as be black As a working mom who recently turned 30, I’ve had quite a few conversations with loved ones about our plans for more children. None of them included the option of freezing my eggs so I could take some time before deciding whether to expand my family. I’ve also had countless conversations with close friends who don’t have children, and they’ve expressed their fear of waiting “until it’s too late.”And none of us ever brought up the idea of getting tested Find out how many eggs we have. But recently, all that has changed.
Clip by Poster good mother’s bad choicesis a podcast that aims to address taboos and stigmas in Black motherhood and womanhood, highlighting the disparities that exist between Black and White women when it comes to perceptions of fertility options. In this video, Dr. Raquel Hammonds, a fertility expert and reproductive justice advocate, discusses the tendency of white women to use medical services aimed at helping them conceive later in life. This can happen early in a woman’s life through her mother’s guidance. However, this recognition and encouragement does not always exist among Black women for a variety of reasons.
After watching this clip, I couldn’t help but think about how little I had thought about egg freezing before. In the back of my mind I thought it was probably because it was expensive, but at the same time it never felt like a really “black” thing. When the concept of egg freezing came to my attention, it seemed like another luxury that Black birthers don’t have access to for whatever reason, both financially and emotionally. I had never heard of a woman doing that in my life, and I am very aware of the fact that black women have a hard time doing it most of the time. Ta. Access to appropriate reproduction Care at the most basic level.
But after doing some research on my own, I realized there are resources out there that can help you understand what egg freezing means and how to take action if necessary. And more importantly, having access to this option empowers Black birthing people to claim control of their bodies and their futures. This is a motif in Hammonds’ work and online presence, and finding this space of safety and curiosity to which she contributes is incredibly empowering.
Although there is no one-size-fits-all method for having children after age 35, Black women who are deciding to hold off on having children would benefit from considering all the possibilities that exist. But to even consider these options, we all need to be aware of scientific advances that make it safer to have children at this stage of life. This information is purposely accumulated by the entire healthcare system and is often only accessible to wealthy white women, which is a real disadvantage. We can change that by creating more independent people.
Hammonds shared a little more about why these disparities exist and why it’s important for Black women to have more conversations about unconventional approaches to reproductive health. These conversations are long overdue, she says, given the data that shows Black women in particular are more likely to experience sexual assault in our community. twice the probability They suffer from fertility problems more than white people, but are less likely to get help. “What I always try to become a constant is to write my own story. I don’t need to know other people’s stories,” Hammonds says.
The reasons we are less likely to seek or receive help with fertility planning have a lot to do with: lack of access Black women should have adequate health insurance. The racist tropes that persistently plague our health care system also play a large role. Certain stereotypes have become more apparent for the following reasons. Black maternal mortality rate The crisis is the misconceptions that black women have. Increased pain threshold. This is an appalling contributing factor to why health care providers take Black women’s pain and other symptoms less seriously. Unfortunately, this has fueled mistrust of Black medical professionals, leading to anxiety in medical settings and an overall avoidance of seeking medical help.
Hammons also talked about the lesser-known racial tropes that appear in our actions and conversations about Black childbirth. There is a widespread belief, dating back to chattel slavery, that black women are naturally fertile. It was the basis used to justify forced reproduction that helped maintain an enslaved workforce.
Women of all races are familiar with societal pressures to reproduce, but Black women have uniquely experienced such expectations. “Black women have always been seen as child-making machines, and what typically happens is that we feel this sense of shame,” Hammonds told me. . “It’s like, I’m a black woman and I have this stereotype that I can do this, and if I can’t do this, there’s something wrong with me.”
To make a difference and give Black birthing people more agency, Hammonds emphasizes considering all birth and fertility options and seeking professional advice from trusted professionals. Masu. We can find Black maternal and child health experts. They are here to help us move forward with confidence. We are entitled to all the security and options that non-Black people have in this area. “Knowledge about your body, your fertility, and your reproductive health will give you the information to make better decisions,” Hammons says.
And these conversations shouldn’t be limited to egg freezing.may include ovarian reserve A test to find out the possibility of pregnancy.Or you can include it in vitro fertilization, sperm donation Or you could have a frank conversation about how your ovulation cycle affects your chances of getting pregnant. We need a cultural shift. We need a cultural shift where medical professionals make black birthing people feel like they have ownership over their bodies and experiences.
By empowering yourself, you can create a plan that eliminates the shame, anxiety, and uncertainty when thinking about how you want to grow your family. And we deserve it.
