Black Women Are Done Discounting For Surrogacy [Op-Ed]

There is something deeply unsettling about watching a Black woman articulate her worth in plain, measured terms and still be told she is asking for too much. It becomes even more unsettling when that worth is tied to pregnancy, a process that already carries disproportionate risk for Black women in America. The recent viral conversation sparked by entrepreneur and mom, Jo Conyers, lays that tension bare. It is an issue greater than just a $45,000 surrogacy offer. It is about who is expected to sacrifice, how much that sacrifice is worth, and why Black women are still being asked to give the most for the least.

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This Is Not “Entry-Level” Work—It’s Life-Altering Labor

The story begins with a straightforward disclosure. Conyers shared that a surrogacy agency offered her a base pay of $45,000 to carry a pregnancy. She contextualized her experience clearly: she has given birth four times. She understands what pregnancy requires. She understands the physical, emotional, and logistical toll. Her reaction was not rooted in greed or opportunism. It was rooted in experience.

“I considered surrogacy because I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to give birth and build my own family, so naturally it felt like something I could do to help another family while also being compensated,” Conyers said. “But when I saw the $45K base offer, I was honestly shocked. It didn’t match the level of commitment, risk, or experience required. It felt like they were pricing something life-altering like it was a basic service.”

Pregnancy is being treated like a transaction stripped of its context. It is being framed as a service that can be priced without fully accounting for the body that must carry it, the life that could be endangered, and the systemic disparities that shape that risk.

Conyers made it plain in her framing: this is “not an entry-level womb.” The language resonated because it disrupted the expectation that women, particularly Black women, should accept whatever is offered in exchange for their labor. It also exposed how uncomfortable people are when women speak about reproductive labor in economic terms. Her explanation underlines the reality that pregnancy is not a simple, time-bound task.

The Risk Is Higher for Black Women, So Why Is the Pay So Low?

“Pregnancy is not just nine months,” she added. “It’s your body, your hormones, your mental health, your time, your lifestyle, and your risk. It takes a real physical and emotional toll. And as Black women, the risk of maternal mortality is significantly higher. Black women are three times more likely to die from pregnancy-related causes than White women. You’re not just ‘carrying a baby,’ you’re literally putting your life on the line. Recovery alone can take months. That level of sacrifice should be respected and compensated accordingly.”

That statistic is not new, but it remains one of the most persistent and alarming realities in American healthcare. Black women, regardless of income or education, are more likely to die from pregnancy-related causes than their white counterparts. The causes are layered, ranging from systemic bias in medical settings to delayed diagnoses and inadequate postpartum care. The result is a system in which Black women face heightened risk at every stage of pregnancy.

In that context, a $45,000 base compensation feels disconnected from reality. Meanwhile, Conyers’ assessment of fair compensation reflects a more comprehensive understanding of what surrogacy entails.

“Personally, I believe $75K minimum is more realistic, and that’s just a starting point. Compensation should factor in prior birth experience, medical risk, time off work, childcare needs, emotional labor, and the long-term impact on the body. There should also be built-in protections for complications, postpartum care, and mental health support.”

This is where the conversation must expand beyond individual outrage and into structural critique. Surrogacy is an industry. It is regulated through contracts, agencies, and medical institutions. It involves intended parents, legal frameworks, and financial agreements. Yet the person whose body makes the process possible is often positioned as a participant who should be grateful for the opportunity rather than a stakeholder whose risk demands careful valuation.

“Know Your Worth” Until You Actually Do

The reaction to Conyers’ post revealed how deeply ingrained those expectations are. On one platform, she received affirmations: know your worth, charge more, advocate for yourself. On another, she was met with condemnation.

Her recounting of the contrast is striking. On Threads, she said, people responded with support, encouraging her to demand higher compensation. On Facebook, the tone shifted dramatically. The comments were accusatory, moralistic, and, at times, hostile. She was called selfish. She was told she should be doing it for free. Her decision to assign value to her labor was framed as a failure of compassion.

“It showed me that people are still very uncomfortable with women putting a price on their bodies, especially when it comes to motherhood,” Conyers said. “There’s this expectation that women should sacrifice everything out of love or compassion, but no one expects that level of sacrifice for free in other areas. It’s easy to call it selfish when you’re not the one taking on the risk.”

That discomfort is not new. It has long shaped how reproductive labor is discussed. Motherhood is often framed as sacred, selfless, and beyond economics. The moment money enters the conversation, the narrative shifts. Women are expected to remain above it, even when the systems surrounding them are deeply transactional.

The irony is that surrogacy itself is inherently transactional. Agencies set rates. Contracts outline payments. Intended parents invest significant financial resources into the process. Everyone involved understands that money is part of the equation. The expectation that the surrogate should detach from that reality is selective and revealing.

It is also racialized.

“Being a Black woman changes everything,” Conyers said. “We already know the statistics. We are more likely to be dismissed, more likely to experience complications, and more likely to die during childbirth. So when I look at an offer like that, I’m not just thinking about the money. I’m thinking about the real risk I’m taking with my life and my health. That has to be valued differently.”

The phrase “valued differently” is key. It does not suggest that Black women should be paid more simply because of identity. It highlights that risk is not evenly distributed. A system that fails to account for that disparity is not neutral. It is negligent.

This is where the conversation intersects with the broader crisis in Black maternal health. Advocacy efforts have pushed for better care, more attentive providers, and systemic reform. Yet those same disparities rarely show up in discussions about compensation and protection within industries like surrogacy. The risk is acknowledged in public health data but often ignored in contractual frameworks. Conyers is clear about what that disconnect means in practice.

“It should be at the forefront. If the risk is higher, then the protection and compensation should reflect that. That means better medical advocacy, more thorough care, and higher pay. You can’t ignore the disparities and still expect women to take on that level of risk without proper support.”

More than just a matter of fairness, it is a matter of safety. Compensation structures signal what is valued. If the system undervalues the surrogate, it raises questions about how seriously her well-being is taken throughout the process.

The cultural response to Conyers’ post also represents how deeply gendered expectations shape this conversation. The idea that a woman should carry a child for free–for strangers–in a system that already puts her at risk, reflects a broader pattern. Women’s labor, particularly when it involves care, is often expected to be given rather than negotiated.

That expectation becomes even more pronounced for Black women. Historically, Black women have been expected to work, give, and endure—often without having control over their own bodies or being treated fairly. From forced reproduction during slavery to ongoing disparities in healthcare, the pattern is consistent. The assumption that Black women will endure, adapt, and give without adequate compensation persists. Conyers’ refusal to accept that assumption is what made her post resonate.

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The Baby Is the Priority—The Woman Carrying It, Not So Much

Her experience also raises important questions about transparency within the surrogacy industry. What determines base compensation? How are risks factored in? What protections are guaranteed if complications arise? These concerns are central to the decision-making process for anyone considering surrogacy. For Conyers, the answer is clear. The system needs to change before she would consider participating.

“There needs to be more transparency, better compensation, and stronger protections across the board, not just during pregnancy, but before and after. I would also need to feel like my life and my health are truly being valued, not just the outcome.”

The outcome, a healthy baby, is often the focus of surrogacy narratives. The person who makes that outcome possible is frequently secondary. Re-centering her experience is a matter of accountability. Her advice to other women considering surrogacy reflects that perspective.

“For other women, I would say do your research, know your worth, and don’t let anyone minimize what you’re offering. Ask questions, read everything, and advocate for yourself at every step. This is not something to go into blindly or emotionally. It’s a major decision, and it should be treated like one.”

The broader conversation sparked by Conyers’ post is not going away. It touches on fundamental questions about how society values women’s bodies, how industries operate within that framework, and how disparities in healthcare should influence those dynamics.

It also reveals a generational and cultural shift in how these issues are discussed. The divide between Threads and Facebook responses is telling. Threads, often described as the new home for Black Twitter discourse, leaned into affirmation and self-advocacy. The other leaned into moral judgment and traditional expectations. That split reflects evolving attitudes about autonomy, labor, and worth.

View on Threads

https://www.threads.com/embed.js

At Minimum, Pay Her Like Her Life Matters

Black women have long been at the forefront of conversations about reproductive justice. That framework goes beyond access to healthcare. It encompasses the right to have children, the right not to have children, and the right to raise children in safe environments. It also includes the right to make informed decisions about one’s body without coercion or undue pressure.

Surrogacy sits at a complicated intersection of those rights. It can be an empowering choice. It can also be exploitative if not properly regulated and valued. The difference lies in how the system is structured and how the individuals within it are treated.

Conyers’ story does not reject surrogacy outright. It calls for a more honest, equitable approach. It asks what it would look like to truly value the person at the center of the process. It challenges the idea that compassion and compensation are mutually exclusive. It also forces a reckoning with a simple truth. Black women are not obligated to accept less, especially when the stakes are truly life and death.

A $45,000 offer is a reflection of what the system believes that labor is worth. It is a starting point for a conversation that needs to go much further. It is a reminder that value is not determined by what is offered, but by what is required. Conyers has made it clear what is required for her. The question now is whether the system is willing to meet that standard.

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