And Still She Wrote: Remembering Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou (WikiMedia Commons)

This post by Cynthia Greenlee is part of the Echoing Ida project and originally appeared on RH Reality Check.

Dr. Maya Angelou’s life could not be contained by a single autobiography, even the critically acclaimed I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.

So the memoirist, who died on May 28 at age 86, wrote six.

Angelou’s multi-volume “song of herself”—to play off Whitman’s famous poem—made an audacious claim: that she, as a Black woman reared in the segregated South, was fully human and a worthy historical subject who needed no outside narrator to tell or validate her story.

By the time I reached high school, I was intrigued with Angelou, partly because she was a professor at Wake Forest University, a short drive from my Greensboro, North Carolina, home. After hearing about Angelou sightings around my city, my sister and I always hoped for a brief glimpse of her doing mundane things like grocery shopping or getting her car oil changed.

Her legend preceded her, and though I didn’t know it yet, her renown was not merely about her memoirs, her verse, or her inimitable presence. Angelou had the rare talent of placing herself where history was bound to happen. She was featured in a European tour of the landmark musical Porgy and Bess and had a small cameo in the 1977 Roots mini-series. She worked briefly as an organizer and key fundraiser for Martin Luther King Jr.’s Southern Christian Leadership Conference and was prepped to collaborate with Malcolm X at the time of his death.

A calypso singer, a foremother of spoken-word poetry, a dancer, a jobless nomad who hustled her way into a Creole cooking job and an editing post in Cairo, a filmmaker, and the first female streetcar operator in San Francisco, the girl born Marguerite Johnson mastered the art of self-reinvention and became Maya Angelou, Black cosmopolitan.

Then I read I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, in Mrs. Janis Baines’ high school English class. For me, Angelou’s writing laid bare what it was to be a Southern Black girl. I, too, had forgotten my rehearsed Easter speeches in church, lingered to hear kinfolks’ kitchen talk, and greased my legs with Vaseline.

Before her poem “Phenomenal Woman” became an anthem for Black women, Angelou had written love songs for Black girls who never saw themselves reflected in anything admirable, dainty, or remotely pretty. On the very first page of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, she fantasized of a moment when she would be transformed into something other than the plain Black girl wearing a hand-me-down dress.

I was going to look like one of those sweet little white girls who were everybody’s dream of what was right with the world. Hanging softly over the black Singer sewing machine, [the dress] looked like magic, and when people saw me wearing it they were going to run up to me and say “Marguerite [sometimes it was 'dear Marguerite'], forgive us, please, we didn’t know who you were.” And I would answer generously, “No you couldn’t have known. Of course I forgive you.”

She wouldn’t be a “too-big Negro girl with nappy black hair, broad feet and a space between her teeth that would hold a number-two pencil.”

This frankness—and Angelou’s willingness to talk straightforwardly about sex and sexual abuse—earned her equal amounts of praise and disapproval. Her discussions of her childhood rape by her mother’s boyfriend and the emotionless sexual encounter that led to her becoming a teen mother made I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings one of the most banned books in the United States.

And still she wrote.

Read more here on RH Reality Check.

Buyer Beware: Can We Trust Cheap Plan B One-Step on Amazon.com?

When Echoing Ida's Elizabeth Dawes Gay and Renee Bracey Sherman saw social media blowing up about low cost Plan B being sold via Amazon.com, they knew something didn't quite compute. So they did the research, and found some answers and some additional questions. Check out their latest article below and spread the word! 
 

Have you seen people you know post on social media about super cheap Plan B One-Step? Seem too good to be true? It might be.

Recently, social media lit up with the news that Amazon.com vendors areselling Plan B One-Step emergency contraception (EC) for on average $24.99—as low as $16.90 plus shipping, and as high as $1,000. On store shelves, this product goes for around $50 a pop, so the apparent price drop is exciting news for those who want to ensure people across the country have access to this form of emergency contraception. But we have to ask: How is that possible?

In 2013, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) approved Plan B One-Step, manufactured by Teva Women’s Health, for sale to people of all ages without a prescription and without any point-of-sale restrictions. This means that consumers do not have to go through a pharmacist or physician to obtain the product, but can purchase it directly from store shelves. While the FDA ruled in February of this year that generic emergency contraceptives could be sold on store shelves, only Teva Women’s Health’s authorized generic, Take Action, has appeared on the market. Without competition from other products, the price of Plan B One-Step has remained around $50—though when a prescription is obtained for this otherwise over-the-counter method, it is covered at no cost by health insurance under the Affordable Care Act (ACA).

It is normal for prices to vary from store to store, but such a steep drop in price raises red flags, especially since the wholesale acquisition cost (the cost for wholesalers to purchase the product from the manufacturer, Teva Women’s Health) is estimated to be $32.50 for Plan B One-Step. Wholesalers then sell the product for an estimated $39.00. Therefore, it is highly unlikely that any Amazon.com vendor would be able to acquire Plan B One-Step wholesale and sell it for $16 without taking a substantial financial hit.

After looking into the products on Amazon.com, Reproductive Health Technologies Project(RHTP) found several vendors selling the product. One vendor, Simply Positive Supplements, sells Plan B One-Step under different descriptive names, prices, and manufacturers. In one instance, the manufacturer was listed as Women’s Capital Corporation, which is the trademark holder of Plan B One-Step that was acquired by Barr Pharmaceuticals in 2004. In other instances, it lists the manufacturer as “kwanja shop,” “Neugaugh,” and ”superkrit.” Clearly, something is amiss.

Read the rest of the story at RH Reality Check.

Mamas Day 2014: The Smile that Built a Community

This blog post is part of the Mamas Day 2014 blog series and is authored by Tania Basu, MD, MPH, of Physicians for Reproductive Health.

As an obstetrician/gynecologist, I have performed countless ultrasounds on my patients, so during my own 20-week anatomy scan, I knew what to expect. I remember walking into the office, feeling so grateful to have made it this far after losing my first pregnancy at 17 weeks. As the grey and white images flashed before my eyes, I remember thinking to myself—brain normal…four chambers of the heart good… spine clear… and then looking over at my husband, breathing a sigh of relief. And then the doctor turned to me and said, “I want to show you something.” He tilted the ultrasound probe and focused on my sweet baby’s face, “Looks like your baby has a cleft lip and palate.”

My first thought, as a physician, was that it could be surgically corrected. And then as I sat up from the exam table and my doctor wiped the gel off my pregnant belly, I lost it. Hot tears started flowing and my mind began racing—are there any other associated health problems? What did I do to cause this? Will my baby suffer because of his cleft? I felt lost and had so many questions. I called my mother, sister and best friend immediately and then asked my husband if we could stay at his sister’s house. I needed to be surrounded by love and kindness in a time when I felt so much was unknown.

That evening, I scoured the internet—an activity I ask my own patients to refrain from, as it is rife with misinformation. I found great resources, but also found sites that were decidedly not medically accurate. More than any scientific information, I craved other parents’ words of wisdom and read hundreds of blog posts. I even wrote to women overseas. One day, I waited for hours for a woman in London to write back to share her words of reassurance. I needed human connection and support.

In the weeks following the prenatal diagnosis, I saw numerous specialists and genetic counselors to perform testing to look for markers for other syndromes. As a patient who is also a doctor, I enjoyed the privilege of being able to navigate and understand the medical system, multiple referrals, and medical jargon with relative ease. But I also concealed my profession from some of my healthcare providers to ensure that they would speak with me as a mother-to-be and not as a medical professional. Usually, for diagnoses I was not familiar with, I would conduct my own medical literature research, but this time, I could not bring myself to do so. The anxiety and fears I felt were those of a mother-to-be; facts alone could not provide the answers I needed. Then, four major things happened that whittled away at my anxiety.

The first thing that happened was the pediatric nurse assigned to my family shared with me that there was another local couple who would be willing to speak with me about having a child with a cleft lip and palate. As I spoke with the other mother on the phone, we realized we were next door neighbors and literally walked out of our doors with our phones to our ears and waved to each other. I no longer had to wait to hear from women across the world! She and her son welcomed me into their home and shared baby albums, ultrasound pictures, and many stories that put my heart at ease.

The next thing that happened was I went for a consultation from a high-risk obstetrician/gynecologist. She was highly knowledgeable and extremely thorough in her discussion and observations regarding various syndromes associated with clefts. But she said one sentence that struck me in a way that I could have never imagined—after finishing her ultrasound and assessment, she looked me in the eye and said, “I’m not God, but this kid is cute,” which as an expectant mother, I heard as “I am not perfect but everything will be okay.”

The third thing was that I made the decision to quit my full-time job, which up to this point had been my life’s work, to make myself available for my son and any medical or surgical needs he might have. I was not sure what resources in the community I would have to care for my baby with special needs, and I did not want to struggle with balancing work and caring for my son. I was fortunate our family would be able to afford the change financially.

The ultimate event that made all my fears disappear was the birth of my son. I remember holding my baby right after he was born and thinking how perfect he was, just the way he came into the world. I couldn’t believe that it was only months ago that I felt like protecting my baby in a little bubble, off on our own island. Now I was beaming with pride and wanted to share my baby’s beautiful smile with the world. Our community began to expand during my pregnancy, but soon after our son’s birth, grew far beyond our family and friends. We met lactation specialists who taught me how to pump breast milk effectively and then feed my son with special bottles. We met a surgeon who asked us to call him “uncle” as he would be part of our “family” now. We met pediatricians, ENT specialists, speech pathologists, pediatric orthodontists, nurses and other families who had children with clefts similar to our son’s—all people in our community who wished to see our family thrive.

Pregnancy and motherhood, in addition to the pure joy and happiness it can bring for some, can also be filled with insecurities, questions of “Am I doing the right thing?” combined with the sense of a loss of control, and moments of weakness. We need to be able to depend on our communities for support, and much of it starts right after the ultrasound gel is wiped off our abdomen, no matter what the circumstances are—the diagnosis of an unplanned pregnancy, the diagnosis of one of multiple possible birth defects, or the diagnosis of pregnancy loss. Mothers are pillars of strength supported by the communities that they surround themselves with. That’s also why I’m supporting Mamas Day this year, which is a movement to celebrate and thank mothers with more than cards and flowers, to improve the day-to-day conditions facing mothers and families, and start seeing families as they are to help mothers and their families thrive.

Today my son is a healthy 15 month-old, who is babbling and toddling around. I have returned to work with even more drive and passion after recognizing that I can rely on others to support me and my family’s needs. Now, every day when I care for women, I make an extra effort to connect and support them in the specific ways they need during moments that may be filled with insecurities. It is an honor and privilege to be part of that experience and to reciprocate the support that so many have shown me, not only as a physician, but as a member of my community. Every day, when my son smiles his special, beautiful smile while waving goodbye when I leave for work, I remember this.

Tania Basu, MD, MPH, is a board-certified obstetrician/gynecologist and a Fellow at the Physicians for Reproductive Health Leadership Training Academy. She and her family live in the Los Angeles area.

Echoing Ida on Mamahood

In celebration of Mamas Day, the Echoing Ida writers honored their mamas and communities through powerful stories and truth telling. They wrote five articles highlighting the movement working to change society's narrative about mothers, motherhood, and our communities.

Just before Mamas Day, EBONY.com highlighted Strong Families and Echoing Ida in a great piece, 'Mamas Day' Celebrates Motherhood Outside the Boxes, showcasing the Mamas Day campaign and stories about why it is so needed. The piece featured Echoing Ida writer Gloria Malone, SPARK RJ youth leader Quita Tinsley, and Forward Together Movement Building Director Alicia Walters, as each shared what the Mamas Day movement meant to them. Walters explained the Mamas Day campaign's significance and what the movement seeks to achieve.

“'Mamas Day' lifts up those mamas that you don’t see on the typical Hallmark card. Honoring the diversity of mamahood is a first step. When people acknowledge the wonderful, powerful mothering of those struggling with poverty, raising their grandchildren, or facing the challenges of immigrating, then their needs will be seen as equally important. When we recognize all mamas, we start to change the conversation about what mamas need to thrive.”

Gloria Malone echoed similar sentiments through her EBONY.com quotes and in her own piece, A Young Mama's Journey From Struggling Alone to Parenting in Community, on the Strong Families blog about finding community out of isolation as a teen mother. She speaks candidly about finding friends and family that were willing to support her, and how we must shift our narrative of parenting from an individualistic one to a community-based one.

"My story and my struggle are not necessarily unique. In fact, many young parents are right now struggling to complete their education, care for their children, find work and safe housing and still prove to the world that they have it all together....Parenting is an act of community because the community acts as a parent by providing space for growth, love, encouragement, and support."

The decision to become a parent can be a difficult one, including for those who choose abortion. In her piece Claiming My Mamahood After My Abortion at The Huffington Post, Renee Bracey Sherman discussed a nuanced view of 'mamahood' and highlight that the majority of people having abortions are already parenting, and those who aren't will most likely become a parent later...and they are still part of the community raising our children.

"Most people don't know that 60 percent of people who've had an abortion already have children. They are mothers. They are no different than mothers who haven't had abortions. They're dividing their time, energy, and limited financial resources to make ends meet every day...We must change the narrative around motherhood to let those who choose abortion know that they are loved, supported, and respected. Just because I'm not a mother now, doesn't mean I won't be later."

Also at The Huffington Post, Elizabeth Dawes Gay asked an important question: Do We Love Black Mothers Enough? She cites our nation's lack of investment in the social, emotional, and physical support of Black mamas as a reason for increased health disparities like high blood pressure, pre-term delivery, and other negative pregnancy outcomes. She shares simple changes that our society could make to ensure that Black mamas are healthy and loved.

"A norm such as giving up your seat to a pregnant woman on public transportation could make a difference so it's surprising that some people won't give up their seat or practice other basic kind, loving behaviors...Maybe it's the systematic stigmatization of Black motherhood that consciously and subconsciously impacts society's treatment of pregnant Black women. Not everyone thinks fondly of Black women building families on their own terms."

We know that Black motherhood has long been stigmatized and has lasting impacts on whether they receive healthcare, parenting support and resources, and how they are able to raise their children. In her beautiful piece Mother’s Day: The Resilience of Black Breast-Feeding featured at The Root.com, Bianca Campbell discusses how the seemingly normal act of breastfeeding is a radical act of love and mamahood for Black mothers. Campbell delves into the history of breastfeeding and how most of Black women's milk was denied from the mouths of Black babes, the capitalist push for formula, and how we can reclaim this beautiful and nutritious act.

"In celebration of this year’s Mamas Day—a nationwide campaign that celebrates mothers of all races, ethnicities and sexual orientations—I want to uplift and support nursing mothers and highlight ways to do so:

1. Love and dote on them! “If you don’t have the emotional support afterward, you can give up,” Middleton shares. Her mother never breast-fed, but she stayed with Middleton for two weeks after the birth of Middleton’s children to provide emotional support and to handle chores around the house so that Middleton could focus on nursing.

2. Learn how you can get involved and give mothers accessible, affordable health care this Mother’s Day. Advocate for Medicaid expansion! Currently, low-income women have the option of temporary Medicaid during pregnancy for a few months after the birth of their newborns. Expanding Medicaid eligibility helps keep parents healthy for their children."

Throughout all of these honest and beautifully written pieces, one thing is clear: Mamahood is a community effort and we must support one another!

Mamas Day 2014: Mama-Activists of Georgia Fight for Medicaid Expansion

This post by Alissa Robbins from SPARK Reproductive Justice Now is part of our Mamas Day 2014 blog series.

As Georgia Governor Nathan Deal currently considers signing into law a measure that would place further barriers between hundreds of thousands of low-income Georgians and quality, competent healthcare, SPARK Reproductive Justice NOW is partnering with the Atlanta Chapter of the National Domestic Workers Alliance (NDWA) this Mama’s Day to highlight the work of Mama-Activists in Georgia fighting to expand Medicaid eligibility and forever alter the healthcare destinies of the estimated 838,000 low-income uninsured women, 28.7% of whom are African-American, living in our state.

NDWA community organizing intern Zola Dadawele currently takes care of her 90-year old grandmother who is ineligible for Medicaid or Medicare under Georgia’s current eligibility requirements. Without health insurance, it is too costly to pay for the live-in nurse and the full-price prescriptions that her grandmother needs. So, the family must rely on the generosity of community support when Dadawele goes to work. Dadawele was prompted to join the fight for Medicaid expansion because she knew that she wasn’t alone in trying to provide for her loved ones.

“We don’t want to put her in a home, and we shouldn’t have to put her in a home,” she said.

According to Dadawele, there are NDWA members who qualify for Georgia’s strict Medicaid eligibility and are still unable to receive healthcare.

Leading up to the March 31st deadline, NDWA and SPARK hosted a clinic to sign people up for healthcare on the Federal Health Insurance Market Place on HealthCare.gov. The website told one NDWA member that she qualified for Medicaid and that local offices would be in touch with her. “That was two months ago,” Dadawele said and the member is now going without health coverage, paying out of pocket for expenses. Now that the deadline to receive coverage through healthcare.gov has expired, Dadawele said the member is uncertain of her options for care.

Mama-Activist Stephanie Barnett was able to successfully enroll in temporary Medicaid during her pregnancy, but still experienced barriers to her reproductive health care that could be resolved with Medicaid expansion.

Barnett wanted to begin using birth control after her pregnancy. She rushed to book an appointment with her doctor because her Medicaid coverage expired two months after birthing her child. At the visit, the doctor was unable to administer the requested IUD and would not be able to until after Barnett’s Medicaid expired. At $700, it was an expense she could not afford. “Money shouldn’t be a barrier to basic care,” says Barnett. She now fights to ensure that all families, regardless of income, have access to the contraceptives and reproductive health choices that they decide is best for them.

“That’s worth fighting for,” she said. “It doesn’t hurt [Georgia] to expand Medicaid.”

Evelyn Kummerow, an intern at NDWA working to recruit domestic workers to join the fight for Medicaid expansion, also joined the fight for healthcare after it impacted her personally. She did not know how she was going to cover her father’s medical bill of $50,000. He was visiting her from his home in Venezuela when he fell ill and had to be hospitalized for 15 days. Luckily, the tab was covered by the Venezuelan government and the family never received a bill. She compared that to her experience at Grady Hospital in Atlanta, GA where she was given a $700 bill for entering the emergency room even though she never received treatment.

“We have to change the model of care in this country,” she said. She wants to ensure that not only tourists, but everyone in the United States can always afford the care that they need.

Kummerow, Barnett, and Dadawele’s work with NDWA and SPARK have been invaluable. Together and along with partner organizations, they were able to collect 50,000 petition signatures to deliver to Governor Deal’s office, coordinate press conferences, sign people up for health insurance, and mobilize residents to lobby at the capitol.

All three women also said they are fighting to ensure that more mamas and their families receive the full promise of the Affordable Care Act. Below are some of the benefits that low-income women could receive this Mother’s Day if Governor Deal were to opt-in to expansion.

Pregnant parents who are insured now have more of the maternity care they need. Under the Affordable Care Act, about 8.7 million women will have guaranteed access to maternity care including breastfeeding support, supplies, and counseling.Insurance companies can no longer charge women a higher premium simply because of their gender. Insured women will have access to a large number of preventive services which will be completely covered by the insurance companies.

So, while we celebrate Mama’s today, let us also commit to supporting them year-round by providing healthcare. Join the fight for Medicaid expansion! Visit SPARKrj.org and the Atlanta chapter of the National Domestic Workers Alliance to stay involved in their efforts.

Mamas Day 2014: Becoming Brave

This post is a part of the Strong Families Mamas Day 2014 blog series, and is authored by Shantae Johnson is a doula, a mother of 6 children and a board member of Backline. It was originally posted on the Western States Center blog. 

“Freedom is not given; it is won.” -A. Phillip Randolph on October 15, 1957

‘Mothers don’t have abortions.’ This is the message society tells women. Well, this mama did, and I’m not alone.

I have chosen to bare this part of myself so that others might find the strength to do the same, because my story is that of countless women from all walks of life, nationalities, and economic backgrounds, and because I believe that through dialogue and action, we can achieve growth and healing.

I have limitless love and passion and find this truth very hard to share. It was 10 years ago, when I was already a mother of two children. I’ve come to honor and name that I let my love for them guide me to make one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make.

Birth is both life and death. When I realized how central that knowledge was to my life, I became a doula who supported other women along their journeys to motherhood and an advocate (and then later a board member) of Backline. I believe that everyone in their reproductive lifespan needs to be supported in all their needs. My way to heal was through helping others and providing peer-to-peer, unbiased support.

Sharing our truths when it comes to abortion in communities of color doesn’t win any popularity contest, that’s for sure. The shame around abortion is so deep it is simply understood that you don’t talk about abortion. Nor have women of color historically been fully centered in feminist movements. Because of this, I have been struggling for a decade to reclaim my story.

Most recently, I’ve found more women just like me walking in the same direction - women of color and allies that I’ve met through the project We Are BRAVE (Building Reproductive Autonomy and Voices for Equity). I met Western States Center almost year ago when, as part of a community survey, they asked me, as a public health advocate and community health worker, if I supported abortion rights. Was I interested in convening with other people of color who are similarly tired of being invisible and working to claim their full selves in the world? I had no idea what the leadership cohort would be like; but that first night we came together, I felt like I was meeting sisters I could laugh and cry with, and finding a part of my reproductive justice warrior. I learned that I could be a leader in this movement and help to share my story, that healing in our communities could start with me.

The All Above All Campaign helps women of color to mobilize and organize around shared experiences and to begin by breaking the chains of stigma, silence and shame. Our stories in our own voices highlight what happens when we honor and carry our mothers’, aunties’ and sistahs’ stories and take them to the streets to advocate for all women to lift the veils of injustice.


In November, I sat on a flight en route to Washington DC to meet members of Congress and discuss lifting the federal ban on abortion coverage for low-income women, feeling a range of emotions from empowerment to fear. “Her eyes are the color of huckleberries.” This is how the indigenous woman in her 60s with the jet-black hair hanging down her back and the skin the color of a sandy beach described my four-year-old daughter Mone Auset as we sat together on the plane. Her strength caught me off guard, as she looked so regal and carrying so much ancestral wisdom, and I stared out my window, feeling my past and present intermingle. She took me right back to the days of picking huckleberries to make pancakes and s’mores over a fire with my cousins during our family camping trips to Washington DC: days of innocence and naïve ideals around womanhood, and right and wrong.

My oldest daughter was four months old when I decided to have the abortion. She has those same huckleberry eyes, deep and dark and wise beyond her years, and light, coffee-stained skin with chocolate hair and red-brown highlights.

I had packed up my strong-willed baby girl and 3 ½-year-old son in Oregon to seek out a new life in Houston, Texas. I was staying with family and was lucky to find a job within two weeks as a medical records clerk. I struggled to find affordable childcare on $10 an hour and eventually found a place that required a $300 deposit and $300 every two weeks. By working overtime one weekend, I was able to come up with a deposit for a brand new, two-bedroom apartment with one couch and exactly one set of dishes.

I quickly became pregnant but my partner at the time wasn’t working, so I was the sole provider. I knew as soon as the test came back positive that I could not go through another pregnancy. I could not support three children and myself. I was not emotionally available to parent any more children at that time. I was all tapped out, and postpartum depression had its ugly claws in me. My children needed me more than ever, and I had to be realistic. All I had was my job and a small safety net of $450, which was what was left of my tax refund.

So I decided to seek out additional resources. I made an appointment to see if I could qualify for food stamps and Medicaid but missed them because I could not get time off. Then, I scheduled an appointment with Planned Parenthood in Texas. I knew there might be protesters outside judging me. Sure enough, when I arrived, they greeted me with pictures of aborted fetuses. The anti-abortion activists tried to make it a walk of shame, but I entered Planned Parenthood with my head up and a queasy stomach. More than anything, I feared the unknown. I asked about resources to help pay for my abortion and was told there were none. That was when I learned that thanks to the Hyde Amendment, unlike Oregon and 14 other states, Texas does not allow state Medicaid dollars to be used for abortions so even though I qualified for Medicaid I had to use up the last of my tax refund to pay for the abortion. Many states and insurance companies around the country still don’t cover abortion services for women.

I walked back alone leaving pieces of myself that I never got to hold.

The cost of childcare, rent, loss of pay and removal of my safety net ultimately forced me to move home to Oregon and depend upon family support. I cannot imagine what life for me would have been like if I had not had the money at that time to have an abortion. Eventually, I went back to college and graduated with a Bachelor’s degree. I developed leadership skills by volunteering with many non-profits and got a better, higher paying job so I could better provide more for my two children.

Everyone holds the wisdom they need to decide what to do with their lives.

I reject the culture of stigma and shame around my decision to terminate my pregnancy. I will stand up for women -- and my daughters -- who deserve to choose what to do with their own bodies without government, religion or anyone standing in the way of what is right for them and their families.

As I returned from my DC trip, I went to pick up my luggage with my current partner. I looked up and saw the same indigenous grandmother waving at us. I felt my journey come full circle. I knew everything would be all right, just like she said it would.

A Young Mama's Journey From Struggling Alone to Parenting in Community

During this week's Young Parents Week of Action the Strong Families Young Parents Cohort will deliver the Young Parents Dignity Agenda to Congress: 5 critical pieces of legislation in support of what young parents need most to thrive. Gloria Malone shares her story of what education, childcare, housing, and work look like for a young parent. Sign the petition today!

Becoming a mother at 15 made me feel as if I had to prove to the world that I could do "it" on my own. My individualistic approach to parenting intensified until, at the age of 20, I realized I needed help. My daughter and I had just moved to New York City, one of the most unforgiving cites in the world, and I had no one to count on.

Timidly, I began to ask people in the building about childcare options, babysitters outside of the building, and possible after school programs for my daughter so that I could continue going to college full time. In order for me to stay on track for graduation, I had to take at least four classes, some of which were only available after my daughter's school dismissal time. My search for help became a paramount part of my daily routine. Yet every inquiry yielded the same result: the cost was not feasible.. One day I stepped out of my comfort zone and asked a neighbor if she knew of anyone who watched children in our building, "I do" she replied. Just like that I had a sitter who would pick my daughter up from school and watch her until I got home, and all for a very reasonable price.

As time went on, my network of support expanded and deepened. My father began to pick my daughter up from the neighbor when he could. On some Saturdays he would take her with him on his errands or for his evening walk in the park. These unasked gestures of kindness gave me time to relax and allowed them a time to bond.

With the gift of a few moments of time to myself I started coming to a new revelation. With the support of others I had secured the well-being of my child. But the gift of a few moments of time to myself revealed a new reality—my own mental and emotional well-being was still at risk. As an outlet, I began to write my feelings into the ether, also known as the internet. To my surprise people began to respond. They responded with encouragement. They shared stories of similar struggles and my new online friends offered their email addresses telling me that if I ever needed some to talk to, they were there to listen.

As the sense of community both online and off were growing, my heart and self esteem grew with it and my daughter's community grew as well. We discovered other baby sitters who she loved to go with because "they were fun"; she began to be invited to family parties and outings with her friends;, and, she continued to grow and experience the world through a community that I created for her and with her.

New relationships allowed my daughter and me to grow in unexpected ways. When I embraced the learning that parenting is an act of community I also began to tap into my full potential as a parent which allowed me to dream and reach goals I never thought possible.

My professional life blossomed. Online relationships spurred connections with organizations that appreciated and admired my writing and advocacy work. These organizations were family friendly and allowed me to bring my daughter with me to meetings, events, and conferences. Instead of just wanting to work with me, these organizations understood that they were working with my family. And in turn, our presence helped to foster an environment of family support in professional work settings. As a result, she and I have joined a community of powerful and committed people and families working together to make family-friendly work spaces and opportunities a cultural asset in the workforce.

My story and my struggle are not necessarily unique. In fact, many young parents are right now struggling to complete their education, care for their children, find work and safe housing and still prove to the world that they have it all together. Rather than deny this reality, the Strong Families Young Parents cohort lead by the National Latina Institute for Reproductive Health are delivering the Young Parents Dignity Agenda to Congress this week: five pieces of legislation aimed at supporting young parents in the critical areas of education, jobs, health care, childcare, and housing. Sign the petition today!

Parenting is an act of community because the community acts as a parent by providing space for growth, love, encouragement, and support.

Although I am a single mother who does not have a co-parent parenting with me, I have an expansive community that reaches far beyond state and national boundaries and traditional "lean in" work settings. It reaches beyond me because it includes my daughter as an asset as well. Community parenting builds me up, and I am proud to say that I am not parenting alone. I have a community parenting with me.

Together, we can ensure that young parents and their children struggle less and have equal opportunities to succeed.

Mamas Day 2014: Beyond "Leaning In": How to Truly Support Mamas

This post is a part of our Mamas Day 2014 blog series and is authored by Eveline Shen, Executive Director of Forward Together. It originally appeared in The San Francisco Chronicle.

Every year for Mother’s Day, my two daughters, now 13 and 10, make me hand-made cards. Last year they drew a picture of our family — one Asian mom, one Caucasian mom, two hapa girls, and our dog Pumpkin — standing in a row, smiling. Growing up, I also made my mother cards. One year, it included coupons, each illustrating many ways I wanted to help her — with laundry, my younger brother’s homework, and dishes. I still remember the smile that spread across my mother’s face, the appreciation she felt for all her invisible work.

Now that I am a mother myself, I see all the ways mothers need support. Instead of hearing that, they’re being told they need to change and do more, in particular from two high-profile mothers who have access to many of the supports and resources that their children need.

One is Amy Chua, Yale law professor and author of “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother,” a get-tough parenting manifesto on raising successful children. To Chua, it’s all in the iron will, the “Chinese way.” Certainly parenting matters, but Chua doesn’t acknowledge how private schools, after-school tutors and world travel (39 countries before her youngest daughter was nine!), afford her children opportunities most working mothers cannot.

In “Lean In: Women, Work and the Will to Lead,” Facebook Executive Sheryl Sandberg urges mothers to work more to get ahead and hire more outside help in raising children. This is simply not feasible for a mother working full time earning $14,500Ö from their federal minimum wage of $7.25 per hour.

Most mothers don’t have any more capacity to push harder and work longer hours. They barely eek out a living to pay for the basic things their families need, like groceries and rent. Their failure is not in each individual woman’s ability to lean in more; it’s in a system designed to exhaust working mothers. Chua and Sandberg say improve mom, instead of the system.

To read more, click here for the original post on the San Francisco Chronicle's website.

Eveline Shen is the executive director of Forward Together, an Oakland-based national nonprofit organization leading the Mamas Day campaign so all families can thrive.

Mamas Day 2014: The Supermom Fantasy

This post authored by Michelle Otero of of Valle Encantado is part of our Mamas Day 2014 blog series. 

I have a friend we’ll call Jessica. She is a supermom. She was raised by a supermom. By all indicators, her young daughters will one day be supermoms with theme birthday parties, perfectly organized hair accessory drawers, and pretty children who score above grade level on aptitude tests. We hang out at playdates and sometimes talk about motherhood, moms with paid jobs outside the home (me) vs. moms who stay home with their kids (her), moms who planned to be moms (her) vs. moms who just fell into it (me).

Today my nine-year-old stepson zooms across her backyard on a zipline, his long hair flowing, his orange “Awesome” hoodie stained on the pocket from the strawberry sundae he ate yesterday on the way home from school. My twelve-year-old stepdaughter sits on the highest point in the crook of an oak tree, her long legs dangling, her black high tops like a pendulum mesmerizing the younger girls as she leans down to display the gallery of selfies she taken since her mom got her an iPhone two weeks ago.

I yawn. Last night the boy came to our bed. He had a bad dream. I stumbled him back to his room, tucked him in, and fell asleep, his elbow cocked between my shoulder blades, my head hanging off the mattress.

I wonder out loud how I’d ever manage to care for a newborn.

Jessica says, “It’s different when they’re yours. Our bodies were made for this.”

***

Since marrying Henry, I’ve been asked by more than one friend, neighbor, acquaintance, family member, “When are you going to have a baby?”

“We already have two,” I joke.

The sensitive inquisitors change the subject, but some, failing to see that my reproductive future is none of their business, prod, “I mean your own baby.”

My own baby.

Our bodies were made for this.

***

Before I meet Henry I want children the way little girls want ponies. I picture a fantasy nena with my cinnamon skin and her father’s high cheekbones or doe-like lashes or poet’s hands or insert current beloved’s best feature here. I picture her wrapped in a rebozo at my breast, sleeping, occasionally waking to nurse without causing pain or disfigurement to my breasts.

In my twenties I want this baby more than I want a husband. This says more about the quality of my relationships with men than about my preparedness for motherhood.

In my mid-thirties something shifts. I get tired of dating the same guy over and over again. His name and profession and style change; but the constant is that he loves me best from a distance, loves the idea of me more than the actual complicated, messy me.

I think I love me—and by extension, my fantasy baby in the rebozo—the same way.

I start trusting the voice in me that warns of red flags (first date mentions of a “complicated” relationship with the ex; saying I love you too soon; he can call me, I can’t call him; take your pick), that heavy feeling at the bottom of my heart that knows I shouldn’t be dating this person no matter how beautiful his bone structure or lashes or hands.

***

When I reach home after my first date with Henry—appetizers and drinks at a rooftop patio in Old Town, plans for our second date already in the works—I text my best friend: I want to have his babies.

The mini me in the rebozo has hazel eyes and a tiny mole under her left eye.

Henry and I fall—and grow—in love. We date for a year and a half.

And then, while I am on vacation in Mexico, my apartment building burns to the ground.

I return to Albuquerque with my passport, my laptop, and a pink suitcase of clothes. I move into Henry’s house. I make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I play Legos, Build-a-Bears, bedroom-turned-grocery store where I can buy toast on a Hello Kitty plate for ninety-nine cents. Tutors, summer camp, chore charts, voice lessons, what do you mean that jacket doesn’t fit you anymore, play dates.

The rebozo baby vanishes. In her place stand two real, live, human children who go back and forth between our house and their mom’s.

Their birthday parties stress me out. They rarely make beds or pick up toys without being reminded. They don’t really like school.

I am not a supermom. My body was not made for that.

I am a writer. My body was made for story, the stories that flow from my pen, and this story—my life, this family, these kids.

Michelle Otero is a writer and Creative Director of Valle Encantado, a nonprofit dedicated to sustainable development in Albuquerque's Atrisco neighborhood. She blogs at michelleotero.wordpress.com.

This Is What Mamahood Looks Like!

 

Mamas Day is this Sunday but it's about telling the world how we can appreciate and support the mamas in our life all year round! This year's campaign has featured a variety of incredible stories and powerful voices all highlighting how mamahood is a profound and radical act of community. We are proud to note that 750 people and organizations are engaging with the #MamasDay hashtag...and counting! Thanks to Jamia Wilson, Executive Director of YTH (youth+tech+health) for hosting our #MamasDay tweetchat last week and to e-card artist Chucha Marquez and Echoing Ida's Gloria Malone for keeping the conversation flowing. If you missed it, we've got you covered with the Storify recap.

In preparation for Mamas Day this Sunday, we want to share with you some of the amazing mamas who have shared their stories along with quotes in support of our mamas paired with our Mamas Day e-cards. Don't forget to check out and share the 2014 meme cards and tell your community how you feel about the mamas in your life!

Mamas Day 2014: The Legacy of Building Community

This post written by Grace Bauer of Justice for Families is part of the 2014 Mamas Day blog series. 

My Mamma used to say, “There is more month than there is money.” Even though I grew up poor, in the rural South, I didn’t know it. In my community, everyone was poor so we never saw anything different. I grew up with my mother’s friends (my aunts), our neighbors, and family looking out for me while Mamma worked in a male dominated prison system. As the first nurse working inside one of Louisiana’s many prisons and jails, her passionate care, of those housed behind razor-wire fences and bars, was seen as an affront to the law and order, tough on crime, notions that permeated the criminal justice system, then, just as it does today. I never once heard terms like “community-driven,” “community-based,” or any of the terms that now define so much of my work. Yet, long before the terms gained recognition in our culture, they also, defined my childhood.

According to the medical wisdom of the late sixties, I was born late in my mother’s life. When we had special events at school, it was inevitable that another kid would ask me if she was my grandma. When I was in 7th grade, my Mamma had her first heart attack. That first one destroyed 25% of her heart. Six weeks later, on the morning they wheeled her into what would be the first in a long line of medical interventions, I was more afraid than I had ever been. It had been she and I against the world for so long, I had no idea of what I would do without her. She counted on me to hold myself together and be strong and I was determined to make her proud of me. As she spoke to each person that came to support us, I stood quietly next to her, fighting back a wall of tears and fear. Despite my strong intentions, when she turned to me, the floodwall broke and my entire body convulsed with the sobs of a very scared child. Though my crying made it impossible to speak or hear what she was saying to me, I knew that she was saying everything was going to be all right. As they took her through the double doors to surgery, I turned to all those she left behind to begin the impossibly long 8-hour wait.

The people that waited that day would wait with me through 20 years of surgeries, medical procedures and more hospital stays than I can count. They held vigil outside of other hospital rooms as I gave birth to my children. They offered sage advice and brought home-cooked meals so I didn’t have to cook when my babies were sick. They celebrated the birthdays, marriages, achievements and other happy days in our lives in their Sunday best with smiles on faces worn weary with time and their own heartbreaks. They listened, consoled, counseled and prayed in times of fear, confusion and uncertainty. And, on January 5, 1998, when there would be no more interventions, medical or otherwise, they again gathered around us to hold us in their arms and hearts as we grieved the loss of our mother.

As the years passed, old roots were pulled up, new ones laid down, dreams came true, beliefs shifted, and our lives were changed.

Our families expanded with new babies, partners, wives, husbands and friends and dwindled when we were called to mourn the passing of yet another in our beloved community.

Today, on Mamma’s 80th birthday, I am preparing to walk into another of America’s prisons, this time to visit my son and her grandson. In a few weeks, I will move half way around the country and leave behind my son who will spend many more years in a place where he is a stranger, like the millions of others behind bars that are invisible to our society. Mamma’s legacy of building community ensures that I will not leave him alone. When I walk through those double doors tonight, another daughter’s mother will be at my side. A stranger to me, two years ago, is coming to meet my son for the first time and in my absence, she will become a member of his beloved community.


Grace Bauer, Executive Director & Co-Founder of Justice for Families, a respected leader and a trusted confidant for families seeking justice across the country, is the mother of three children from Sulphur, Louisiana. Her first exposure to the juvenile justice system occurred when her court-involved son, at age 14, was sent to a notorious juvenile correctional facility where he was abused and mistreated. She helped organize other parents to form the Lake Charles chapter of Families and Friends of Louisiana’s Incarcerated Children (FFLIC). Rapidly recruiting and training new members and increasing FFLIC’s visibility and influence, the chapter became an integral part of the “Close Tallulah Now Campaign”, the passage of the Louisiana Juvenile Justice Reform Act of 2003, and the closing of the infamous Tallulah juvenile prison. Grace later joined the Campaign for Youth Justice in 2008 where she united parents and allies of children in six targeted states to change laws and practices prosecuting and confining children as adults. Grace also led the development of the National Parent Caucus, a national network of family members seeking to end the misguided practice of trying, sentencing and incarcerating children as adults.

Mamas Day 2014: Love, Respect, Peace of Mind and Young Mamahood

This Mamas Day post is a collaboration by Marylouise Kuti-Schubert of New Mexico and Natasha Vianna of Massachusetts, 2 young mothers and members of #NoTeenShame. 

Before our high school graduations, we were juggling the internal and external difficulties of being teens while flourishing into devoted young mothers raising babies. It was incredibly hard to be a teen and harder once adding the role of loving caregiver, but we also knew it was rewarding. We imagined how difficult it would be to give birth and raise a child, like any parent, but were dedicated to our mamahood.

Yet our age kept us from having the freedom to openly share our mamahood with the world. The shame we felt from our families, our friends, healthcare providers, school staff, our community, and our peers deeply affected our internal sense of purpose in the world. We were young women working to transition into adulthood while our environment refused to see us as anything more than "children having children." Our passion and dedication to grow and be better mothers, better women, and better people were not the goals our society would accept.

The barriers that prevented us from defining and achieving our own successes often came from these negative environments and from society's constant stigmatization of what my family was suppose to look like and how our dreams didn't fit into the cultural norm. Our roles as mamas were disrespected.

Marylouise Kuti-Schubert and her family

All mamas know that raising a child can be hard at times and raising a child as a teen can sometimes feel impossible. From needing to use a WIC card at the grocery store only to face rude stares or having to leave school early to pick up your child only to be greeted by glares of disappointment that it took you so long to arrive, there was always something. There is this high expectation that we need to do it all alone, yet we are held to these low expectations of what we're actually capable of doing. How do we navigate through this type of community?

You can define and determine your community.

A community can consist of organizations who provide assistance and support to young families, or respectful family members, or involved co-parents and significant others, or supportive school staff, or other young mamas who are both weaving the rope and climbing it too. Every person around you has the ability to influence the way you feel supported so we did just that using social media to connect with other mamas via #NoTeenShame.

Natasha Vianna and her daughter

Having the ability to virtually connect with mamas and allies who were ready and willing to listen and support us have been a crucial part of redefining and improving our community. We aren't limited to our physical environment but can turn to each other at any time for some guidance, for some advice, or just to talk.

And through our experiences, we know there are times when the support we needed to keep pushing only came from one person or one organization, but this patronage helped us so much. Our motivation to be good parents could be fully ignited when we have that boost of confidence from our community and ourselves.

So we honor #MamasDay by sharing our support with all the mamas who are struggling and thriving together.

#NoTeenShame is a movement led by 7 young mothers, Natasha Vianna, Gloria Malone, Lisette Orellana, Marylouise Kuti-Schubert, Jasmin Colon, Christina Martinez, and Consuela Greene, to improve strategic messaging campaigns and conversation around young parenting to a non-stigmatizing and non-shaming approach, while highlighting the importance of comprehensive sex ed.

Mamas Day 2014: Labels, Questions and Queer Mamahood

This post is part of our #MamasDay blog series, and is written by Emmett DuPont from COLAGE-for people who lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and/or queer parent(s).

 

Everyone has a story to tell about how they were raised, what their upbringing was like, how they became the person they are in adulthood. For me, I reject the notion that my mother “raised” me, that child rearing was ever part of our family structure. Instead, I feel that my whole family has been growing and maturing together, living and learning from each other. Yet, it would be a lie to pretend that my birth mother hasn’t always been the pillar of the family, and in many ways, the support beam of my life.

Being radical, pagan, unschooled, queer hippies living in the secluded hills of rural Connecticut hasn’t always been easy but many of those labels, or identities, have evolved slowly for my family and continue to do so. These aren’t just labels; they are lifestyles, traditions, beliefs and philosophies. It’s who we are.

Beltane 2013 celebration, photo credit: Jack Zornado

For example, we’ve always been pagan, but unlike most others that share this earth-honoring path, I was fortunate enough to grow up with a spiritual community. Eight times a year for 16 years, my birth mother wrote and facilitated rituals for the purpose of gathering to celebrate the seasons for festivals known as Sabbats on the Wheel of the Year. These gatherings have been a strong community of like-minded, goddess worshiping, tree hugging hippies…my spiritual family. Some of my earliest memories are of carefully weaving our annual maypole, looking up to see my own brightly-colored ribbon intertwining with the ribbons of this circle of friends and families; of my mother standing tall and striking her Tibetan singing bowl, the same way she would when she officiated weddings, civil unions and handfastings for members of our pagan community years later.

Sabbat celebrations weren’t purely spiritual events, they were also social gatherings and celebrations, and despite my mother having created this group from the ground up, there were ways in which my family always felt like outcasts, even among friends.

We were the only unschoolers in the bunch.

Making the decision to support my sister and I as we chose whether or not we would attend school, follow a curriculum, or take tests is something for which other people have often judged my mother, but she always described it as the natural evolution of her attachment parenting style. Unschooling, or the radical philosophy that humans are naturally curious beings, and will learn more from exploring the world than from sitting in a classroom, is something that has set our family far outside of the ordinary.

“So, your mother is your teacher?” hairdressers, dentists, distant family members and strangers would frequently ask me when I was younger. But in the same regard that it was not only my mother who “raised” me, it was also not only my mother who taught me. My world has always been a kaleidoscope of unique learning opportunities, overlapping and intersecting not only with my own interests, but with the different identities and communities of myself and my family. The philosophy of trust and respect by which we have always lived lies at the heart of unschooling and is responsible for the members of my family being out and proud.

Proud of our of our varying gender expressions and sexualities.

Of our queerness.

When I was 6 years old, my family went through a major change. Nervously sitting my sister and me down in the living room, my mother and father told us that they were divorcing, that my mom is a lesbian, and that our family friend, Renée, would be entering our lives as another mom. From that day forward, it has been my privilege to live with not one, but two wonderful womyn to guide me, parent me and love me.

Because the focus of this post is about mothers, I felt I was expected to start off talking about the fact that I am blessed with two of them, but my own narrative as the child of two womyn just isn’t that interesting to me. For sure, being raised in a queer family has had a great deal of affect on me. But being raised in a household where every member has an equal voice, every decision is made democratically, and every choice about my life has been made not for me, but with me, has had an even greater affect.

Community has been something of a buzzword in my family for years, as we face the challenge to either find, or create, local community that will fully embrace all the many and varied aspects of my family. Most recently, this journey has led us to another major life change: moving away from the area in which my family has lived for generations, and leaving behind the house out of which my family has blossomed for 30 years.

I am fortunate to know that wherever I travel, and however many identities I take on, I’ll always be backed by a supportive family unit, ready to catch me when I fall, cheer for me when I succeed, and watch late-night television with me when I’m lonely. And that two mamas are at the helm is simply just a bonus.

Emmett is 18, and is currently relocating to MA. Emmett is 3rd generation queer spawn, meaning that they have a queer grandparent and parent, and that they also identify as queer (and gender fluid). Emmett sits on the Youth Advisory Board of COLAGE-for people who lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and/or queer parent(s) and will be serving as a staff member at Provincetown Family Week this summer. Emmett has written 5 novel manuscripts, and co-founded a theatre troupe with their mother and sister, in addition to being a fierce advocate for unschooling, as well as queer and trans rights. Emmett is a blogger and vlogger, and you can find their videos here, and some of their other writing here.

Mamas Day 2014: What’s Missing from Mamas Day This Year?

This post is part our #MamasDay blog series, and is written by Kalpana Krishnamurthy, Policy Director of Forward Together.

I am the daughter of two immigrants to the United States. While both of my parents are totally fluent in English, like many immigrants they often forget articles and punctuation and miss or don’t understand American expressions – in college I learned the fancy term for this is an idiom. Like many second-generation kids, I have plenty of stories of misunderstandings, notes written without the proper “a” or “the,” and loudly whispered explanations of dialogue in movies.

When I got to high school, we had intensive units on grammar in my freshman year English class. Learning the difference between when to use who and whom; understanding the appropriate use of a semi-colon; and possessive vs.  singular was absolutely terrifying. Not only had I somehow managed to not pick up what an adverb was in my prior years of school, I really couldn’t understand punctuation. And my parents—who for years had been able to help me with homework—were of no help either. I was given intensive grammar extra credit and barely made it through the unit.

So when Forward Together announced that there was no apostrophe in Mamas Day in 2014, I kind of lost my mind. I kept thinking – this is grammatically incorrect! It’s like fingernails on a chalkboard every time I see it written out! What are we doing??

But it turns out—Mamas Day is not just grammatically correct, it’s also a total embodiment of our hopes and goals for this campaign.  Mamas Day shifts the frame from a singular and possessive celebration of a mother’s day to a collective celebration of a day about Mamas. In a year when everyone is talking about “leaning in,” Mamas Day helps us celebrate and lift up how many mamas lean on networks of support.

While my own Mom may not have embraced the rules of American English, she did embrace one of the core concepts of this year’s Mamas Day: mothering in community. When my parents immigrated, they left every member of their family in India and no one else followed. My Mom consciously chose to build a sense of family with other South Asian immigrants. Every Saturday night we were in a wood paneled basement, watching MTV, eating rice and dhal, and making up crazy games. These Aunties and Uncles were the people my parents chose to lean on, helping provide me and my brother a sense of family and a cultural heritage that we still feel today.

The word in Kannada for mother is Amma. Growing up, we spoke English in our house so it’s not the word I used, I just called her Mom. When I was pregnant with my first child, I knew that I wanted to be called Mama. My Mom very quickly announced that she wanted to be Amma to her grandkids instead of Ajii, the word that means grandmother. Instead of feeling irritated by that (technically my kids are calling both of us Mom, what?), I’ve realized how much power the word has and how much culture and heritage it carries for her. Now my two sons bounce joyfully between Amma’s house and ours, secure that whatever they call us, they are cherished and loved.

At Strong Families we use the word mama to create a space that acknowledges caregivers that have traditionally been left out of our images, culture, and consciousness. Mamas Day challenges the notion that mothers are perfect and instead uplifts the universal, very real picture: that all mamas – that don’t fit the Hallmark stereotype – are doing their very best. No matter what we call the people who have nurtured or mothered us, we want to celebrate them all.

So in 2014 – in addition to beautiful new e-cards from fabulous artists – we are embracing Mamas and kicking out the apostrophe. Won’t you join us?

Kalpana Krishnamurthy is the Policy Director at Forward Together.  She is the mother of two fabulous kids, Sachin and Kavi.

Mamas Day 2014: My Own Woman

This post is part our #MamasDay blog series and is written by Kathleen Burns from ChoiceUSA. 

It couldn’t be. I must be seeing things. This test was the crystal ball foretelling my future, and those two pink parallel lines symbolized complete and utter doom. How ironic that the start of a new life somehow felt like death. My life had changed in a matter of minutes. I felt like I had to waive goodbye to all my dreams as they slipped under the cracks of the bathroom window. I was just a lost teenager grasping at the seams of my being, trying to piece myself together and make sense of who I really was. How was I going to raise a child when I still felt like one? Where was my time to be irresponsible and irrational? Where were all those years I could be young and selfish? Where did my opportunity to grow up go? I felt I skipped 10 years of my life, landing straight smack dab into adulthood. I was not ready for that kind of sacrifice. I could only wish that rolling some dice, drawing a card or two and moving 10 steps backwards could fix all of this.

My news was met with disappointment. I was continuously asked what I was going to do? Everything seemed to have to come to a screeching halt. Having a child inevitably seemed to lead to a big red STOP sign in which I couldn’t continue through. How limiting the title of being a mother can be, how constraining. It wrapped around me, suffocating me. As though because I was pregnant, I could only focus on my unborn child. Or because I was so young I could never understand how to juggle numerous responsibilities. But my age did not depict my capabilities or reflect my potential. It was then that I realized I was more than just a womb. I was more than just a statistic. I was more, so much more than just another “good girl gone bad,” or one more “fallen victim of teenage pregnancy.”

All those offensive, discriminative terms only empowered me. I still had the same goals and aspirations. I could continue to go to school, work part-time, and find myself amidst these challenges. Why did I have to lose myself in order to become a mother? And though I was young, why couldn’t I use these experiences as lessons to teach my daughter about resilience, independence and persistence? Why couldn’t I still be a good mother, despite my age? I wanted to use these obstacles as stepping-stones to aim for the stars, show my daughter how hard work pays off and not to stop at anything she truly wants. In many ways I found myself through her existence.

Those two pink parallel lines were my foundation to takeoff into bigger and better things, and I’ve only just begun. The start of her life was also the beginning of mine. I am continually finding myself, allowing myself room to grow. I still make mistakes. I am still young and sometimes selfish. I am human and completely perfect in all my imperfection. I never stop trying to break the stereotype of young mothers. I am a mama, but I am also a social worker. I am a graduate student. I am a dreamer. I am a fighter. I am a believer, and most importantly I am my own woman.

Kathleen Burns is a social work masters student at the University of Texas at El Paso, hoping to work within corrections. I currently work with domestic violence offenders and advocate for their survivors. I have been able to use tools and techniques provided by Choice USA to continue to stand up against violence against women on my campus as well as within my own personal work.

Mamas Day 2014: Learning to Walk: Gender, Economy, & Ecology

This post is part our #MamasDay blog series. This piece by Jovida Ross is cross-posted from the Movement Strategy Center's blog, "Let's Talk: At The Heart Of Movement Building."



I am learning how to walk again.

I lost my walk after an intensive yoga training -- the third of nine I am undertaking to strengthen my personal practice and my role as a movement builder. I had just moved into a forward fold when I suddenly felt as if a taut piece of elastic had unhooked within my body. My breath caught as a profound ache spread through my chest and my body shook with sobs. “Grief” is the word that best describes this sensation, but no real thoughts or concepts accompanied the pain. No story rose with the tears, just the sensations of deep release.

For the next few weeks the muscles of my legs and pelvis felt confused. For a while I couldn’t trust my own legs. I found myself taking a step and feeling muscles pull tight for no reason; felt looseness where I expected strength. Sometimes each step was painful as my piriformis muscle fired compulsively. Other times I felt tentative and unsure whether my muscles would even function.

While this realignment was disorienting, it was also instructive. I had to pay careful attention to each step so that I could find another way to walk. I discovered that I had been bracing my body in my old walk, a habit that was actually getting in my way. I had to learn to use my legs in new ways.

We must all, of course, learn to walk anew as we face the unfathomable damage of our fossil extractive economy. Making the transition to “a new economy”, “local living economies,” “solidarity economies,” or “sharing economies” will require us to “let go” of deeply held tensions, releasing what is not serving us and trusting that we will find another way to organize our world. And we will need to walk without the gender definitions that have been woven into our extractive economy.

I was raised by a single mom, so I learned to question the gender of economics early on. With amazing creativity my mom got by on minimal child support and the salary from her low-paying job. We often shared rent with housemates. More than once we went camping for weeks when we were “between homes”. My mom cooked everything from scratch with simple ingredients, turning us into frugal vegetarians and making sure I knew how to pull food together for family meals while she was at work.

The contrast with the life of my father -- who lived in a beautiful home, ate in restaurants, bought new clothes, and took vacations -- struck me as profoundly unfair. While my parents did their best to navigate cultural assumptions and legal constructions of family as their marriage dissolved, my mom was still defined as the primary caregiver. And her sense of her own possibilities were limited to roles that fit squarely within accepted definitions of “women’s work.”

Now, as an adult, I understand how our current economic structure is built on a history of colonialism and patriarchy; how the values of an exploitative social order are baked into the way we organize our world. This is reflected starkly by poverty statistics showing women, specifically women of color, experiencing poverty at dramatically higher rates than men of any race or ethnic group. These gender statistics are yet another indicator of a financial system that is out of balance, one which will eventually topple and possibly take our planet with it.

To shift to a new economy, we will need more than equal pay for equal work. To remake the economy we will need to fundamentally remake how we relate to one another. Our friends at Movement Generation point out that the roots of the word economy mean “management of home”. Our new economy will mean organizing our relationships within a specific place to take care of that place and each other. We will need to find more cooperative ways of living, that affirm the dignity of all people and the health of the planet. And we will need to be open to new ways of expressing gender.

This is a moment of rich creativity around gender. I am inspired by birthing justice circles forming around the country; by the stories told in the Other Worlds anthology on Women Creating Economic and Social Alternatives; by the worker-organizing by leaders with Mujeres Unidas y Activas and similar worker co-ops; by the way the Brown Boi Project is linking masculine-expressing people around a commitment to gender justice; by the work that Family Independence Initiative is doing to draw attention to the way that low income families self-organize to navigate the challenges of poverty; by the World March of Women; by the many people who are teasing gender apart and reconstructing it in new ways. I am encouraged that together we will find a new way of organizing our world.

As I am – quite literally -- learning to walk in a new way, I wonder: what will carry us through the collective transformation that is needed? In my personal journey, the practice of yoga is grounding my process of discovery. Trusting this practice has allowed me to continue on even when I am struggling. It has guided me, in tangible ways, to new freedom.


As we move collectively towards a new economy, what practices will ground us as we let go of what is known and open to new ways of walking? What will help us create a world that than can actually sustain and nurture us; a world that can last?




Jovida Ross brings over 15 years of leadership experience with grassroots, community-based organizations to her work as a Senior Fellow in Gender Justice at Movement Strategy Center. She has supported organizations in bridging essential direct services with proactive social change strategies, particularly in the LGBTQ, anti-violence and reproductive justice sectors. As the Executive Director of Community United Against Violence (CUAV), Jovida led the organization through a transformative process that engaged a full range of stakeholders in re-visioning how to move towards a safe, resilient world where everyone can thrive. Jovida has been deeply influenced by the work at the intersections of gender justice, economic justice, and immigration at The Women’s Building of San Francisco, where she spent a nine years serving as the Associate Director and then as a member of the Board of Directors. Jovida has been a LeaderSpring Fellow and a Coro Community Fellow, and is a graduate of Mills College.