’s so obviously true, but perhaps it bears repeating anyway:
“We truly don’t know what tomorrow will bring.”
Thanks for reading – this one’s been quite heavy 😉
Stewart x
The Work Never Really Stops – Where I Am Now
Published: 5 March 2026
It’s been a fair while since I’ve written anything about my personal or my work life. I’ve been trying to take some time away from social media, hence a little less from me recently.
So, where am I now. I’m still a midwife working in New Zealand. I come to work, give as much as I can to as many people as possible and go home. However, I never stop reflecting.
I think it’s a trait of most midwives, and perhaps healthcare professionals in general, to be constantly reviewing their own practice, going over conversations in their head, over-thinking slight changes in body language or tone. It is a skill that helps midwives immensely when trying to make connections in situations where you’re asking people to put their trust in someone they’ve never met before. Equally, it is a fact that makes ‘relaxing’ or ‘switching-off’ almost impossible.
2025
Last year challenged me in ways I hadn’t expected.
As of August, I have now worked longer as a midwife in New Zealand than I have anywhere else in the world. Which was quite shocking to me when I realised it, and also puts into perspective how young and inexperienced I was when I took the leap.
It’s been around a year since I started this blog. Starting it, I was quickly overwhelmed by the familiar self-doubt. That quiet voice insisting no one really wants to read my often lengthy stories.
I’ve been working hard to improve my security and self-image, reaffirming the belief that this is for nobody else but me. I share it because I like to share stories.
With the beginning of this blog, I also tried my hand at creating some educational Instagram posts with differing levels of success / popularity. It was a fairly interesting way to spend time on a rainy afternoon (which occur disappointingly often, even outside the UK). What it gave me, was an opportunity to contemplate the place of education in midwifery practice.
As a teenager, before I decided to pursue midwifery, I often considered a teaching career inspired by the great teachers I had in my life up to that point. Looking back, perhaps it’s why being a midwife appealed to me as much as it did in those early placements.
The two, I think, go hand in hand. Of course, there’s the obvious moments where mentors teach students, or colleagues teach colleagues. That’s easy to see. But with every patient and family we look after, we’re constantly teaching too. Giving or reminding the people we care for the knowledge their bodies hold.
I firmly believe that the best, and perhaps only, way to offer truly effective midwifery care is through education. It doesn’t have to be systematic or involve more than the midwife and their patient.
Someone given two options has the right to choose either one without bias or judgement – great!
What’s much better? Someone given the same options, alongside the theory, evidence and reasoning behind it. Taking the time to teach the physiology of a process to give their options context.
It’s not about overloading, confusing or proving we’re good at our jobs – it’s about true informed choice.
In the way I work, I’ve often tried to keep this at the heart of what I offer. And it got noticed.
For the past year I’ve been part of the PROMPT faculty in my workplace, helping deliver multidisciplinary training to colleagues. Something I’ve enjoyed and which has confirmed to me that I actually do know what I’m doing more than half the time.
Towards the second half of last year, I was approached by an out-going midwifery educator letting me know she’d be leaving. Highlighting it to me in particular as she was encouraging me to think about taking up the role.
What followed was a lot of thinking – shocking, I know.
Was I too young and too in-experienced? But someone thinks I’d be good at it, so maybe I would be.
I’m not sure if I know as much as I need to know to have this much responsibility. But, then again, I’ve worked with increasingly high-risk care and learned a hell of a lot in a short time.
I would be too nervous to try to teach my older and wiser colleagues. However, I was showing a consultant obstetrician how to resus a baby the other day.
I also struggled with the fact that… I’m going to have to say it… I’m not a woman. If you can believe it, I normally don’t remember on the day-to-day. I’m surrounded by the people I’m surrounded by, who are often women and it’s easy to forget you stand out, until someone reminds you.
There’s an assumption that I will seek promotion simply because I’m a man and “you all end up going up into management anyway.”
I can only speak from my own experience, but it has always felt like a strange expectation. I didn’t come into midwifery to climb ladders or collect titles. I came because I found something meaningful in the work itself. The moments of connection, the privilege of being present at the beginning of someone else’s story.
If I do move into education or leadership one day, I hope it will be for the same reason I became a midwife in the first place: to contribute something useful.
Eventually, after a lot of internal debate, I applied for the role.
The application process itself was an experience worth having. Preparing for the interview forced me to reflect on my practice in ways I hadn’t done before. It made me realise just how much I have learned in a relatively short time, but also how much more there still is to understand.
In the end, this particular role wasn’t the right fit for me. And that’s okay.
What it did confirm, however, is that education will remain an important part of my professional life. Whether that’s through simulation training, teaching colleagues, supporting students, or simply sharing knowledge with the families I care for.
Teaching is inseparable from midwifery.
I imagine I will continue to pursue opportunities for growth in the future; further study, research, or education roles. But not for the sake of promotion alone. Titles don’t interest me very much. What matters is contributing something meaningful.
Outside of work, the last year has also been filled with experiences I never imagined when I first stepped onto a plane bound for New Zealand.
I’ve travelled to places that once only existed on maps or postcards in my mind. Standing at the northernmost point of the country, driving along coastlines that seem to stretch endlessly, and slowly making my way across landscapes that feel almost unreal.
Travel has a strange way of putting life into perspective. It reminds you how large the world is, and at the same time how small your own worries can sometimes be.
2026
This year has already felt different.
For some time now I’ve been sitting with the quiet knowledge that this chapter of my life is beginning to draw to a close.
Alongside that has been an ongoing journey with my own mental health.
I’ve always been someone who reflects deeply – there might be some eagle-eyed people who’ve noticed that 😉 Over the last year I’ve been trying to understand that part of myself a little better. Learning when reflection becomes growth, and when it becomes something more obstructive.
Healthcare environments can also be surprisingly small worlds. News travels quickly, rumours travel even faster, and it sometimes feels like your life is being narrated by people who only know fragments of the story.
It’s an odd thing to navigate.
Learning to accept that people will speculate, ask questions, and draw their own conclusions about what you’re doing next. I’m still figuring out how best to handle that with patience and perspective.
For now, I’m still here.
Still coming to work. Still doing my best for the people who place their trust in me. Still learning more about midwifery, and perhaps even more about myself.
Whatever comes next — whether that involves further study, teaching, research, or simply continuing to grow within the profession — I hope it remains grounded in the same reason I started this journey in the first place.
Simply to contribute something worthwhile.
Stewart x
Becomming
Published: 27 June 2025
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.
Stewart x
A Midwifery Blog 
Leave a comment