If the harm is sex-specific, the language has to be sex-specific.Especially for Black women.Especially in maternal health. Black women have
If the harm is sex-specific, the language has to be sex-specific.
Especially for Black women.
Especially in maternal health.
Black women have always understood the power of naming. (My own mother adorned me with a name that has deep symbolic and guiding light meaning. We talked about it often throughout my childhood. Wings for the treacherous journey.)
We insist on saying Black because history taught us that if we don’t name ourselves, the world will not only erase us, they will keep harming us. And repeat. And repeat. And then act as if they did not know it was wrong to harm Black people because you do not like us. Work the cycle.
But when it comes to our womanhood, many of us still hesitate.
We soften.
We widen the circle.
We include everyone—because we were taught that if we didn’t, we were being selfish.
We learned to dim our truth so others would not call us divisive.
We learned to carry everyone else’s struggle on our backs, even when our own bodies were breaking.
But maternal health is not the place to practice self-erasure.
Not when Black women are dying.
Not when our pregnancies, our pain, our losses, and our victories happen inside female bodies, shaped by biology and scarred by history.
Sex-based language is not exclusion.
It is not a lack of generosity.
It is not a failure of solidarity.
It is survival.
It is the clarity we need to protect Black women’s lives.
Why Black Women Must Speak Plainly About Our Womanhood
Our maternal crisis is not random.
It is not generic.
It is not “for everyone.”
It targets us because we are Black and because we are women.
Every single injustice—dismissed pain, misdiagnosis, preventable death, disrespect in labor, unnecessary surgeries—falls at the intersection of our race and our sex.
If we blur either part—Blackness or womanhood—we lose the truth.
And when the truth becomes blurred, the danger becomes invisible.
Black women cannot afford that.
We Think We Are Being Kind. But Often, We Are Being Conditioned…Again
Black women are trained from girlhood to be caretakers of the whole:
to make room
to soften demands
to never center ourselves
to never speak too specifically about our needs
to never inconvenience anyone
to never be “too Black,” “too female,” or “too particular”
We’ve been shaped to believe that advocating for ourselves is selfish.
But real self-care—the kind Audre Lorde spoke of—is not selfish.
It is self-preservation.
It is political warfare.
It is the courage to say:
I am a Black woman.
My life matters.
My womanhood matters.
My survival matters.
And I do not have to dilute my language to be worthy of care.
This Is Why Sex-Based Language Matters
Pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, postpartum crisis—these are not abstract human experiences.
They are biological events that happen to female bodies.
If we do not name the body, we cannot protect the body.
If we do not say “Black women,” the system defaults to being allegedly “colorblind”—which has never protected us.
If we do not say “maternal health,” the data disappears.
Clear language is not harm.
Clear language is the lifeline.
A Teaching Moment for Anyone Who Truly Wants to Stand With Us
Use the words “Black women.”
Use the words “maternal health.”
Use “girl child marriage“. Who is out here marrying little boys? Boys are being assaulted and harmed and WE are disgusted enough to write and speak about it on the internet that is forever and in person too. BUT who is marrying them, entrapping them, impregnating them, jacking their innocence? Name the harm. Name the harmer.
Use the words “female human bodies” “girl” and “women” when you mean pregnancy. Even when they gasp and call you hateful. The hate is what is happening to women. The hate is the fact that too often grown men are impregnating girls. But all the reasons that we can’t say true words center men’s feelings.
Don’t replace our reality with vagueness. Refuse.
Don’t make our crisis unsearchable or un-trackable.
Don’t make our womanhood disappear to be polite.
If you want to help us, name us.
We are not concepts.
We are not footnotes.
We are not categories inside categories.
We are Black women.
And the world must finally learn to care for us as Black women. That’s a beautiful thing. Not something to hide or dilute. Not something unsayable.
Black women are a divine creation.
A Rallying Cry for Our Own Souls
This is the self-care Audre Lorde meant:
The moment when a Black woman finally says,
“I deserve to speak plainly about what happens to my body.”
The moment we stop performing softness for others.
The moment we choose clarity over comfort.
The moment we choose survival over silence.
Naming ourselves is not selfish.
It is sacred.
It is protective.
It is how we make sure every Black mother comes home with her baby.
We name us clearly so we can protect us fully.
*** People can name themselves whatever they choose (see how we love), but what we cannot afford to do is allow others to un-name Black women…and then DEMAND and REQUIRE that we do the same.
Survival