If you could be a character from a book or film, who would you be? Why?

Not sure if this was written in books or movies, however I am The Midwife of the Soul. Here is why:

I didn’t know I was standing on holy ground.

Not at first.

There were no angels, no flickering candles,

just the ache in his eyes

and the way his strength started to stutter.

A man unraveling from the inside out,

and I saw it.

For I was familiar with that kind of storm.

It was clear. I once walked this same storm, barefoot, alone and burning.

He looked straight at me,

not just at me,

but into me.

“It’s going to happen again,” he insisted.

There was fear in his voice,

the kind that doesn’t need to raise itself to be heard.

It sat heavy between us.

Although I didn’t flinch.

I met his storm with my own fire.

“No, it is not,” I told him.

“Because you are stronger than that.

You are a warrior,

and it’s time to take out your sword.”

I don’t know if he believed me.

But something in him shifted.

Not hope exactly,

but maybe a flicker of recognition.

Like a part of him remembered

he had survived the fire before.

And then his night got darker.

He was scared,

not of death, maybe,

but of what he couldn’t name.

The shadows moved when the lights dimmed.

He flinched when the nurse bumped the rails of the bed.

He told me the sink was flowing like a river,

but the faucet wasn’t on.

He was seeing double.

He was seeing things.

And I… I was seeing him.

The little boy inside the man,

afraid of the dark again.

Afraid of being left behind.

Yet, I didn’t leave.

Given that I knew the signs.

Out of knowing I’d been there before,

watching a soul loosen its grip while the body was still breathing.

Not this time.

Not on my watch.

His own body tried to kick him out.

Tried to evict the very soul that built it.

But I stayed.

Anchored myself in the thinning veil between worlds.

And I held him here,

with words,

with presence,

with faith sharp enough to cut through the fog.

Slowly, piece by piece,

he came back.

One breath.

One blink.

One quiet return.

The fear receded.

The river stopped flowing.

His voice came back, not just the sound, but the strength.

The man I knew stood up inside him again.

He made it out of the night.

This warrior lived.

And me?

I was just the midwife of the soul,

the silent sentinel at the edge of his storm.

The one who said, not this time.

The one who stayed when the lights dimmed.

The one who knew that even in the darkest night,

the soul still knows the way home.

Midwife on the Dark Night of the Soul

(A Follow-Up to Midwife of the Soul)

Weeks before,

my body knew.

A strange buzzing,

soft but persistent,

in the scar where my womb once was,

the exact place midwives center their hands when the soul decides whether to stay or go.

Something was coming.

I said it aloud the night before:

“Something is coming… and it’s not for me.”

But I didn’t know what or who.

Not yet.

And then the next morning arrived,

strange, heavy, off-kilter.

The office halls were dark.

Only mine was glowing,

its light left on from the night before,

like a beacon.

My password wouldn’t work.

Not once. Not twice.

As if I was being held in place.

Delayed.

Stalled.

Timed perfectly.

For it was divine.

All of it.

The stall. The stillness. The summons.

The soul whisper that said:

“Go now.”

And I did.

Three days later, I sit with all of it,

the weight, the wonder, the truth,

and I am not broken.

I am proud.

Proud that my friend chose me in his most vulnerable hour.

Proud that my body whispered what my mind didn’t yet know.

Proud that my guides delayed me just enough

so that I could arrive in the sacred moment between life and retreat.

Proud that no one stopped me

when I said I wouldn’t leave.

Proud that another soul stepped in when I had done my part,

to finish the task with the same reverence I carried.

Proud that my friend took out his sword,

not because I told him to,

but because he remembered it was always his.

He just needed someone to stand beside him

as he reached for it.

I am proud that God chose me

to help anoint the emperor rising inside of him.

Hence, that’s what he is now,

not just a survivor,

but a soul awakened.

A king of light.

And one day,

when another trembling soul begins to slip,

he will be the one who stays.

He will say, “Not on my watch.”

He will remember what was done for him,

and he will pass the torch.

I didn’t just hold his hand in the dark.

I helped change the light in his heart,

and made space for his angels to install an eternal one.

His dark night of the soul did not bury him.

It delivered him

into the very light he always knew existed.

The one between here and there.

For every soul who walks through the night and chooses to stay.

You are not alone.