Pumping Is Breastfeeding: Dismissing It Hurts Black Moms Most

The first time I heard someone say pumping wasn’t “real” breastfeeding, it was aimed at my friend Nichelle. We’ve been friends since freshman year of college. Finding ourselves pregnant with our sons at the same time, I happily shared resources I had gained from my first pregnancy. One of them was a Facebook group that another college friend—my doula—had added me to. I brought Nichelle into that group, thinking she’d find community. Instead, she found judgment.

In the comment thread that day, people dismissed her exclusive pumping journey as something that “didn’t count.” She didn’t need me to defend her—Nichelle and several others handled business in those comments—but the sting stuck with me. If it’s still breastfeeding when a latching mom gives her baby a bottle, why does it magically “stop counting” when a mom pumps exclusively?

That memory has been on my mind even more during Black Breastfeeding Week (August 21-25), a time dedicated to amplifying the unique challenges and triumphs Black mothers face when it comes to feeding their babies.

The hierarchy we’ve built around breastfeeding doesn’t just hurt feelings, but also creates barriers. For Black mothers, those barriers stack high. We already face some of the steepest hurdles in maternal health and neonatal care. Instead of closing ranks and supporting each other, too many of us waste energy playing “who sacrificed more” with our bodies. Carrying, delivering, and using your body to feed a child is a labor of love—no matter what that looks like. Kudos to the mom who labors down in a tub with warm water and rose petals. Kudos to the mom who gets the epidural. Kudos to the mom who is tethered to her baby by the nipple, and kudos to the mom who stops work every two hours to pump. It’s all hard. So why are we still doing this to each other?

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“Absolutely Not:” A Journey Without Support

For Nichelle—now an International Board Certified Lactation Consultant (IBCLC), Certified Breastfeeding Specialist, postpartum doula, and owner of Sonshine and Rainbows Lactation—the lack of support started early.

“I called myself getting all the education I could—breastfeeding classes, childbirth classes—and everyone told me I wouldn’t be able to,” she says. “I remember I called the pediatrician nurses’ line for something when [my son,] DJ was very young and the triage nurse was asking me all the basics. She asked how I was feeding him and said, ‘Just so you know, your milk is gonna dry up and you’re not gonna be able to do that long term if you don’t latch him.’ Even in online breastfeeding spaces, it was very othered. It ‘didn’t really count.’ That was the one that hurt the most. I thought I’d found my people, but that wasn’t the case.”

Nichelle admits she started her pumping journey with no set milestones or backup plan. “I was winging it,” she says. “For me, it was seeing my little baby go from ‘small for gestational age’ to exceeding his milestones. Like wow! My body is doing that. I’m still growing him on the outside. Every day that I kept going was a small victory. And then I looked up, and it had been years.”

The Hierarchy Problem

As an IBCLC, Nichelle has no doubt there’s a hierarchy in how breastfeeding is perceived. “The definition of breastfeeding is from the breast, not at the breast,” she explains. “But a lot of professionals (and parents) get hung up on that and view pumping as some consolation prize or shortcut. Times are shifting, but we still don’t have paid parental leave for all. I’ve had parents who gave birth on a Monday, used what PTO they had for the birth and hospital stay, and had to be back at work the following Monday. They don’t have a choice.”

Roughly 5% to 14% of families rely solely on expressed breast milk in the first six months, showing that exclusive pumping isn’t rare—it’s a lived reality for many. For the nearly one in ten infants born prematurely, 71% to 77% receive any breast milk in the earliest days—a window when direct nursing often isn’t medically possible. These numbers reveal a deeper truth: when pumping keeps babies fed, it’s essential.

The bias against pumping parents has shown up in her professional life, too. When Nichelle was becoming an IBCLC, she reached out to a major breastfeeding peer support organization. “One of the requirements was at least six months’ breastfeeding experience. I had nine. But they told me, while they appreciated how I chose to feed my son, I couldn’t be a peer counselor because I hadn’t latched. We let men deliver babies every day—what was the difference?” she says.

Years later, after earning her IBCLC credential, Nichelle pushed back. The organization eventually changed its stance. But the damage was done: “Sometimes I see it in my clients. I’ll ask if they’re breastfeeding, and they’ll say, ‘No, I’m pumping.’ Not because they think what they’re doing isn’t breastfeeding, but because a professional othered it.”

Nichelle wishes more people understood that exclusive pumping is a labor of love—not a lesser path. “Pumping has been commercialized in the sense that now, it’s the it thing to do and in excess. You must be a human cow, producing gallons, or you’re not doing it right. I wish parents knew there’s love in every drop. What you’re doing is no less an act of selflessness and devotion.”

Policy, Support, and Solidarity

For pumping to be more sustainable, Nichelle says the changes have to be systemic: paid parental leave and universal coverage of lactation care by qualified professionals. “Right now, insurance companies say a pediatrician who took two hours of breastfeeding training 20 years ago is more qualified than someone like me who specializes in this. If babies don’t eat, babies die. Policy should reflect that.”

While the internet can be toxic, Nichelle acknowledges that online spaces can still be a lifeline for non-traditional breastfeeding experiences. “When parents can’t find support from providers, strangers online become their biggest cheerleaders. These communities are 24/7, 365. Even if you’re just reading posts at 3 a.m., you know you’re not alone.”

It’s how our friendship deepened, too—walking through the ages and stages of adulthood together, with a little online group as our common thread.

Feeding Our Babies, Our Way

Normalizing different breastfeeding paths is bigger than personal comfort; it’s a public health issue. Nichelle connects it to a painful history: “Breastfeeding was a right stripped from our ancestors. Black and Brown babies died while the nourishment they needed was given to others. When we take away the different paths to breastfeeding, we’re stripping families of their options. That’s not my choice to make. My job is to teach families safe, healthy ways to feed their children.”

That’s the truth: pumping is breastfeeding. It’s time our language, policies, and communities said it like we mean it.

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