I’m Carriese. A mother, birth keeper, land steward, ritualist, and story weaver of Creole and West African descent. Birth has always called me. Even as a young girl, I was captivated by the raw power women carry, by the way our pain can become portals into beauty, into expression, into healing. I came to birth, body, women’s work through the timelines and the river of my own body. Through the song of women walking barefoot in circle, witch-woven, beneath the canopy of stars. I came through the forest, walking from the well. My feet in the moss, my heart split open in grief, my body pulsing with a wild knowing.

I emerged from the in-between spaces. The liminal realms where ghosts gather and magic stirs. Where springs speak in silence and the darkness becomes a teacher. Where ceremony hums and the veil is thin. I found myself in the stillness after the fire, in the howl before the moon, on my knees in glory and reverence. At the temple of the earth. At the temple of woman.

It was through tending to my own unwinding, through exploring the edges of my own curiosity, that I arrived at the altar of women’s bodies. I do not come to this work to save or fix. I come in devotion. To learn what it means to truly honor. To fall in love with what it means to be a woman on this earth. To touch the sacred in flesh and blood, breath and bone.

I have offered my hands to catch babies, to touch blood to soft tummies, to bless tears from celebration, and guide grief from loss. My hands have tended, placed herbs, laid flowers, stirred cauldrons and traced stretch marks like maps of deep belonging. I’ve spent a decade walking beside women as they come home to themselves. Through contractions and tears, through expansion, remembrance and roaring sovereignty.

I’ve learned how to hold others by learning how to hold myself. I've been shaped by initiation, by ceremony, by spirit — cultivating relationship with the unseen and inner landscapes. And I know this; when a woman is held—truly seen, witnessed, and honored—something ancient begins to move again.

I believe in worlds where softness is power. Where the waters of the womb flow freely. Where forests grow untamed in the soul of every woman. Where we lead not by force, but by presence. Not from fear, but from deep, rooted love.

This path has taught me faith, the power in prayer and how we name the body as holy.
This is how I return, again and again.
With song. With soil. With devotion.

With love. With play. With joy. 

As spirit embodied.

In the wise ways.