I shared this on my Instagram feed and I want to make sure it is findable for those who might not be on the social media platforms. In the conversations I have about pregnancy care, one thing that I think we do not do a very good job of is explaining who might be on the care team during pregnancy and postpartum. Everyone may not provide prenatal care or deliver the baby, but there are some unsung heroes that everyone should have access to (I'm looking at you doulas and lactation consultants!)
In true fashion, my blog is the last to spill the tea… but I’m officially back on all the socials. And truly, thank you. For the messages, the check-ins, the behind-the-scenes help getting me out of “Meta jail”… I felt all of it.
Now that I’ve had a minute to sit with the silence, I can say this: the pause gave me more than it took.
A few unexpected blessings:
The detox I didn’t know I needed. Stepping away from my most-used app quieted the noise. Less mindless scrolling. Less pressure to keep up with what the algorithm says matters. Turns out, a lot of it… doesn’t.
Clarity on connection. Social media has brought real, meaningful people into my life, and that part is undeniable. But what sustains those relationships goes deeper than sharing memes or reacting to posts. The real ones show up beyond the feed.
A reset on purpose. I love sharing my life, yes, but what truly drives me to keep utilizing social media is that it is my biggest platform to educate, to tell the truth, and to advocate for healthier communities and a better world. That’s the work that matters to me.
So yes, I’m back, but with more intention. More clarity. And a deeper commitment to creating content that actually deserves your time.
If I’m showing up here, it’s because I believe it adds value. And if we’re doing this together, it’s because we’re building something that leaves people, and this world, better than we found it.
Many of you have asked where my Instagram and Facebook pages went. Back in November, my accounts were suddenly disabled after a linked account was incorrectly flagged for violating community standards. Meta later confirmed that account actually did follow the rules, but my platforms were still taken down again shortly after, without explanation.
For 15+ years, my Instagram and Facebook accounts have been where I’ve shared maternal health education, advocacy, and pieces of my real life in medicine and motherhood — so losing them has been both professionally and personally hard.
I’m currently going through the formal review process and hopeful this will be resolved with a full human review. In the meantime, thank you for the messages, patience, and continued support. This community has always been bigger than any one platform.
I’ll keep you updated as I learn more, and in the meantime, you can always find me here on the blog (where is all started), and very reluctantly... now on TikTok.
2025 has carried some of the most isolating seasons of my adult life - moments that stretched me, and continue to stretch me, personally and professionally in ways I never anticipated. I am learning what it means to stand alone differently, and if I’m honest, it’s uncomfortable. It’s quiet. It asks more of me than I ever imagined I had to give. Yet within that stillness, I’m rediscovering something steady and undeniable: I can rely on myself.
We don’t talk enough about the journey back to yourself after chasing the “dream job,” the polished vision of motherhood, the weight of being the “good eldest daughter,” the dependable big sister, or the partner you believed you were supposed to be. There is a real grief in realizing that some roles don’t hold you the way you hoped they would, but there is also a deep freedom in loosening your grip on expectations that were never meant to define you.
Being back here feels different. Grounded. Familiar in a way I didn’t recognize at first. It's like returning to a home that was never a physical place, but a version of me I had quietly been searching for all along.
I was always that girl. Even in rooms where I wasn’t fully seen. Even in seasons that tried to convince me otherwise.
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. is often remembered for his words about dreams, but he was equally committed to action.
His work challenged systems, disrupted comfort, and demanded accountability from institutions that were failing people.
That matters deeply to me as a physician.
Healthcare, at its best, is an expression of justice.
At its worst, it reflects the very inequities Dr. King warned us about - unequal access, unheard voices, and outcomes that depend more on zip code or race than biology.
Dr. King once said, “Of all the forms of inequality, injustice in health care is the most shocking and inhumane.”
Decades later, that statement still lands with uncomfortable accuracy.
Honoring Dr. King means asking hard questions:
Who feels safe seeking care?
Whose pain is believed?
Who benefits from our systems—and who is burdened by them?
It also means acting on the answers.
For me, that action looks like advocating for maternal health equity, mentoring future physicians who will serve marginalized communities, and refusing to accept “this is how it’s always been” as an answer.
MLK Day is not just a remembrance.
It’s a responsibility.
The dream survives only if we keep building it - one policy, one patient, one courageous conversation at a time.
