I Am Not Your Baby Mother

I Am Not Your Baby Mother Plot Summary

Introduction

The term "baby mother" has long been used to diminish and disable the legitimacy of Black women's motherhood. It's a label that carries stigma, judgment, and assumptions that rarely align with the lived experiences of those it attempts to define. In British society, particularly when we think about Black British women being depicted as mothers in media, what comes to mind? Is it a well-to-do-looking woman sitting cross-legged in a vegan cafe breastfeeding her baby while reading about meditation? Or is it a caricature who doesn't seem to be enjoying motherhood at all? Candice Brathwaite's journey challenges these limited portrayals, creating space for Black British mothers to share their multifaceted experiences with pride. Through her candid exploration of pregnancy, birth, and raising children while Black in Britain, she illuminates the unique hurdles faced - from being five times more likely to die in childbirth than white counterparts, to navigating racial bias in healthcare, education, and society at large. Her story is not just personal testimony but a manifesto calling for Black women to know their version of motherhood is as righteous and sacred as any other, deserving of the same protection, respect, and celebration that white motherhood has received for decades.

Chapter 1: Defying the 'Baby Mother' Stereotype

Before the term "baby mother" was co-opted by mainstream culture and repackaged as the Americanized "Baby Mama," within the Black community it carried significant stigma. Growing up, Brathwaite recalls stern warnings from her father: "Now don't you become someone's baby mother! You're better than that!" Aunties would advise: "Try and get married first. It just sets a better tone." The message was clear - having a child out of wedlock was viewed as failure. This perception stood in stark contrast to earlier generations of her family. When her grandmother became pregnant in Barbados, she and her grandfather quickly married before immigrating to the UK after Windrush. The cultural expectation was clear: to legitimize a pregnancy, one needed to be committed in the eyes of both church and community. But by the late 1980s and early 1990s, something was shifting. Young Black women were increasingly raising children alone, whether by circumstance or choice, as feminism extended its reach and offered new possibilities. Yet society reduced these women's entire identity to "baby mothers," stripping away their individuality and the selfless nature of their decision to raise children regardless of relationship status. As Brathwaite observes, "the term 'baby mother' isn't just a succession of piercing words solely cast upon single Black mothers, it's become a label which is used primarily to dismantle and disable the legitimacy of Black women's version of motherhood in general." This stereotype affected Brathwaite's own resistance to motherhood initially. The fear of becoming a "baby mother" and all it represented made her cautious. When she eventually became pregnant with her partner Bode, she found herself at a crossroads - uncertain about embracing motherhood yet determined not to be defined by limiting stereotypes that had haunted generations of Black women before her. Brathwaite's defiance ultimately takes the form of reclaiming the narrative. She doesn't want to reclaim the term "baby mother" - it can "stay on the shelf," as she puts it. Instead, she wants Black women who happen to be mothers to have space to share their journeys with pride, irrespective of family structure, finances, or relationship history. Her assertion that "I may have a baby. I may be a mother. But I am not your baby mother" becomes both personal statement and political declaration, challenging society's narrow framing of Black motherhood.

Chapter 2: Navigating Pregnancy and Racism in Healthcare

The healthcare system's racial disparities became painfully evident during Brathwaite's pregnancy and birth experiences. When confirming her pregnancy with a doctor, she immediately faced assumptions about her relationship status. "And the father?" the doctor asked, looking around the empty room. Though Bode was simply at work, the implication was clear - the doctor expected a Black woman to be alone. This microaggression was just the beginning of a healthcare journey marred by bias. Determined to have a natural birth experience, Brathwaite planned a home delivery for her first child, Esmé. She immersed herself in Ina May Gaskin's books on natural childbirth, though she noted the absence of Black women's experiences in these texts. When a Guyanese midwife examined her at 38 weeks and predicted she would need a C-section, Brathwaite resisted, feeling her wishes were being dismissed. Yet as her due date passed and induction became necessary, she found herself in the very medical environment she had hoped to avoid. The labor process proved traumatic. Hospital staff routinely spoke about her rather than to her, and her pain was minimized. After ultimately delivering by Caesarean section, her needs continued to be overlooked. Three days after returning home, Brathwaite developed severe symptoms - night sweats, dizziness, and a concerning lump beneath her C-section wound. Despite repeatedly raising these issues with visiting midwives, she was told it was "normal" and just hormones recalibrating. It was only when infection burst through her wound, releasing black-green discharge, that her condition was finally taken seriously. Rushed to the hospital, she was diagnosed with sepsis - the pus-filled sac above her C-section wound had infected her bloodstream. "I came this close to not being a mother to Esmé," she reflects. During her recovery, a Nigerian doctor removed her drainage tubes with unnecessary roughness, telling her to stop crying because "you've just had a baby" - highlighting how even healthcare providers who looked like her could perpetuate the expectation for Black women to be strong and silent through pain. The 2018 MBRRACE-UK report later confirmed what Brathwaite had experienced firsthand: Black women in the UK are five times more likely to die in childbirth than white women. While healthcare professionals often attributed this to higher rates of pregnancy-related illnesses among Black women, Brathwaite recognized that conscious and unconscious bias played a significant role. Her experience revealed how the healthcare system, a product of a society governed by white supremacy, consistently failed Black mothers through dismissal, neglect, and inadequate care.

Chapter 3: Building Financial Resilience Despite Systemic Challenges

Financial insecurity colored Brathwaite's early parenting journey. When she discovered she was pregnant with Esmé, she and Bode were both employed - she as a receptionist earning £8 per hour, he making £17,000 annually in the tool hire industry. Despite their steady income, basic calculations made it clear they were "too fucking poor to have a kid." Unlike many middle-class white families, they lacked the safety net of parental financial support that often facilitates home ownership and stability for new families. This financial precarity wasn't unique in the Black British experience. Brathwaite observed a stark difference between her white acquaintances and Black peers. While first-time buyers borrowed over six billion pounds from their parents in 2017 alone, fewer than a third of Black households were headed by owner-occupiers. The "Bank of Mum and Dad" simply wasn't available to most Black families she knew, creating a generational wealth disadvantage that perpetuated housing instability. Cultural expectations further complicated financial progress. As the eldest of three siblings to a single mother, Brathwaite was expected to contribute significantly to household expenses from her early wages. This pattern repeated across her community: "Being the eldest of three siblings to a single mother, I had been there before. A donation to the rent was standard practice and if you had the cheek to be employed full-time and didn't contribute up to half of your salary to the household you lived in, it would be considered seriously 'disrespectful'." This financial burden meant many young Black professionals couldn't save for their own futures while supporting extended family. Career opportunities were similarly constrained. Brathwaite had aspired to work in fashion publishing, but the unpaid internships required to break into the industry were financially impossible. While her white counterparts could rely on parental support during these unpaid stints, she couldn't afford to stop contributing to her household. The nepotism that advanced "the Bens and Billies" she made tea for remained inaccessible to her. Despite these challenges, Brathwaite found creative ways to demonstrate financial dignity. When expecting Esmé, she became fixated on acquiring a Bugaboo stroller - the "Lamborghini of baby vehicles" that signaled a certain type of motherhood. Unable to afford the £1,300 new price tag, she found a second-hand model on Gumtree for £250. The journey to collect it from an affluent white woman in Kilburn, who initially mistook her for a charity worker at the door, highlighted the intersection of race and class judgments she constantly navigated. Yet securing this status symbol represented a small victory: "Against all odds, financial or otherwise, I had provided. Like so many Black mothers who had come before me, I was willing to go to the ends of the earth."

Chapter 4: Protecting Black Children in a Hostile Environment

The decision to leave London emerged from an urgent need to protect her children, particularly her son. By 2017, when Brathwaite discovered she was pregnant with her second child, knife crime in London had reached alarming levels. The statistics were devastating - 2018 had been the bloodiest year in almost a decade with 134 murders, and 2019 was on track to exceed that. For Black parents, these weren't just numbers but a terrifying reality. Unlike her childhood, when Stephen Lawrence and Damilola Taylor's murders seemed like isolated tragedies, violence had become omnipresent. "By the time I was eighteen, the whole of London - not just Peckham - was suffering from terrifying gun issues," she recalls. Drive-by shootings, machetes in nightclubs, and postcode wars had transformed once-familiar neighborhoods into danger zones. While Operation Trident focused on gun crime, knife violence had metastasized into "a cancer for which there seems to be no cure." The media's racialized framing of this violence compounded the problem. When white teenagers like Jodie Chesney were murdered, they received front-page coverage as "angels" who "wouldn't harm a fly." Meanwhile, Black victims were relegated to passport-sized images in slim columns, perpetuating the narrative that Black lives mattered less. Drill music became an easy scapegoat for the violence, despite evidence that knife crime transcended both race and musical preferences, as Glasgow's former status as "murder capital of Europe" demonstrated. The government's response - more police and increased stop-and-search powers - further alienated communities already distrustful of law enforcement after cases like Mark Duggan's. Brathwaite witnessed this firsthand at Notting Hill Carnival, where a seventeen-year-old Black boy was stopped by six officers merely for wearing a tracksuit on a hot day. Later that same day, she saw seven Black boys forced to face a wall with hands above their heads: "If you continuously treat a section of humanity as animals, how long do you think it will be before they act accordingly?" Underlying these issues, Brathwaite identified poverty as a root cause. With fewer Black graduates than white counterparts, many were trapped in low-paid work or zero-hour contracts, forcing parents to work longer hours away from home. Community resources that might have filled this gap - youth clubs and community centers - were disappearing due to funding cuts. Meanwhile, gentrification transformed neighborhoods like Brixton, where the market sold for £37.3 million while the local academy excluded over 20% of its pupils. For Brathwaite, the decision became clear: "For the son I would give birth to, the threats were imminent and all-consuming." Though leaving London meant sacrificing community and support systems, protecting her children took precedence. "With this baby, just like the last, I would choose life. For him, her and us."

Chapter 5: Creating Space for Black Motherhood in Media

The invisibility of Black British mothers in media drove Brathwaite to carve out her own space. After struggling through pregnancy without seeing herself represented in parenting resources, she turned to Instagram. While she posted pictures of Esmé like any proud parent, she quickly noticed that hashtags like "real parenting" and "welcome to motherhood" showcased a predominantly white experience. "Just like in traditional media, there didn't seem to be much diversity when it came to the way motherhood was presented on social media either," she observed. This absence reflected deeper cultural dynamics. The Black community, historically guarded after centuries of exploitation, was hesitant to share personal lives online. As Brathwaite put it, "From their mac and cheese recipes to how we stop our black from cracking, it's all under lock and key." Yet she persisted in sharing her authentic experience, understanding that "you can't be what you can't see." Working briefly in publishing marketing, Brathwaite noticed two troubling patterns: she was never given contact details for Black bloggers, and white influencers were paid substantial sums to promote books. This realization sparked a business opportunity. With advertising on social media still emerging, she identified "a Black-woman-shaped hole with my name on it." Despite her partner Bode's concerns about leaving steady employment, Brathwaite decided to become a content creator focused on authentic Black motherhood. Growth came slowly, not overnight. She balanced authenticity with accessibility, refusing to perpetuate stereotypes of Black women "living in high-rise concrete blocks waiting on a giro cheque." Instead, she showcased her intact Black family - "Here we were, a very Black mum and dad raising a very Black child" - challenging the media's preference for interracial couples as their version of diversity. Her approach met resistance from some Black women who questioned why she wanted acceptance from white mommy influencers, but Brathwaite held firm: "I wanted a family like mine to be front and center of it all, visible and present." This persistence led to creating "Make Motherhood Diverse," an Instagram platform showcasing varied parenting experiences beyond the white middle-class norm. When a parenting competition called "Star Mum" announced an all-white judging panel in 2018, Brathwaite spoke out despite fears of professional consequences. The resulting controversy taught her about the complexities of call-out culture, but reinforced her commitment to representation. Her growing influence eventually placed her alongside the established white mommy bloggers, though this proximity revealed hidden hostilities. When the "queen bee of UK mummy blogging" was exposed in 2019 for anonymously writing that Brathwaite "brings everything back to race, class and privilege" and "uses race as a weapon," it confirmed her suspicions about the industry's resistance to change. Though deeply hurt, Brathwaite recognized the incident as "the very embodiment of all that I ever said Black women have to deal with on- and offline."

Chapter 6: Confronting Racism in Education and Online Communities

When Brathwaite's family relocated from London to a small village in Milton Keynes, they became "the only blacks in the village" apart from one Indian family running the corner shop. The move, motivated by safety concerns, soon presented new challenges when Esmé started school. Though Brathwaite had carefully chosen a school with a few other Black children to ensure her daughter wouldn't feel completely isolated, racism nonetheless found its way into Esmé's experience. The first indication came when five-year-old Esmé asked about cutting her locs, explaining that classmates had called her hair "really rough." Brathwaite's heart broke as she reassured her daughter about the strength and beauty of her natural hair. Then came the call from school that truly shattered her: "Today at lunchtime, unfortunately, a young girl refused to play with Esmé because she said her skin was too dark." The teacher's apologetic tone seemed more concerned about having to discipline the white child than about Esmé's wellbeing, and the incident had happened at lunch but was only reported at day's end. Arriving at the school, Brathwaite struggled to contain her rage while remembering her friend Remi's warning: "You have every right to go in there and turn over a table, but remember that when they catch us on CCTV, the evidence will always be used against us, never to support us." The subsequent meeting with school administrators revealed disturbing complacency. The head teacher admitted they hadn't even considered including racial incidents in their policy manual, and their solution was bringing in "African drummers" to teach about different cultures - exemplifying what Brathwaite called "Caucasity at its most premium." This experience accelerated their decision to pursue private education, despite the financial strain. Visiting a prestigious school that resembled "Hogwarts," Brathwaite observed diverse representation in student photos and classroom materials. Though the £3,500 per term fees would be challenging, seeing Esmé's excitement - "Oh my gosh, all of this space for meeeeeee!" - convinced her the sacrifice was worthwhile. The online sphere presented parallel challenges. After building a following advocating for diverse representation in parenting media, Brathwaite discovered a prominent white mommy blogger had been anonymously writing that she was "very aggressive" and "brings everything back to race, class and privilege because she knows it will silence people." This betrayal from someone she'd collaborated with professionally demonstrated how words like "aggressive" and "angry" are weaponized against Black women. Such experiences took a toll on Brathwaite's mental health, yet she remained resolute: "If I have to be used as a tool to uncover the real thinking of women that dominate this space, I will fall on my own sword, time and time again." Her commitment to authentic representation persisted despite the personal cost, recognizing that online environments mirror societal prejudices that affect every aspect of Black motherhood.

Chapter 7: Pioneering Representation and Making Motherhood Diverse

Brathwaite's journey to transform the media landscape for Black British mothers required persistence in the face of resistance. When she launched "Make Motherhood Diverse" in autumn 2017, it quickly became "an oasis in a desert" for parents who had never seen themselves represented. The platform welcomed submissions from all kinds of mothers and parents, creating space for Asian mothers, disabled mothers, and mothers in same-sex relationships - groups she realized had been equally invisible in mainstream parenting narratives. This inclusive approach wasn't merely symbolic but practical. Brathwaite understood how representation affects real-world outcomes, particularly in education. She observed that Black children often struggled to reach their potential in British state schools, facing overcrowding, racism from educational professionals, and higher risks of exclusion. Her advocacy for private education stemmed from this reality: "If you want your child to succeed at school, you either have to be consistently present, often taking time away from your own work, or you have to pay for it." Her influence grew steadily, allowing her to implement change from within the industry. When booking jobs, she requested call sheets to ensure she wouldn't be the only Black face on set. She pushed brands to consider diversity behind the camera as well, recognizing that PR teams that reflected only a small portion of society perpetuated exclusionary casting. Most importantly, she ensured that Black and brown women weren't just included in campaigns but paid properly for their participation. This work often came with personal sacrifice. The online abuse Brathwaite faced reflected findings from Amnesty International that Black women are among the most targeted groups on social media. After one YouTube video, unmoderated comments included racial slurs so vicious she "lay in bed for a week crying." Yet she persisted, understanding that her visibility created pathways for others: "If I have to be used as a tool to uncover the real thinking of women that dominate this space, I will fall on my own sword, time and time again." The humbling loss of Rachel ("BreathlesslyMothering"), an early supporter of Make Motherhood Diverse who had shared her experience living with chronic illness before passing away, reinforced Brathwaite's commitment. Rachel represented the "ten percent" that made the struggle worthwhile - "the little glimpses of togetherness, hope, joy and progression" that cut through darkness. Ultimately, Brathwaite's pioneering work in representation aimed to humanize the Black British motherhood experience, challenging narratives previously controlled by those who had never lived it. Her mission extended beyond personal validation to fundamental transformation: "I'm only really interested in engaging with those who have taken on the themes within this book, who have not only been entertained but also enlightened, and who are now impassioned to see how they can actively help make a change and not just be seen to be doing so." Her closing question - "What will you do when nobody is watching?" - places responsibility on readers to continue the work of making motherhood truly diverse.

Summary

Candice Brathwaite's journey illuminates how Black motherhood in Britain exists at the intersection of multiple systemic challenges - from healthcare disparities that threaten maternal survival to educational environments that diminish Black children's potential. Through her unflinching examination of these realities and her pioneering work in media representation, she demonstrates that the path to change requires both individual courage and collective action. Her experiences reveal that true inclusivity demands more than token gestures; it requires dismantling deeply entrenched stereotypes and rebuilding systems that recognize the full humanity of Black mothers. For anyone seeking to understand or ally with Black British mothers, Brathwaite offers a fundamental principle: recognition without judgment. By acknowledging the unique hurdles Black women face while respecting their autonomy and celebrating their resilience, we begin to create a world where the term "baby mother" loses its power as a weapon of diminishment. Her assertion - "I may have a baby. I may be a mother. But I am not your baby mother" - stands as both personal declaration and universal invitation to see Black motherhood in all its complexity, beauty, and strength.

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Candice Brathwaite

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