As a Black woman, the thought of becoming pregnant fills me with dread. At 34 years old and married for two and a half years, I feel the societal pressure to start a family. While friends and colleagues around me eagerly announce their pregnancies, I find myself hesitant. It’s not that I don’t desire children; rather, I’m consumed by fear. I’m afraid not just for myself but also for the life of my future child. The statistics are alarming and weigh heavily on my mind.
Compounded Concerns
Like many couples, my husband and I have typical concerns about finances, distance from family, and finding a home in a good school district. However, our worries are compounded by the reality of being an interracial couple. We grapple with how to raise our children to appreciate both their Black and White heritages while navigating the complexities of identity and safety in a world that can be unkind.
The Start of a Family
The decision of when to start a family was initially on the table after our honeymoon in 2017. But then, I stumbled upon a shocking statistic: Black women are 243% more likely to face pregnancy or childbirth-related complications than their White counterparts. As maternal mortality rates continue to rise in the U.S., Black women bear the brunt of this crisis. Recent studies show that for every 100,000 births, around 40 Black women die compared to 12 White women. With public figures like Serena Williams and Beyoncé sharing their harrowing experiences in healthcare settings, I can’t help but wonder how I would fare.
Anxiety from Past Experiences
My previous hospital visits have left me anxious. When I’ve expressed pain, I’ve often been dismissed, only to have my concerns validated when situations escalated. This makes the prospect of childbirth terrifying. I worry that my husband, who is White, may receive more attention from medical staff than I do. If he voices my pain, will I finally be heard? It’s an unsettling thought, and it’s deeply unfair.
The Stakes Involved
The heartbreaking story of families like Marcus Jefferson’s reminds me of the stakes involved. His wife, Alexis, tragically died shortly after giving birth despite being healthy and expressing her fears to the medical team. Now, Marcus is advocating for legislative change to address these maternal health disparities. This reality is daunting and has pushed me back into a mindset of remaining childless for the time being.
Health Concerns and Waiting Periods
After enjoying a trip to Costa Rica, I found myself in a six-month waiting period for pregnancy due to health concerns related to the Zika virus. As that timeline approaches its end, I read yet another report highlighting that Black premature babies have lower survival rates than their White or Hispanic peers. It’s disheartening to realize that systemic racism and healthcare disparities continue to put mothers and infants at risk.
Feeling Isolated
With friends and colleagues celebrating their pregnancies, I can’t help but feel isolated in my fears. I grapple with the knowledge that my chances of surviving pregnancy and childbirth are significantly lower, and that my child’s chances may not be much better.
Seeking Connection
Is anyone else out there feeling this way? How do you navigate these fears? For more insights on this topic, check out this resource and this one for authoritative information. Also, this is an excellent resource for those considering pregnancy and home insemination.
Conclusion
In summary, the fear of pregnancy as a Black woman is rooted in serious societal issues. These concerns extend beyond the personal realm and reflect systemic challenges that affect many. As I watch others embrace motherhood, I grapple with the reality that my fears are not just personal but reflect broader societal disparities in maternal health.