You don’t need to hire a doula if you don’t want one.

Photos by Louise Samuelson, Words by AnaMaria Glavan

Sarah Holt has been sleeping with a handful of worry dolls tucked beneath her pillow. They’re tiny, handmade figurines she was gifted during her babymoon in Cabo, little talismans meant to listen to your worries and fight them on your behalf. (We Googled where to buy them, too.) 

The LA-based, Cornwall-born model is pregnant with her first child, a daughter, and is nearing her due date at the time of our interview. She is very reasonably nervous about the adventure that awaits her. She’s also forthright about how pregnancy has surfaced conflicting feelings she hasn’t had before: “I simultaneously feel incredibly childlike and really grown up at the same time, and I haven’t really had that before.” 

Below, we spoke with Sarah about her firm decision in not hiring a doula or a night nurse, pumping for colostrum in an effort to induce labor (it didn’t), and initially rejecting a pregnancy photo shoot but feeling glad she did them afterward. The model is used to being on camera but this experience was different. 

*Since our conversation, Sarah has given birth to her daughter. They’re both thriving. From her email to Spread the Jelly: “I LOVE MUMMING.” 

Hosting a baby shower on the same day you realize you’ll need one yourself… 

I wasn’t very responsible with contraception and I’ve been pregnant four times accidentally. The last time I was pregnant, it was at the end of a long relationship and the other person didn’t want to have the baby. I kind of did, but it wouldn’t have been a great situation. I terminated that pregnancy and it almost broke me. I knew that if I ever got pregnant again, the next one would be the one. I always really wanted to be a mom. 

This pregnancy was not planned. When I peed on the stick, it was funny, because I was actually hosting my best friend’s baby shower that day. It was the morning after Valentine’s Day and I woke up thinking, I didn’t enjoy my glass of wine last night, the oyster made me feel weird, and my boobs are kind of big. I thought, Surely not. I was very happy. 

On leaving Cornwall for London at 15 

I grew up in a place called Cornwall, which is really far southwest in England. It’s simple, a village really. It’s the most beautiful shithole in the world. My parents separated when I was seven or eight, and they both did their own things. I had rough teenage years and got kicked out of home at 15. I lived with this amazing family who had a caravan park and a pub. Then I got scouted to be a model and moved to London right away. Looking back, it was incredibly unhealthy, but it felt great at the time. I’m close with my mom now and she came out here to support me through this. She lives in New Zealand, and my sister’s there too with her kids. My dad still lives where I’m from. 

I’d feel like I’d failed as a parent if my child went through what I did. You think, Okay, I won’t be doing it like that. That’s the biggest takeaway: learning how not to do it rather than copying. Childhood was definitely tough in the later part of it. 

Because I left home really young and was working full-time with no support, I’m used to doing things on my own. But there’s something about pregnancy… I’ve had this overwhelming need for someone to make me feel safe. I simultaneously feel incredibly childlike and really grown up at the same time, and I haven’t really had that before. It’s been very, very lonely. I think that’s my biggest fear about having my daughter: feeling isolated and being alone.

But the community of moms around me is insane. It’s the most exclusive club you don’t even know exists. I remember seeing little glimpses of it from the outside and wondering, Why are they always in a mom group? Women I barely know have been more supportive than people I’ve known for 20 years. I would be lost without those communities. 

Sometimes, the best help is no help 

I have a traditional OB-GYN and he’s great. Living in LA, everyone expected me to have the night nurse, the doula, all of it. But I’ve opted out of that. People ask, How are you going to do it? and I respond honestly: I don’t know. My mom did it. I also don’t want to spend $100,000 on extra help for the first few weeks.

In the beginning, I felt pressured to have everything, especially because I didn’t know what kind of support I’d actually have or what doing it on my own would look like. I was nervous and thought I had to have someone with me, but committing to something made me more stressed out. It’s LA, I live in the hills, if I’m ripping my hair out and losing my mind, I’ll find someone.

And when you’re on your own, you just get on with it. There’s that concept of boyfriend blindness. If I’m with a boyfriend and we’re at the airport, I have no idea what time we’re boarding or where we’re going. I’m just letting him lead. But if I’m on my own, I become the most high-functioning person who can handle anything. I figure I’ll probably have a better time if everyone just goes away, leaves me alone, and lets me do it. 

The unexpected pressure of an unexpected pregnancy: Proving everyone wrong 

For me personally, and maybe I’ll eat my words, but I don’t want a lot of help from employees. I’ve had friends who grew up really wealthy or with famous parents and were raised by nannies instead of their parents, and it’s been hard for them later in life.

I also feel extra pressure because my daughter wasn’t exactly planned. I want to show everyone that I wanted this, that I’m taking it seriously and I’ve got it down. That might end up overwhelming me, but we’ll see. I’ll sleep in the same room with her until she’s about six months old.

My friend came over yesterday with her six-week-old. She’s amazing. She’s breastfeeding on demand, and it’s just so peaceful. Anytime I’m around her, I think, I can do this. It’s no problem. She just puts the baby on the boob, takes the baby off, everyone’s happy. It looks so easy and natural, and I think I’ll try to do it that way too—not super structured, just responsive.

Of course, that’s dependent on whether or not I’m able to breastfeed. We’ll see. Most of my friends are really pump-oriented, but honestly, it just seems like too much washing up. They all say it’s emotionally taxing, too. 

Yesterday, another friend told me she was going to send me her Spectra pump and that I would get loads of colostrum and go into labor early. Then five other moms chimed in, Yes, pump! You’ll get loads of colostrum, you’ll be an oversupplier, and it’ll help you go into labor early. I had my hopes up. My boobs are quite big so I thought I’d definitely have loads of milk. 

I sat there with the pump yesterday morning for forty minutes and nothing. Zero. Not even one drop. And it just broke me. I thought, Oh my god, she’s not coming on time. I don’t have any milk. I’m not going to be able to feed her. My body’s not going to do what it needs to do for her. It was a full breakdown over nothing, really.

And the truth is, no one told me to do it. My doctor would’ve probably told me not to. Anytime I ask him a question based on what another mom told me, he responds saying not to do that. So I’m learning to stop comparing.

Currently Googling ‘where to buy a worry doll’ 

In my birth plan, I wrote that I’m going to have my placenta encapsulated into pills because I’m nervous about postpartum depression. I’ve had anxiety and depression on and off my whole life, been medicated, been in therapy forever. It would be nothing short of a miracle if I didn’t experience some level of it. Why not try? Placenta is supposed to be a hormone balancer so I’m going to do the pills.

I read a story recently about someone who couldn’t do it because their placenta was contaminated, and I thought, Great, another thing I might not get to do. But I also think it’s helpful to hear stories like that; the ones where things don’t go to plan. Because no one’s birth seems to go the way they imagine. I don’t think I’ve heard a single story where it did.

I have heard some positive ones, but they’re usually for the second babies. The moms go in, ask for the epidural, and then have a great time. I’m honestly so scared of the epidural. I watched a video of one being administered early on which was a big mistake. Now I’m thinking, There’s zero chance that’s happening to my body. But realistically, I’ll probably end up getting it.

I have what most women have, that curiosity to see what I’m capable of. To see if I can do it without the pain relief. But at some point, I’ll probably hit a wall and be like, Nope, I’m done. I’ve heard stories of women doing most of it unmedicated, then eventually saying, Whatever you do, just get her out. I don’t care anymore. And I get it. I can totally see myself feeling that way.

My birth plan has changed a hundred times. It’s gone from this to that and then back again. I have this little worry doll that a hotel gave me during my babymoon in Cabo. Every night before I go to sleep, I put it under my pillow and just think, Let me live. Let her live.

Worry dolls are these tiny little handmade figures. You tell them your worries, the things you’re afraid of, and then put them under your pillow at night so they can take care of them while you sleep.

“This was very different” 

For my pregnancy shoot, I worked with a photographer who’s known me since I was fifteen. She’s been photographing me for my entire career. She’s a mom too, her kids are older, and she reached out asking if she could shoot me while I was pregnant. I said no at first. Pregnancy has been hard on my sense of identity and I didn’t really want my photo taken.

She told me I would regret not doing it. And she was right. I’m so glad I did it. It was just me, her, and my dog in the house, and it felt so peaceful and special. It’s funny because I’ve always been comfortable in front of the camera, but only in a certain mold—when I felt I had external worth, which isn’t how I feel in my body right now. This was very different.