Journal

Messy Monday: Black People, Is We Good?

Hey y’all and welcome back to another episode of Messy Mondays, where I expose myself for the sake of relatability. And yes… I’m doing the dishes again. 🧼

Here’s the thing about dishes: no matter how many times I wash, rinse, repeat, the sink always fills back up. Somebody always comes and eats, makes a mess, and then leaves it for me to clean.

And honestly? That’s how I’ve been feeling about us as a people lately. We keep setting the table, cooking up the culture, letting folks come in and eat off our plate and when they’re done, they leave us with the dirty work. We keep washing and scrubbing, but the cycle never ends.

So, since I’m already elbow-deep in suds, let’s wash through this mess together.

🍳 Culture in the Frying Pan

I don’t know if y’all feel it too, but something about this current cultural moment feels… overdone. Between our c list talent celebrity culture, our obsession with “getting the bag,” and our blind acceptance of whatever “representation” is thrown our way, it feels like we’re fan dancing straight into extinction.

Look at who and what we’re uplifting. Summer Walker and her aging “arm candy” , GloRilla’s and Meg Thee Stallion’s constant barrage of fast food flings and bottom shelf booze, Simone Biles and Serena Williams fronting for GLP-1 weight-loss meds. These are not just random endorsements or personal choices they are signals. They carry a message. They are shaping what we normalize. And our default reaction has become: “Well, sis get that check.” Period. No critical thought, no pause, no bigger questions asked.

And then, of course, there’s Beyoncé sitting at a table with Ivanka Trump like it’s nothing. A perfect example of class solidarity trumping race solidarity. It’s no longer about “one of us making it,” it’s about the rich preserving their own elite table, while the rest of us are left begging for crumbs. And we, the people, applaud it instead of questioning it.

And then you turn on Zeus Network, where the hottest shows are Chrisean Rock and Blueface fistfighting their way through “love.” We consume it, laugh at it, meme it, and hand over our streaming dollars. Meanwhile, black family shows, black network television, and even commercials that used to spotlight strong black households have all but disappeared.

The only time you really see a black couple or black family unit these days, it’s toxic, dramatic, or dysfunctional. Positive representation has been watered down until it’s barely visible and somehow, we’ve just… accepted it.

🏚️ Where Did the Black Family Go?

Let me be clear: interracial families deserve space and representation. They’re real. They’re beautiful. But let’s not confuse them with being the only face of progress. An interracial family is not the same thing as a black family, just like it isn’t the same thing as a chinese or latino family. Every group deserves to see itself reflected whole.

Yet over and over, we’re shown that the black family, the healthy, thriving, intact Black unit is either nonexistent, toxic, or expendable. And slowly, quietly, we’re being written out of the script.

🎭 Assimilation as Entertainment

This isn’t just about celebrity antics or TV programming, it’s about how we’re trained to pander and perform. We’ve normalized assimilation so deeply that we don’t even notice when we’re laughing at our own erasure. From “inviting everyone to the cookout” for the bare minimum, to celebrating white creators who mimic our dances better than we can market them ourselves, we’re trading exclusivity for acceptance.

And yes, Christianity plays a role here too. Let’s be honest, Christianity was one of the primary tools used to enslave us, and today it still feels like it’s enslaving our mindset. Too often it becomes a crutch: an excuse to forgive racism, to excuse assimilation, to accept scraps with the logic that “God will provide.” But is He providing, or are we just pacifying ourselves while whiteness keeps its foot on our neck?

We can’t keep using faith as a reason to excuse foolishness. Christianity has long been the anchor holding us down when we needed sails to move forward.

🌆 The Macro Meets the Local

And it’s not just celebrity culture or Christianity, it’s spilling over into how we see ourselves in real life.

Take Detroit, for example. Folks are quick to praise our white mayor as though he single-handedly brought the city back to life. Sure, development is happening. But underneath it, 34% of Detroit residents live in poverty the highest since 2017 and nearly 50% of adults are functionally illiterate.

How do we reconcile that? Why are we so quick to believe that whiteness equals improvement, that only white leadership can “save us”? Have we forgotten our own capacity to build, organize, and innovate for ourselves? Detroit was built on black labor, black artistry, black survival. Yet too often the narrative is shaped to forget that.

And it’s not just the politicians. Even some of our own Detroit influencers are embarrassing us. I saw a recent thread where one of them argued Detroit doesn’t need a public transit system, that the 40% of riders who depend on it are just “broke”. Imagine saying that in a majority-black city where systemic racism has shaped every layer of infrastructure and access. People like this should not have platforms. They should not be getting brand deals. And let’s be real a lot of these “Detroit” influencers don’t even live in the city. Black people scared of being around folks who look just like them.

🪞 Fan Dancing Into Forgetfulness

Here’s the truth that’s hard to swallow: we are assimilating into extinction. We are intermingling into invisibility. We’ve been so focused on “getting the bag,” chasing the spotlight, or aligning ourselves with whiteness that we’ve forgotten how to stand together with exclusivity and intention.

And I’m not saying this to stir up division. I’m saying it because we deserve to exist. For ourselves. Not as commodities. Not as clout for corporations. Not as sidekicks or spectacles. We deserve to exist in our fullness, in our families, our culture, our media, THE future.

Right now, too much of what we’re celebrating is embarrassing. It’s crumbs. It’s distraction. It’s erosion. And if we don’t wake up, we’ll look up one day and realize we’ve erased ourselves.

❓Black People, Is We Good?

So I’m asking again, black people: are we good? Because it feels like no matter how much we wash, rinse, repeat the sink just keeps filling back up. But here’s the thing: I’m not scrubbing away at the same dirty dishes forever. At some point, we gotta stop cleaning up their mess and start flipping the whole table.

Messy Mondays: Make Caring Cool Again 💕

Messy Mondays, but make it civic. Because I love this city, and I want to feel like it loves me back.

🧱 The Fence Fiasco (aka: why I’m mad)

I reached out to my councilman. I sent emails. I made phone calls. A supervisor even came out to my property. And it still feels like nobody in the department gave a shit.

Here’s the mess: I called the Department of Blight about the abandoned property directly behind me because there were squatters doing illegal activity, and I couldn’t access the side lotI PAID FOR to clean it up. The city came to “clean” the lot… and tore down part of my fence in the process.

I called for help. I didn’t expect my property to get damaged. That’s some bullshit.

🧊 The Bureaucratic Brush-Off

When I asked for accountability, the Department of Demolition & Construction sent a supervisor and a small team. They barely looked at me, barely spoke to me. I’m upset (not yelling just upset), expecting a solution. Instead I’m told:

  • It’s not their problem.
  • There’s “no distinct property line” on some weird map on a computer, so somehow the city “technically” owns where my fence was.
  • “Aren’t you glad the property got cleaned up?” (It was still dirty 😒)
  • The vibe was basically: Oh well, bitch your fault for wanting good in the hood.

On top of that, the supervisor doesn’t even live here. And yes, she was black and still, the care just wasn’t there. I don’t want anyone to lose their job. I don’t want to sound like I’m « snitching » but these are people in charge of departments and peoples homes are their lives.

🧩 Why This Isn’t “Just a Fence”

So many of us are living paycheck to paycheck, me included. Most millennials don’t have a savings account big enough to fix something like this. And we shouldn’t have to come out of pocket to fix damage the city caused.

I get that the job is hard. I get that residents can be challenging. Everybody’s job is challenging at some point but the level of apathy I keep running into is unreal. It looks and feels like recklessness and negligence, rushing to get a job done quickly, and then refusing to admit a mistake. No apology. No care. It’s just “not our problem.”

🗂️ Departments, Dynamics & Doing the Damn Job

I’m not asking for “social-emotional training” that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying care. Care when you come out to assess. Care when you explain a map. Care enough not to bulldoze my fence because it’s faster than actually picking up trash. Care enough to apologize when you mess up. Care enough to treat residents like people, not problems.

And it makes me wonder:

  • Who is hiring these people?
  • Why are the requirements so low for jobs that impact our homes and safety?
  • Why does it feel like I’m bothering you for asking you to do your job?

🗑️ From Trash to Truth (the bigger picture)

This isn’t my first call, complaint, or court date. I keep bumping into the same attitude across departments: apathy. Shrugs. Eye rolls. Like the city’s default is to deflect instead of fix.

This, to me, highlights a larger issue in our political climate. People are disappointed in leadership for a reason. Micro issues like this point straight to the macro. If you put people in charge who don’t give a shit, that attitude trickles down into departments, policies, and neighborhoods.

📣 Influencers, Listen Up (yes, I said it 👀)

When you put people in charge who don’t give a shit, that attitude trickles down. It seeps into departments, into policies, into neighborhoods. And honestly? That’s on us too, our Detroit.

Because a part of the problem is right here at home: Detroit influencers. Too many are more focused on curating content for tourists than speaking directly to the people who live here. And I’m not pulling that from nowhere shoutout to Chrissy (Socially Chrissy), who said it plain. She actually cares about the city and the residents, not just the optics.

⚖️ Where’s the Balance?

The balance is off. Too many influencers are chasing aesthetics, luxury, and clicks, while our neighborhoods are left without advocates. We need to be talking to the residents, the folks planted here, not just the people passing through.

👉🏽 And that’s where critical thinking comes in. We need to ask: Who are we centering? Who are we serving? It can’t just be about vibes, parties, and photo ops. It has to also be about policies, paychecks, potholes, and thr people.

🗳️ Elections Are Coming

We should be using our platforms to bring awareness, to get folks mobilized, to remind people that local elections matter just as much as presidential ones. Because elections are coming up, governor, mayor, city leadership and if we don’t start using our influence to actually influence change, then what are we even doing?

We need to care about who’s running, who’s funding them, and who they’re beholden to. Not corporations, not developers, but us the residents. Because when we demand accountability, empathy, and honesty at the top, it doesn’t just stop there it trickles down. It shapes how departments treat us, how policies are written, and how neighborhoods either thrive or get left behind.

🌱 Make Caring Cool Again 🌱

At the end of the day, this is bigger than one fence, one property, or even one department messing up. This is about a culture of apathy that has seeped too deep into our city and the need to flip that culture on its head.

It should be cool to care again. Cool to pour into your neighborhood. Cool to demand better from your city. Cool to balance joy with justice.

Influencers, residents, city workers, politicians, everybody. We all have a role. Because when caring becomes contagious, communities change. And Detroit deserves that.

Messy Monday

My House Was Dirty and So Was My Truth…

Losing My Rhythm

If you’ve followed along with my Messy Monday series, you know I spend a lot of time cleaning, or at least trying to clean. The truth is, the rooms rarely get fully clean. That’s why it turned into Messy Makeover Mondays because even when I dedicated time to tidying up, the house always seems one step away from chaos.

This summer, it hit me harder than ever. I felt like I had lost all of my feminine wiles the part of me that once took pride in cooking from scratch, deep-cleaning my apartment, and making my space beautiful. In my twenties, those tasks didn’t feel like chores, they felt like a rhythm. But life shifted: parenthood, business ownership, the daily grind. Slowly, cooking and cleaning slid off my plate, and by this summer, I had lost all motivation.

The Cleaner’s Question

My partner thankfully picked up the slack with meals, but the cleaning? That fell into a void. The house became embarrassingly dirty a reality I didn’t even see clearly until we made the decision to hire a professional cleaner.

When she came for the walkthrough, she opened every cabinet, checked every corner, and then asked me point blank if the house had ever been cleaned. Not professionally … ever. At first, I thought it was a language barrier. But no, she meant what she said.

And listen, my ego was bruised. It felt invasive and judgmental. But once she left, I had to admit: she wasn’t wrong. Friends and family often reassure you with “It’s fine, everyone’s busy,” but sometimes you need someone to tell you the truth.

Choosing Honesty Over Comfort

That moment reminded me that discipline matters. Not as a way to chase perfection, but as a way to reclaim peace in my home and in myself. So we decided to hire her. Because if she can boldly call the house dirty, she can boldly clean it too. I don’t need someone to sugarcoat my mess I need someone willing to tackle it head-on.

A Diagnosis and a Reflection

On a deeper level, this experience brought me face-to-face with my recent ADHD diagnosis. Growing up, my mom had piles of things everywhere, and now I see myself repeating that same pattern. I don’t blame my mom not at all. She was present and active, and that mattered so much more than whether the house was spotless or if dinner came from scratch. I have a sneaking suspicion that she may have also lived with things that went undiagnosed for years.

But the way I operate is different: I need a clean house in order to think clearly, create, and function. Being a content creator, a mother, and a business owner requires mental clarity, and when the house is in chaos, I feel like I can’t show up fully.

Making Space for Help

I also recognize the difference in our circumstances. My parents couldn’t have afforded a cleaner they were raising three children. My mom had three kids by 33; I have one. And even though my partner and I are in a dual-income household, it’s still a very tight stretch. But we CAN make it work.

If that means I give up my fancy yoga classes and take yoga at the community center, then that’s what I have to do. If that means canceling Netflix, Hulu, and basically giving up TV altogether so that we can redirect those funds toward a cleaner, then that’s what we’ll do. Peace in our home is worth it.

Mourning & Growing

I think part of why this decision carries so much weight for me is because I mourn a little bit for past versions of myself. The Kamaria who thrived on routines, who leaned on systems that kept her organized even before she knew about her diagnosis.

Motherhood and entrepreneurship have transformed me in ways I love, I’m grateful for the woman I’ve grown into, but I also grieve the version of me who found joy in things I’ve lately let slide.

ADHD and Accountability

And while ADHD, autism, anxiety, and all the other mental health factors that so many of us live with are major life factors, I don’t believe they should be life preventers.

I didn’t even want to share my ADHD diagnosis at first, because I didn’t want to fall into the pattern I sometimes see: where a diagnosis becomes an excuse for every quirk, shortcoming, or frustration. For me, ADHD makes organization harder, but not impossible. That means it’s my responsibility to create systems and routines that make sense for my brain, and to stop doing the things that heighten my disorganization … like smoking on the weekends, even if it helps me calm down.

The truth is, we’re all carrying something. At this point, everyone is navigating mental health challenges, and no pill or label is going to fix our lives for us. It’s on us to find what works, take accountability, and keep moving.

Full Circle to Messy Mondays

So while hiring a cleaner feels like a privilege, because it is, it’s also a choice I’m making to support my family, my peace, and my creativity. It’s one of the ways I’m saying to myself: you don’t have to do everything alone. You can ask for help, you can build systems, and you can find your way back to balance.

And maybe this is what Messy Mondays has been about all along. Not just me standing at the sink or folding laundry, but being honest about the messiness of life the routines we lose, the versions of ourselves we grieve, the diagnoses we wrestle with, and the help we sometimes need to ask for.

Hiring a cleaner doesn’t mean I’ve failed at keeping house; it means I’m giving myself permission to reclaim peace, discipline, and joy in a way that actually works for my life right now. And if sharing that helps someone else feel less ashamed of their own mess then maybe this messy Monday is the cleanest one yet.

🚲 Three Months with the Tern GSD

When My Car Died in the Snow…

Back in January, right in the middle of a Michigan snowstorm, my car broke down. And not like oh-I’ll-get-it-towed-tomorrow broke down. I had just put $2,000 into it for another issue the week before. So when it went out again? I was done. I didn’t have the money to fix it again, and honestly, I had already poured so much into that car over the years that I couldn’t justify one more cent.

I was feeling really stuck until I saw someone I admired doing something different.

✨ Shoutout to Christina for the Inspiration

If you don’t know @sociallychrissy, you should. She’s a Detroit powerhouse with her own social media company, and she’s living car-free with a daughter, getting around the city on her electric bike like it’s nothing.

Watching her document everyday life on her bike like riding solo, taking her daughter along, running errands in the cold was the push I needed. She made it look not just possible, but joyful. And that’s when I started digging.

The Search Begins: Cargo Bikes, Buckets & Budget Talks

I started looking at the brand Christina uses, Aventon, and from there stumbled into the beautiful but expensive world of cargo bikes.

  • Urban Arrow was my top pick at first. Sleek, heavy-duty, but also $10,000. Is it worth it? Yes. In my budget? No.
  • Bunch Bikes almost had me. The company was kind, informative, and super family-focused. But after talking with them, I realized the bucket style wasn’t quite right for us. If I had more than one kid, maybe. But it felt like too much bike for our needs.

What I Actually Needed in a Bike

I needed something:

  • That could handle narrow streets and alleys
  • That didn’t feel like a tank in traffic
  • That could ride over cracked sidewalks, gravel, broken glass, and yes even help me outrun loose dogs
  • That was tough, nimble, and fast

And that’s what led me to Tern.

Why the Tern GSD Was the Right Fit

Tern is a well-known company, especially big in the e-bike space. I reached out, got great support from their rep, and after learning more about the specs and options, I was all in.

We decided on the Tern GSD2, made the call in February, and got it mid-March.

Three Months In: I’m in LOVE

Let me just say it:

As an outdoor girl who gardens and homesteads, this bike is everything. It brought me back to my early 20s when I lived in Midtown and biked everywhere—except this time I’m a mom, and I have an electric motor helping me up the hills.

PROS: The Real-World Joys

  • Freedom & Fresh Air

    I forgot how much joy there is in not being boxed in. With the Tern, I’m fully outside and I feel that in the best way.
  • Commute Cut in Half

    My ride used to be 1 hour uphill on a regular bike. Now it’s 28 minutes, with ease.
  • Child-Friendly Design

    Cozi rides on the back, safely and happily. The weight balance is so good, I barely feel her back there.
  • Cargo Space Galore

    The pannier market bags? GAME CHANGERS. I’ve hauled trees, groceries, tools you name it.
  • Neighborhood Discovery

    I’ve seen more of my own neighborhood in the past three months than I have in years. Cozi and I are spotting parks, chatting mid-ride, and having mini adventures every day.

Technical Specs You Should Know

Here’s what you’re getting with the Tern GSD S10 (2025 model): (For clarification: I personally ride the Tern GSD Gen 2, but I’m highlighting the newest S10 model here so you can see what the latest version offersbecause if the Gen 2 is this good… 👀)

  • Bosch Cargo Line Motor with 85 Nm torque and 400% pedal assist
  • Max speed: 20 mph (32 km/h)
  • 10-speed Shimano drivetrain
  • Fits riders 4’11” – 6’5” (adjustable for Dakarai too!)
  • Dual-battery option for up to 128 miles of range
  • Heavy-duty Atlas kickstand (stable even with kids onboard)
  • Magura hydraulic disc brakes for quick stops
  • Puncture-resistant tires built for urban streets (yes even glass)

CONS: The Things That Take Adjusting

  • Too Much Open Air

    I’m used to car doors and windshields. Sometimes, it feels like too much exposure.
  • Slippery on Wet Grass

    If I have to ride over a lawn (construction detours, etc.), the bike gets unstable fast.
  • Heavy When Stopped

    Fully loaded, it’s a beast. One time I had two kids on the back, and I almost tipped trying to stop short. (Note to self: upper body workout.)
  • Lots of Gear Required

    Just like a car, the startup costs add up: locks, helmets, batteries, bungee cords, rain gear, etc.
  • Takes Time to Set Up

    Between charging the battery, packing the panniers, adjusting the seat and prepping Cozi it’s not a just-hop-on-and-go ride.

👧🏽 Cozi’s POV

  • Loves the wind, the views, the chit-chat
  • Has learned so much just from observing the world on two wheels
  • Thinks the bike is cooler than the car and honestly, I might agree

🙌🏽 Final Word

I’m three months in, and I truly recommend the Tern GSD to anyone, especially moms in the city.

It’s fast, beautiful, tough, and surprisingly intuitive. It makes me feel connected to the city in a way I hadn’t expected. I feel free. And I’m getting stronger every day.

Big thanks to Tern and the team at Human Electric Hybrids for setting us up.

Next up: we’ll see how it does in Detroit winter. But for now? I’m sold.

On Stillness, Disappointment, and Returning to Community

Dear friends,

I’ve been off Instagram for about two weeks now. Realizing it’s already been that long honestly surprised me time has passed so quickly, and yet, I didn’t even notice.

The truth is, it’s not that I needed a break from content creating. It’s more that I haven’t been able to wrap my head around it at all. I’ve been consumed, overwhelmed, and paralyzed by what’s happening around the world. Doomscrolling became my main activity trying to prepare myself mentally for the next collapse, taking in too much, and holding it all in my body. I lost track of time.

It feels like I’ve been hunkered down, waiting for the other shoe to drop not just for the past few weeks, but for years. Since the Trump presidency began, really. I’ve been mentally bunkered, even while living this beautiful life I’ve built and dreamed of.

But I haven’t been able to fully enjoy or appreciate that life, because I’ve been trapped inside my mind living as if the world has already ended.

In these two weeks away from posting, I also noticed I haven’t really been outside. I’ve gone to the grocery store. I’ve done my routines. I got my hair done. But I’ve seen my friends less and less. I’ve seen the people I care about less and less. I haven’t made the effort, and the time has just… gone.

And here’s the part I’m not proud of: I stopped building community because I felt disappointed in my community.

Seeing people I’ve worked with, admired, collaborated with watching their silence, or their indifference, or the way they treat politics like something optional has felt like betrayal. I’ve felt so disillusioned by people’s refusal to engage, to vote, to even care in any consistent, grounded way.

And in that betrayal, I completely withdrew.

I forgot that community isn’t just about being with people you agree with. It’s about staying with people through tension. Through misalignment. Through imperfection.

But instead, I locked myself away.

And the longer I stayed locked away, the harder it became to trust people again. Even those closest to me. That mistrust began to shape the way I move, the way I think, the way I show up (or don’t). It’s a kind of self-inflicted imprisonment. And I want out.

To free myself, I know there are some things I need to shed certain identities, expectations, even ego. I need to become a student again.

So while the community garden is still happening this year, my focus is shifting. I want to show up elsewhere to other farms, other spaces. To listen. To learn. To rebuild trust not just in others, but in myself.

Because I can’t do this alone. I don’t want to do this alone.

I’m not trying to reinvent myself or start over. I just needed to say this out loud. To be honest for a second.

Thanks for reading. That’s all for now.

-Kamaria

Pump, Pump, Pass…

Hey y’all,

Baby Cozi has arrived and it has been a whirlwind of diaper changings, bottle cleanings, fall-asleep feedings, and pumping. I would love to chat about the whole of it all but I want to dedicate this entry to my journey with the pump because I know there are a lot of moms struggling just like I was/am. For the first few weeks of her life, I was exclusively pumping because for the life of me I just couldn’t get her to latch. I started out using the Medela breast pump during our hospital stay but I was barely producing any colostrum. I got maybe a couple of drops after every twenty-minute pump, it wasn’t enough to sustain my baby so I felt defeated right out the gate. Our hospital stay was lovely (the staff and lactation consultant were wonderful) but incredibly stressful because I was doubting my ability to feed my baby. Her glucose was low, I was producing barely any colostrum and there was concern she would have to be moved to the NICU. I really didn’t want my baby to formula feed but out of fear of further hospitalization I conceded to the nurses advice and supplemented her feeding. I was happy to have my baby fed but there was a part of me that felt less than because I wanted to breastfeed so badly. I gave latching a few more tries before we were discharged but found little to no success on my own. When the lactation consultant visited for the last time we were able to get Cozi on my breast but I was not confident in my skills to pull it off without help. Not to mention the fact that I felt like the weight of my breast on her chest was crushing her so that added an extra deterrent. 

Once we got her home we continued to supplement her feeding with the formula the hospital gave us while I impateintly waited for my colostrum to increase. It took a couple of days before I even began producing (which is so dumb because how is that helpful) I was discouraged and angry at my body for not doing the very thing I needed it to do. I kept at it though I was using my Lansinoh pump every two hours trying to draw out colostrum and on the third day I had pumped an entire ounce of the liquid gold. I was ecstatic that I could finally rid myself of formula. There is nothing wrong with formula but it is just not how I envisioned feeding my child #crunchymom. I kept to a schedule of pumping every two hours and I was producing a ton of colostrum enough to store at least a bottle ahead in the fridge. My production was going strong for about two weeks so I decided to “take a night off” and didn’t pump through the night I just slept while Dakarai took care of her night feedings. When I woke up in the morning my breasts were extremely swollen so I immediately had to pump but I noticed a dramatic decrease in my production after that night. I learned the hard way to NEVER TAKE TIME OFF FROM PUMPING UNTIL YOUR MILK IS FULLY ESTABLISHED which takes almost 12 weeks! But when I tell y’all I needed that night of sleep, I was so tired and just tired of pumping in general. The night pumping was completely wiping me out and there are several times when I actually fell asleep while holding the flanges up to my breast. 

If I can be honest I hated pumping, I hated being tied to one spot for hours out of my day, I hated the wires and cords, I hated holding those dumb cups up to my chest, and I absolutely loathed the amount of time I spent cleaning my pump parts. And with my production decreasing my hatred only grew because now I had to introduce power pumping into my schedule. For those who don’t know power pumping is when you pump for twenty minutes, take a ten minute rest, and then pump for ten minutes within the span of an hour. All in all you end up pumping for thirty minutes and its pretty intense. I was power pumping twice a day, stuffing myself with all the foods recommended to increase supply, drinking herbal teas, and self expressing desperately. It was miserable and it didnt work I ended up having to return to formula to supplement because my milk just wasn’t there and my baby was only getting hungrier. 

My sister was also attempting to breast feed (we had our babies two weeks apart) and ran into the same wall as I did. She eventually chose to formula feed and passed on her hands free pump to me. I was at my wits end with my Lansinoh because as my milk slowly returned (my breasts were becoming swollen again) the pump just wasn’t emptying them. I tried everything from new duck bills to flanges, I bought three different sizes and nothing worked. I was beginning to think it was me until the first time I used the new pump. Before I was struggling to make 2 ounces and that is both breasts combined but suddenly I was getting 4 ounces out of my right breast. It was like the veil had finally lifted and I could see the light! I started exclusively using the other pump and it drastically changed my view on pumping because I was no longer tied down. It still took up a better portion of my day but at least I had the option to do other things.

I was excited to be producing the correct amount so my confidence was up and with this new found hubris I decided to try latching again. And wouldn’t you know it, we got a latch! I was actually breastfeeding my baby and it felt so good. After almost a month of trials and tribulations I was breastfeeding my baby. I exclusively breastfed for the next few days but began lactating at times that she wasn’t feeding so I went back to pumping to contain the extra. I am not at a point where I have freezer stock so don’t be discouraged but I am able to have a bottle ready in case she doesn’t want to latch, which still happens or in case my nipples need a break. I am still pumping more than I nurse because she falls asleep more often when nursing and can sometimes be a lazy latcher. It is definitely a work in progress but this is my journey and I am proud of both of us for making it through. 

Feeding your child mothers milk is demanding, frustrating, and time consuming but those peaceful moments of just you and baby make it all worthwhile. If it’s tough I encourage you to keep trying every journey to nurse looks differently and it is hard when you don’t have the right support. Lactation consultants should be free and materniy leave should be longer so I understand if nursing just isnt for you. I know the only reason I have been able to keep this up is because I had the luxury of deciding how long I wanted to be out of work and have a partner at home to help with everything else. I hope me sharing my story has helped you to keep on trucking or at the very least let you know youre not alone. However you choose to feed your baby you are doing an amazing job and I am so proud of you.