A Historical Look at Traditional Midwifery
Birth has always belonged to women, families, and their communities. But over the last century, that story changed.
The history of midwifery in America is one of both loss and legacy.
For centuries, birth belonged to women, families, and communities—guided by traditional midwives and holistic, intuitive care. But over the last hundred years, midwifery was largely replaced by hospital-based obstetrics, and birth became a managed medical event.
This prioritization and almost worship of efficiency, control, and institutional authority cannot be understood apart from the larger societal changes brought on by industrialization.
In this post, we’ll take a historical look at how the rise of obstetrics led to the decline of midwifery in the U.S. (and globally), how it changed our view of women’s health and birth, and why so many women today are reconsidering homebirth and midwifery care.
If you’re exploring homebirth, curious about traditional birth practices, or wondering how we lost trust in God’s design for our bodies, this post is for you.
The Role of Industrialization in Shifting Culture
The Industrial Age (roughly from the late 1700s to the early 1900s) was a period of major social and economic change marked by the rise of factories, mechanized labor, and mass production. It began with the Industrial Revolution in Britain and spread globally, transforming how goods were made, how people worked, and where they lived. Rural, agricultural societies shifted toward urban, factory-based economies, leading to rapid urbanization, the growth of the middle class, and major advancements in technology and infrastructure.
This cultural shift didn’t just affect manufacturing—it reshaped how people viewed time, labor, and systems of knowledge. In medicine, the industrial mindset led to the rise of standardized protocols, institutional hierarchies, and a preference for “scientific” approaches.
The 1920s—aka the Roaring Twenties—was a time of huge cultural shifts and greater prosperity for many Americans. This was the Jazz Age and decade for women’s rights. F. Scott Fitzgerald penned “The Great Gatsby,” exploring wealth, class, and the American Dream. Women began to enter the workforce in greater numbers.
Until the 1920s, most babies in the US were born at home. With the rise of specialized medical fields like obstetrics and gynecology, and the professionalization of nursing, hospital births became a desirable option. Hospitals were marketed as modern facilities offering comfort and a break from domestic duties, making them attractive for women seeking convenience and a rest after childbirth. By 1940, hospital births surpassed 50%.
The Assembly Line Approach to Birth
The industrial model favored standardized protocols and hierarchical structures, which easily transferred to medical education and obstetric training. The Flexner Report of 1910 standardized medical training by calling for higher admission and graduation standards. It emphasized scientific principles and promoted university-affiliated medical schools with strong ties to research and clinical training, leading to a huge closure of many midwifery and women's health schools.
In the same way factories prioritized output and efficiency, hospital birth began to adopt a mechanized, time-controlled approach. Births were induced or scheduled. Labor was managed with drugs and interventions. Women's bodies were treated like machines to be "fixed.”
Women’s Bodies Viewed as Inherently Defective
In her book, “Birth as an American Rite of Passage,” anthropologist Robbie Davis-Floyd writes that “the men who established the idea of the body as a machine also firmly established the male body as the prototype of this machine. Insofar as it deviated from the male standard, the female body was regarded as abnormal, inherently defective, and dangerously under the influence of nature, which due to its unpredictability and its occasional monstrosities, was itself regarded as inherently defective and in need of constant manipulation by man (Merchant 1983:2; Reynolds 1991).
Thus, despite the acceptance of birth as mechanical like all other bodily processes, it was still viewed as inherently imperfect and untrustworthy” (Davis-Floyd, p. 51).
“Remember this, for it is as true as true gets: Your body is not a lemon. You are not a machine. The Creator is not a careless mechanic.”
Marketing of The Ideal Birth (When Birth Became a Business)
As consumer culture grew in the early 20th century, childbirth became commodified—swept into the currents of modern marketing and industrial medicine. Hospital births were advertised as cleaner, safer, and more “civilized,” especially appealing to the upwardly mobile woman who valued science, order, and status. Public health campaigns reinforced this image, presenting physician-attended births as symbols of progress and prestige.
At the same time, midwives—especially those who were Black, Indigenous, immigrant, or rural—were cast as relics of the past: untrained, unsanitary, even dangerous. Black “Granny Midwives” in the American South, who had delivered generations of babies with skill and deep community trust, were subjected to intense scrutiny, licensing barriers, and smear campaigns. Many were gradually regulated out of practice—not because of poor outcomes, but because their beliefs and practices around birth didn’t align with the medical model’s agenda. The campaign against them wasn’t just about public safety. It was about power, image, control. What was lost wasn’t just a profession, but a lineage of intergenerational wisdom and culturally rooted care that honored the sacredness of birth.
Loss of Community Wisdom
In ancient traditional cultures, birth wisdom (like all wisdom) was passed down through stories and presence—shared in kitchens, at bedsides, and within rituals that celebrated the body’s wisdom. But in an industrialized, male-dominated medical system, that wisdom and experience was dismissed and replaced by textbooks and policies—often written by men with little birth experience. Birth was no longer seen as a community rite or initiation. It became a procedure. Something to be managed. Controlled. Outsourced.
This shift didn’t just alter where women gave birth—it reshaped how they thought about birth, their bodies, their health, and their experiences. Birth lost its place in the rhythm of everyday life. What was once normal, relational, and embodied became something technical and external.
To understand and reclaim what’s possible, we have to know what was lost. Let’s begin with the earliest known references to midwifery in ancient literature, followed by examples of how these women practiced. Early midwives were pioneers—trusted for their wisdom, guided by intuition, and aligned with the God-designed rhythms of the female body.
Tracing Midwifery Through the Ages
The hands of midwives have welcomed new life since the earliest records of human history.
In Exodus, Shiphrah and Puah, two Hebrew midwives, courageously defied Pharaoh’s orders to kill newborn Hebrew boys, choosing instead to preserve life. Their story, written around the 13th or 15th century BCE, is one of the earliest named accounts of midwifery in ancient literature.
In Egypt, midwives appear in medical papyri such as the Ebers and Kahun texts, dating as far back as 1800 BCE, which include descriptions of pregnancy diagnostics, birth stools, and herbal care used by women healers.
In Mesopotamia, cuneiform tablets refer to midwives—known as šabsûtu—as integral participants in family and community life.
In ancient Greece, midwifery was not only a practical skill but a metaphor for wisdom. Socrates compared his method of dialogue to his mother’s work as a midwife, drawing attention to the intuition and discernment required to guide new life into the world.
And in the Roman era, the physician Soranus of Ephesus wrote a detailed treatise on obstetrics, outlining the knowledge, gentleness, and skill expected of midwives.
From ancient times to now, these women carried a tradition of care grounded in wisdom, presence, and reverence for women’s bodies.
Understanding the Midwife’s Role in Traditional Communities
Traditional midwives were not just birth attendants—they were:
Healers: Using herbal remedies and massage
Spiritual leaders: Incorporating prayers, blessings, and rituals
Community caretakers: Often supporting families
Educators: Teaching about fertility and newborn care
Death doulas: Sometimes helping with end-of-life care
Midwives held a trusted, relational role deeply rooted in:
Local customs and spiritual beliefs
An understanding of the land and local medicine
Holistic health—body, mind, and spirit
Trailblazers: Frontier Nurse-Midwives
I have to mention the Frontier Nursing Service (FNS), because rural eastern Kentucky holds a special place in my heart. I’ve spent time there, and the land and people are dear to me. FNS was founded in 1925 by Mary Breckinridge, a public health nurse and early champion of nurse-midwifery in the United States. Her vision was to bring high-quality maternal and infant care to some of the most remote areas of Appalachia, where families were often hours—or even days—from the nearest hospital.
At the time, midwifery in America was in sharp decline due to the rise of hospital-based obstetrics and the push to professionalize medicine through institutions. But Breckinridge believed that trained nurse-midwives, working within the community, could provide safer and more compassionate care for rural mothers. She modeled FNS after British midwifery programs, bringing over nurse-midwives from England and Scotland to train the first American cohorts.
These midwives traveled on horseback through rugged terrain to reach families living in the “hollers” (narrow, tucked-away valleys in the Appalachian mountains that were especially difficult to access). They not only attended births, but also provided prenatal care, well-baby visits, public health education, and family support. Even into the 1970s, many of these communities remained medically underserved, and midwives were often the only consistent healthcare providers families had.
FNS later evolved into Frontier Nursing University, which continues Breckinridge’s mission by educating nurse-midwives and nurse practitioners to serve in rural and underserved areas across the U.S. and internationally. Her legacy is still felt today in the lives of thousands of women who’ve received dignified, community-rooted care.
You can read more about her remarkable story in her autobiography, Wide Neighborhoods: A Story of the Frontier Nursing Service. I’m deeply grateful for women like Mary Breckinridge—visionaries who saw a need, responded with courage, and committed themselves to loving and serving mothers in places that were often forgotten.
Indigenous Wisdom and the Art of Midwifery
While the Frontier Nursing Service represents a powerful example of modern midwifery rooted in public health and service, there’s also deep value in looking at ancestral midwifery practices across the world. Those passed down through lived experience, oral tradition, and the innate wisdom of intuition and nature. Things that makes midwifery care true artistry.
One beautiful example comes from Latin America, where parteras (traditional midwives) continue to blend Indigenous knowledge with their Catholic faith-based practices to care for mothers in ways that are both deeply spiritual and physically attuned to the birthing process.
An indigenous practice I’ve seen and used in birth work is the use of a rebozo. It’s a long woven shawl many midwives and doulas today use in pregnancy, labor, and postpartum. It’s a powerful tool for massaging and releasing tension in the hips, back, and abdomen. It can:
help shift and align the baby’s position during pregnancy.
support the uterus and pelvis during labor—gentle jiggling/rocking motion known as manteada releases tension and activates stretch sensors in the pelvis to create room for baby (in the US I’ve heard it called shaking the apple tree).
ease labor pain with rhythmic movement and grounding touch.
Traditionally it’s also used to carry the baby postpartum, reinforcing mother-baby closeness. Wrapping baby to mom’s chest keeps the baby close to her heart. This closeness is so important because:
baby’s body temp, heart rate, and breathing regulates and sync’s with their mama’s.
this contact stabilizes baby’s blood sugar and releases oxytocin for both baby and mom, building their bond and attachment.
it’s beautiful and practical extension of hands-on, intuitive wisdom, symbolizing the midwife’s gentle presence and the woman’s strength.
A rebozo is also used in a beautiful postpartum ceremony called “The Closing of the Bones” (La Cerrada) practiced in parts of Mexico, Central America, and South America—
it’s designed to honor, heal, and "close" a woman’s body after the expansive experience of pregnancy and birth.
during the ceremony, the mother is lovingly wrapped with rebozos and the ritual creates a sacred, quiet atmosphere and often includes warm oil massage, herbal baths or steams, and gentle rocking or binding of the pelvis.
the purpose is to help the woman reclaim her body and energy, bring emotional and spiritual closure, support pelvic alignment and recovery, offer deep nourishment and care.
this ceremony is a beautiful example of Wise Woman Tradition, emphasizing rest, reverence, and the sense of being held after giving birth.
I love how simple the rebozo is. There’s nothing high-tech about it. This practice—centuries old—was used before all the scientific research about the importance of skin-to-skin and the golden hour came out. I appreciate how traditional midwives honor the post-partum period and the shift that takes place in a woman’s life and body after she gives birth.
Standardized care does little to acknowledge the fourth trimester and many mothers feel the loss of support keenly in a time when they need it most. These traditions remind us that postpartum care isn’t a luxury—it’s essential. In honoring the slow, sacred work of recovery, traditional midwifery offers not just physical support, but emotional and spiritual provision that many women long for today.
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I’ll explore doula work more deeply in another post, but I wanted to briefly name its significance here. Before I became a doula, I didn’t even realize there was a word for what I was drawn to—it’s simply caring for a woman the way her mom, sisters, aunties, or neighbors would have a hundred years ago when birth was seen as a normal, communal life event.
Today, doulas fill a formal role out of necessity. As hospital births became more clinical and standardized, many women found themselves without continuous, personalized support during labor. Doulas help bridge that gap, offering presence, encouragement, and advocacy in a system that too often overlooks the emotional and relational aspects of birth.
This isn’t a critique of nurses—many, like my sister who is an incredible L&D nurse, provide exceptional care under immense pressure. Hospital nurses are often responsible for multiple laboring women at once, juggling charting, monitoring, communicating with providers, and supporting both medical and emotional needs. At a home birth, those same responsibilities are typically shared among a team of two or three people. I admire my sister and her compassion so much.
Doulas don’t replace clinical staff—they complement them. In fact, many nurses appreciate doulas. But as valuable as doulas are, they don’t replace the scope of midwifery care—which combines professional expertise, continuity of care, and a comprehensive approach to birth as an intimate and transformative experience for a woman and her family. Together, midwives, doulas, nurses, and OBs each play a vital role in reclaiming birth as a supported, sacred experience—one that honors both the life-saving advancements of modern medicine when needed and the time-honored wisdom of attentive, personalized care.
Implications for Women Today
Robbie Davis-Floyd’s book, “Birth as an American Rite of Passage,” unpacks how birth in America is shaped more by cultural norms than evidence. (You can read more in my guide to faith-based decision making and wellness.) As a medical and cultural anthropologist, she explains that when women are given real choices, information, and compassionate support, birth becomes not just “safe,” but empowering. The process of birth changes a woman’s body, mind, and spirit. It’s an initiation into a new way of being, one that has the potential to bring forth untapped strength, resilience, and trust.
If you don’t have the time to read right now, I highly recommend watching the documentary “The Business of Being Born” by Ricki Lake and Abby Epstein. They examines how birth in the U.S. has become increasingly profit-driven. The film asks causes viewers to ask important questions: What do we communicate when we call someone a "patient" rather than a "client"? What does it mean to be told how birth will happen to you rather than being provided information to make your own decisions?
Think about the messages women receive when they check into the hospital in labor. Many are placed in wheelchairs even if they’re fully capable of walking. They’re asked to undress and wear a standard-issue gown. They’re encouraged (often required) to labor and give birth lying down, despite the obvious benefits of movement, position changes, and gravity. On one hand, this isn’t just about policy—it’s about power, perception, and conditioning.
On the other hand, it’s also very practical—hospitals are not designed to hand-hold and personalize your experience. Their systems prioritize risk management and efficiency. Hospitals simply don’t have the time or resources to provide every woman with the individualized care she wants because the model operates like a factory.
Experienced and well-educated professionals like Davis-Floyd, Lake, and Epstein urge women to reclaim birth and demonstrate how skilled midwifery care offers a safe, respectful, and evidence-based alternative. Ironic that what we wanted to get away from we wish we could go back to.
“The single most important factor determining what kind of birth a woman will have is not her age, not her parity, not her birth plan, not the size of her baby or the shape of her pelvis, but the attitudes and practices of her caregiver. ”
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The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG) sets the clinical guidelines for women’s reproductive health in the U.S., shaping everything from hospital policy to medical education and public health initiatives. As the U.S. industrialized medicine and standardized maternity care, many other countries followed its lead—contributing to the global decline of midwifery.
Of course, there are times when hospital birth is necessary. Complications can arise in pregnancy and labor. Other times pregnancy can reveal or exacerbate a preexisting condition. And for these cases, it’s a gift to have skilled obstetric and neonatal care available. But history, common sense, and a growing body of research invite us to ask a deeper question: what kind of care do most women need, most of the time?
We’re taught to believe the hospital is the safest place to give birth. But we rarely stop to ask why we believe that—or who taught us to think that way. We like to think we’re thinking for ourselves. But often, we’re repeating what culture has taught us to believe.
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Many women go into a hospital desiring a “natural birth” and hand out elaborate birth plans. It’s smart to have a birth plan, but know that these are read as preferences. This is not a script for how your labor, birth, and immediate postpartum are going to unfold.
What does natural mean? What does safe mean? Moms can definitely achieve an unmedicated birth if that’s natural means to them. If by natural women mean physiologic, few consider the fact that what they are expecting and asking is not natural in a hospital setting. They don’t consider that when they got into the car and left their home, they made a decision that would set many things into motion that do not support physiologic birth—birth in which mama and baby work together in a private, undisturbed environment in which the mom feels safe and supported.
I want to be clear: I am not against hospital birth, and I have no desire to villainize hospitals, L&D nurses, or obstetricians. I’ve worked closely with many incredible nurses—as a birth worker and as a nanny for children with cancer—and I’ve seen firsthand how dedicated, compassionate, and skilled they are.
I’ve attended hospital births as a doula that were beautiful and empowering. I have friends who chose inductions or planned C-sections and came away feeling deeply cared for and supported by exceptional nurses, hospital midwives (CNMs), or OBs. But I’ve also witnessed hospital births that left women with lasting trauma, and I’ve listened to women share heartbreaking stories of being dismissed, coerced, or left unsupported during one of the most vulnerable moments of their lives.
I want to acknowledge and honor the generations of women who didn’t have informed choices and the options many of us have today. Some were put to sleep during the birth of their babies. Others endured unnecessary interventions or were told their bodies failed them. For some, financial barriers or external circumstances made the birth they hoped for impossible. These stories are deeply painful—and they are valid. They are part of our collective history, and they deserve to be remembered with tenderness and respect.
At the same time, it’s important to recognize that not every midwife practices holistically or prioritizes the needs of women and babies. Some midwives don’t trust the physiology of birth—or are practicing unsafely and have poor outcomes, frequent transfers, and preventable losses. Just as hospital births aren’t inherently “bad,” midwife-attended births aren’t automatically “good.”
The real issue is not the setting—it’s the philosophy of care, the level of support, and whether a woman feels seen, heard, and safe. Birth outcomes improve when women are respected, informed, and surrounded by caregivers who honor both their autonomy and the sacredness of birth. It’s a privilege that many women today have access to more education, options, and support—and that privilege calls us not only to gratitude, but to responsibility.
“Beliefs form our values. Values influence our decisions. And decisions shape the way we birth, mother, and view our own bodies.”
Legacy and Reclamation
Today, there’s a global resurgence of interest in midwifery and physiological birth.
Over the past few decades, there has been growing dissatisfaction with hospital births. In response, many are seeking birth experiences that honor autonomy, bodily wisdom, and continuous support.
This shift has been influenced by several factors:
Increased awareness and education around birth options, fueled by documentaries, books, social media, and birth advocacy.
Research demonstrating that midwifery care for low-risk pregnancies leads to fewer interventions, lower C-section rates, and higher maternal satisfaction.
(What does low-risk mean? ACOG has its own definition but do your research if you’re pregnant and have been labeled high-risk. Check out the Birthing Instincts Podcast with Dr. Stu and Midwife Blyss, episode #379 High Risk - What Does It Really Mean?)
The rise of holistic wellness, which emphasizes prevention, body literacy, and trusting the body’s design—principles that align with traditional midwifery care.
COVID-19, which prompted more women to explore out-of-hospital birth due to restrictions, fear, and separation policies.
Growing mistrust in institutional systems, especially after impersonal or traumatic birth experiences.
Some hospitals are making meaningful changes and becoming baby-friendly. At the small community hospital where my sister works, the board regularly evaluates the numbers and data to figure out where they can improve and get C-section rates down. Her hospital also does a really good job of supporting nurses with resources to process trauma and holds workshops to equip nurses with practical skills to help moms work with their bodies and babies during labor. More nurses are being offered doula training and continuing education—because people within the system care deeply and want to offer more than just clinical management.
These shifts are encouraging, but they require intention and courage to go against the cultural grain. Whether you're an L&D nurse or OB in a hospital, a birth center midwife, or a homebirth provider—birth work is sacred, and it’s not easy.
My hope in sharing posts like this is that more women begin to ask questions, use discernment, and make informed choices.
The way we birth doesn’t just impact us—it ripples outward, shaping the stories we tell, the confidence we carry, and the legacy we pass on.
It’s Never too Early
You don’t need to be pregnant to start thinking about your options when it comes to care. In my upcoming post I examine why early education is invaluable when it comes to birth.
Reflect + Reclaim
I invite you to pause and consider why you believe what you do about birth—whether those beliefs are positive, negative, uncertain, or somewhere in between. This isn’t about making immediate decisions or judging your past experiences. The goal here is honest, humble reflection.
Approach these questions—and any others that arise—with curiosity and openness. Many are from Indie Birth’s Personal Reflections (marked “IB”), which I often use in conversation with doula clients.
What do you believe about birth?
Where did your current beliefs about birth come from—family, friends, faith, media, or personal experience?
What do you believe about your body? Has your body ever disappointed you? How? Has it ever surprised you? How? (IB)
Do your values around health and autonomy align with the birth choices available to you? Do you know what your options are?
How do you define safe when it comes to childbirth? What about prenatal care?
Where do you feel fear in your body? Where do you feel intuition? Can you distinguish between the two? (IB)
Have you ever felt dismissed or unseen in a healthcare setting? How did that impact your trust in the system?
What role does fear—or confidence—play in how you view birth?
If you’ve birthed before (or experienced loss or pregnancy release), are there parts of that story that need to be processed, healed, or revisited? (IB)
Are you making choices from a place of pressure, passivity, or conviction?
How do you want to feel during your prenatal care, labor, birth, and postpartum? (Empowered? Nurtured? Calm? Connected? Supported?)
If you’d like the full list of questions and a free consult, send me an email (:
Some of My Favorite Resources For Women Considering Homebirth
I highly encourage you to do your own investigating, but here are some of my favorite resources as a birth worker:
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Henci Goer — “The Thinking Woman’s Guide to a Better Birth”
Goer presents childbirth as a natural and normal life event, not a medical emergency, and urges women to trust their bodies and seek care that respects their autonomy.
She breaks down the science behind common birth practices—such as induction, epidurals, continuous fetal monitoring, cesarean delivery, and episiotomies—using medical studies to evaluate their risks and benefits.
The book contrasts the medical model of birth (hospital, intervention-heavy) with the physiological model (physiologic, woman-centered), making the case that many standard hospital procedures are not supported by evidence and may interfere with the normal birth process.
Goer emphasizes the importance of informed consent and shared decision-making, encouraging women to ask questions, understand their options, and choose care providers who support evidence-based practices.
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Ina May Gaskin, — “Guide to Childbirth,” “Birth Story: Ina May Gaskin and The Farm Midwives” film
I appreciate and admire the way women care for other women in birth work. Birth is an incredibly intimate and bonding experience that ties you to all the generations of women before you. One of my favorite resources I liked recommend to doula clients was Ina May Gaskin’s “Guide to Childbirth.” Ina May shares some really beautiful birth stories and advocates for informed choice, holistic care, and a reclamation of birth as a spiritual, instinctual, and empowering process with really down-to-earth, practical, evidence-based information.
“Birth Story” is a powerful and intimate documentary that tells the story of Ina May Gaskin and the midwives of The Farm, a commune and birthing center in rural Tennessee founded in the 1970s. (Yes, they were a bunch of hippies!) This film blends archival footage with present-day interviews, offering a rare look into one of the most influential natural birth movements in America.
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With decades of experience in birth work, Tully focuses on helping parents and birth professionals understand how the baby’s position in the womb can impact labor progress.
“Birth on Earth” is part of the larger Spinning Babies approach developed by Gail Tully, which focuses on understanding fetal positioning and how it affects labor and birth. The book—and the philosophy behind it—challenges the idea that childbirth is purely about dilation or pain management, and instead emphasizes the importance of body balance, movement, and alignment to support an easier, more physiological birth.
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I mentioned Dr. Stu and Blyss (Dr. Stuart Fischbein and Midwife Blyss Young) earlier but their website is super valuable and they have a Birthing Instincts Podcast that I like to binge on long drives. I’m so grateful to Blyss and Dr Stu for their work!
Together, they explore a range of topics and share birth stories that honor the intelligence of the body and the sacredness of the birth experience.
Dr. Stu has decades of experience and now primarily attends breech, VBAC, and home births. He’s a strong advocate for informed consent, physiologic birth, and collaborative care with midwives.
Blyss is a licensed midwife based in SoCal, known for her holistic approach to birth work.
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Dr. Sara Wickham is an author, speaker and researcher in the UK and retired midwife. With a background in both clinical midwifery and academic research, she has spent over two decades synthesizing research, challenging outdated practices, and making complex topics accessible to parents and birth professionals alike.
I appreciate Dr. Wickham’s commitment to making research accessible to women and families so they can make informed choices. Her work is independent, not funded by any institution or organization.
She’s written numerous books and booklets, including “Inducing Labour: Making Informed Decisions", “Group B Strep Explained,” “What’s Right For Me?” and many more. You can find these on her website and get most of them on Amazon and download them on Kindle.
In Closing
I hope this post was thought-provoking, encouraging, and inspiring. More than anything, I hope the end of this post marks the beginning of a deeper conversation among women, our families, and our communities. Real change begins within, and while that might feel daunting, give yourself grace. You don’t need to take action today, just sit with what you’ve learned. Engagement will look different for everyone, and that’s the beauty of LNC community. If anything stirred something in you or raised questions, I’d love to hear from you—reach out anytime.
❤️ Liv
