Two Traumatic Births Changed My Experience of Motherhood

Curated via Twitter from Glamour’s twitter account….

I felt the way so many Black women waiting for medical treatment have felt before me: like my health, my life, wasn’t a priority.

I felt the way so many Black women waiting for medical treatment have felt before me: like my health, my life, wasn’t a priority.

Black women are less likely to receive help for postpartum mental health issues—instead, we are more likely to see our children taken away from us.

Black women in the United States are three to five times more likely to die from pregnancy or postpartum issues than white women, a maternal mortality crisis that cannot be ignored.

When I think over my life—from moving to a state where I knew no one, to touring and performing poems in strange cities, to battling four blood transfusions in an effort to regulate an autoimmune disease—I realize the scariest thing I have done is birthing Black children.

I am grateful that my daughter and my son and I all made it past the horrifying statistical realities of birthing while Black, but Black women must have advocates too.

I worried that if I raised any red flags on the postpartum depression screening, the doctor could call Child Protective Services.

I worried that if I raised any red flags on the postpartum depression screening, the doctor could call Child Protective Services.

Being a Black woman made me feel as though I and my child were somehow less important.

Choosing to have kids means potentially risking your own life if you’re a Black woman in America. I know this too well.

Inequality is rampant throughout the health care system: Women of color are more likely to die of breast cancer, heart disease, and COVID-19, and more likely to report chronic, severe anxiety.

Black women find themselves in early graves, their children left to grieve.

Link to original article….

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