Mother’s Day When You're Infertile (and Black)

Mother’s Day can just suck when you’re struggling with fertility—whether you’re still figuring it out, dealing with a diagnosis, or waiting on a partner to have kids.

But it seems to suck especially hard if you’re Black in America.

Why?

Because Black folks love our mamas.

Sure, everyone loves their moms—it’s the biggest card-buying holiday of the year and flower shops get wiped out (ok mostly, shout to those with complex mom relationships). But Black people? We looooove our mamas. It’s all over our culture—at award show speeches, on TV (Claire Huxtable was and will forever be my dream mom), even in the White House (RIP Mrs. Marian), and definitely in our music.

When the Music Hurts

I grew up in the ’90s, blasting Tupac’s “Dear Mama” and Boyz II Men’s “A Song for Mama” for my mom every year. I still love hearing them now—as a mom myself. But a few years ago, when I was in the thick of infertility, unsure if I’d ever have kids of my own—those songs gutted me. I wanted to hide under the covers and shut my ears off. Mother’s Day felt brutal. Yes, I was a stepmother—and there’s real joy and complexity in that—but all I could focus on was birthing my own children.

Why Did It Matter So Much?

I always wanted kids. I always wanted a family. But motherhood carried a weight I couldn’t quite explain. That’s why, as I travel the country directing a documentary about Black families, climate change, and fertility (I recently wrote about it in The Guardian), I started asking: What does it mean to be a Black mom? What do family and children mean in our communities?

Because it felt sacred.

Even though the subject matter is heavy—environmental disaster, the climate crisis—I keep coming back to the joy. The joy that family brings us. The joy of Black mothering. That is my north star while filming. And maybe… my achilles heel.

What People Told Me

One commentator said my film shouldn’t focus so much on Black mothers and birthing people not being able to have the healthy babies they want, but on the system that fails them. And sure, the system matters. But I also wanted to center Black mothering because it feels like the heart of Black life in this country. The heart of this country. Period. So I keep asking. And I heard things like this:

“Having babies is our legacy. It’s what comes after us. It’s what was once stripped away from us when we came to America.”

“Being able to create a family means keeping the best parts of how we were raised—and transforming the painful ones. It’s about creating something beautiful and whole, despite everything.”

“The only thing we can really claim as ours is birth. And that’s what we’re owed. Period.”

“Being a mom isn’t just about the moment you give birth. It’s about protecting your child, your family, and your legacy. It made me think past my usual five-year plan. That’s what motherhood does—it makes the world bigger than you.”

I Wanted a Bigger World

Those women helped me see why I was so drawn to the story of Black motherhood and family, because I think that’s what I wanted: a world beyond me. And that’s something powerful and beautiful in Black culture.

Yes, there are so many ways to mother—something we’ve always known. There are so many ways to build legacy and family. But that message can be hard to hear when you’re on hormone shots, praying for test results, grieving another negative.

My Aunt Dee was a masterful mother, even though she never gave birth. (My second baby is named Charlie Dee in her honor.) I don’t know why she didn’t have kids—maybe it had something to do with the scar down her belly—but her legacy was love. That was enough.

People told me often—especially when I was single—that there are many ways Black women mother. But I couldn’t hear it. And maybe that’s okay. Because being empowered in your fertility journey means being free to make your own choices. To feel what you need to feel. And to grieve what didn’t happen the way you hoped. To hate Mother’s Day, even if you love your own mother. And sometimes to be mad about it all.

So If You’re In It Right Now…

If you're struggling this Mother’s Day—remember: It’s okay to stay home from the brunches. To cry. To hide under the covers. To play Hit 'Em Up instead of Dear Mama. Because honestly? That’s Pac’s best song anyway.

We’re almost ready to launch

In other news… after a short delay, Oshun Griot will be ready for World Infertility Awareness Month in June. Sign up here and get word of the launch in the App store and Google Play as soon as we’re out!

And here’s a pic of my Aunt Dee to celebrate mothers in all their different forms.
And one of my own Mommy—who would be mad if I didn’t shout her out too…

—xx Reniqua
Founder, Oshun Griot