The Challenges & Opportunities Of Breastfeeding As A Black Mother

I spent those first few weeks worried that he wasn't getting enough nourishment. At the same time, I was bleeding and dealing with painful swelling of my breasts. Honestly, I felt like a failure. "Why isn't this working?" I thought. "Why aren't my boobs working? This is supposed to be natural." I hadn't learned the lesson that just because something is natural doesn't mean it's easy.

Historically, enslaved Black women were wet nurses forced to feed white babies, often to the detriment of their own children. Countless Black babies died because their mothers weren't allowed to feed them or didn't have any breast milk left. Even though it's not talked about much, this historical trauma plays a role in why Black women are, to this day, far less likely to breastfeed their children than white women.

CDC data shows that1 69.4% of Black infants were breastfed in 2015, compared with 85.9% of white infants—a 16.5% difference. Those differences are also due to systemic barriers such as pay disparities, lack of health care, lack of paid sick time and maternal leave, and lack of Black lactation consultants—all making breastfeeding virtually an impossible feat for most Black birthing people.

Personally, I've had to unpack my own intergenerational trauma around breastfeeding since having my son. Along with doing my personal work, I was able to get support from a lactation consultant who really helped me through that process. She taught me about all the things that I never learned during pregnancy—things like knowing the signs that my baby was hungry, how and how often to nurse (and it's often), and how to ride the emotional waves of the postpartum period.

Ensuring that every breastfeeding or chestfeeding person is supported will require making sure that new moms and birthing people have access to the resources and education they need.

We need to create a culture of nourishment. Right now, we're living in a culture of capitalism—and capitalism is not nourishing for human beings. Period. The corporate "lactation rooms" that are sometimes really just cluttered, dark closets are not enough.

For too long, female and femme bodies have been connected to male sexual pleasure, regardless of orientation or preference. Black bodies in particular have been fetishized, and it's powerful to see many women and femmes reclaiming their sexual autonomy. Our bodies have been viewed through that limited lens, so anything that falls outside that box—like breastfeeding, menstruation, and even aging—is seen as unnecessary or inconvenient.

But why should it be inconvenient to provide life to the next generation?

I would love for us to start having conversations about the reclamation and decolonization of our bodies. And I believe it starts with embodied healing and leadership, which is the work that I do through Embodied Black Girl. The other aspect of reclaiming our bodies as women lies in reclaiming the village. We need to show new moms and birthing people that they are not alone. We need to rally around them as a community. We need to make sure that Black mothers have access to BIPOC-led spaces to connect and undergo the healing process together. Finally, we need to center Black mothers' mental health—because no books can prepare you for the emotions that come when you have a baby.

Black Breastfeeding Week, started by three amazing Black women, is one of the many organizations spearheading this work. Another organization doing great things is the Black Mother Breastfeeding Association. I would encourage anyone to check out their websites, get involved, and seek out ways to support the Black mothers in your own community.

Together, we can create a culture of nourishment for Black birthing people and our children. But it will take normalizing tough conversations and creating spaces where healing can happen, for generations to come.