Why I don't call myself a death doula.

Death doula, end-of-life doula, end-of-life consultant – what’s the difference, and why does it even matter anyway?

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  Navigating ageing and end-of-life can be challenging

I often get asked how I got started in this line of work.

It was 2015 when I was pregnant with my son that I first came across the term ‘death doula’. My birth doula was telling me how she was also training to become a death doula, and I can still remember thinking ‘Wow! That’s a thing?! How awesome!’

(I should point out that at that time, I still wasn’t entirely sure what a doula did – birth, death or otherwise. I've always been fascinated by death, and equally perturbed by our general societal inability to sit in the discomfort of anything vaguely death-related despite it being inevitable for us all.🤔)

For anyone unfamiliar with the term, the simple explanation is that a doula is a non-medical support person.

Although personally I feel the simplicity of that explanation belies some of the profound work doulas perform. Which is why my ego tells me I don't then want my role aligned with servitude – the word doula comes from ancient Greek doúlē, meaning ‘female slave/slave woman’.

Being of service is at the very heart of who I am and what I do. Servitude is something else entirely.

In more modern times, ‘doula’ was first used in English in the late 60s. The role of doulas emerged during the natural birth movement - think Lamaze - as women increasingly sought empowered, lower-intervention births. It was specifically used to differentiate the non-medical support role from clinical care provided by professionals including doctors and midwives.

Then, from the early 2000s, as people sought greater spiritual, emotional and practical support in the face of death, there has been a rise in ‘death doulas’. Earlier this year, Nicole Kidman announced she was training to become a death doula, inspired by the death of her mother in 2024.

While the title ‘death doula’ is a relatively new term, the practice of caring for dying loved ones within our communities is ancient. (Irish wakes, anyone?)

I’ve been cautious about adopting the title ‘doula’ for a few reasons.

Firstly, it’s not particularly well known.

Also because I don’t want to imply that what I do is simply a fluffy heartfelt calling, rather than a dedicated professional service drawing on specialist knowledge, deep compassion and expertise.

And because there has been negative press around birth doulas overstepping clinical boundaries, potentially putting mothers and babies at serious risk.

At end of life, if everything goes wrong, the person dies. If everything goes right, the person still dies. The difference is how they get there, and what memories of that journey their loved ones will carry with them.

For these reasons (and possibly a hangover from many years as a management consultant) my personal preference is to use ‘consultant’ rather than ‘doula’.

Asked the other day by a mum at the school concert what I ‘do’, I replied that I’m an end-of-life consultant. To which she then asked, ‘Is that like a death doula?’

So go figure – same diff, and no shade to anyone using the term doula. (Which apparently may also include myself at times.) 🙄

Death versus end-of-life?

There are three key reasons I choose to use ‘end-of-life’ over ‘death’:

1. Who’s actually even going to die anyway?

Anecdotally, I’ve discovered the majority of people don’t think they’re actually going to die (not anytime soon and likely not in their lifetime), therefore immediately rendering anything remotely ‘death’ related completely redundant (and severely limiting my business prospects).

2. Don’t use that word!

‘Death’ is still a hugely taboo word carrying heavy weight for many people. Simply using the word death can shut down the conversation quicker than it started.

3. Death is a moment. End-of-life is a journey.

Death is a momentous, final – yet fleeting – moment. End-of-life is the ultimate last journey, potentially over an extended period, of which the final breath is just one very precious part.

Our bodies are remarkable – and they know exactly how to die. Helping the families I work with recognise the signs that death is approaching and understand how to respond to these changes can bring relief to an otherwise stressful and heartbreaking situation.

I accompany my clients and their families as they move through these changes together, to the final breath.

My role doesn’t finish when my client has died. Leading loved ones in gentle ancient rituals of preparing the body for its final destination can be an incredibly powerful and tender part of the final goodbye. Some families would rather not participate in this, and that’s okay too.

Making things happen behind the scenes so the family can stay present in the moment.

Slowing things down to allow as much time to be spent with a loved one as possible.

And, as many bereaved people may have experienced, the full weight of grief often doesn’t hit until well after the funeral or celebration of life. Everyone has gone home, the texts and phone calls have dried up, and you’re left to your irrecoverably changed world.

Whatever you call me, my role is the same.

To make sure families feel seen, supported and less alone as they navigate unfamiliar territory at an incredibly vulnerable time.

At the end of the day, to borrow from my late grandmother June – ‘I don’t care what you call me, as long as you don’t call me late for dinner!’

So yes, words matter. They shape how people understand my role, and they influence whether someone feels comfortable reaching out. But ultimately, my title isn’t the important part. To me, what matters is helping people rinse as much as possible out of every last moment.

The simplest way to describe what I do?

I’m like a tour guide for ageing disgracefully and dying authentically. 🚀