Let's get started.

I have worked in reproductive justice for about thirty years now. You can see it in my silvery hairline when I go too long without dyeing it, and you can see it in my smile, because while this work is heavy and costly, it feels like a new chance for someone, every single day. Nothing compares to that.

In addition to my day job, I have the privilege working alongside St. Vincent de Paul in Tacoma by providing outreachers with access to perinatal resources for unhoused clients, and also coaching, training and other support for the staff at large. I sit in the Community Resource Center at SVdP where unhoused people and families come every day to rest, charge their phones, and get incredible case management by the skilled outreachers there. I hang out as often as I can so that I can breathe in the stories and experiences that are shared there by clients and case managers alike, which nourishes me in ways I never expected it might.

I'm peripherally connected. Both of my parents are addicts, and my mom died of substance use. We navigated housing instability my whole childhood and across my whole family system. The experiences shared by people in the CRC feel like a connection to my own story, and being able to provide support for the supporters feels like care I wish we'd had access to when I was younger. We come full circle when we can.

I've learned many things. Pregnancy happens in every way you can imagine, from the comfort of an established partnership, to sex work, to sex trafficking and assault. Pregnancy tests are relatively accessible, but there isn't enough outreach that addresses what happens after someone gets a positive test. Crisis pregnancy centers do not offer the full-spectrum of options, and outreachers aren't knowledgeable about resources like abortion funds that can pay for abortion care and provide practical support for someone while they are in care. People who desire to continue their pregnancies struggle to get to prenatal care and are highly likely to experience bias and discrimination by providers who lack understanding of the challenges of living unhoused. They are up against strict policies about no-show or tardiness that are obstacles for folks reliant on city transportation. Living on the street is a new trauma every day, and mental health services that address the postpartum period are unknown, and so inaccessible. Hospitals discharge mothers and babies back to their tents or vehicles, which is where they will try to recover without access to clean water, a bathroom, clean supplies, etc.

I won't get too deep for my first blog post here, but I do have a lot to say. Thirty years supporting people as they navigated life-changing decisions and then sitting at their feet while they navigated the experience of the choices they made has shaped me in every way.

There is nothing stronger than when people come together who have lived experience or knowledge on the ground, who collaborate for change. The unhoused people in Pierce County need perinatal care- they need access to abortion care, and to prenatal care. They need wound care after their deliveries, access to mental health care for pregnancy and postpartum, and support in learning how to parent their babies. They need communities with lived experience, and flexible providers who can approach the challenges with realistic and accessible solutions. When we take care of people at this time of their lives, we truly impact generations. It matters, every day. Today is a new chance for someone. I hope you will join the Taproot Coalition so we can make that chance even stronger.