‘Fine’ Isn’t The Goal — Black Breastfeeding Week Calls Us To Give Our Babies Better [Op-Ed]

Every Black millennial parent I know has heard some version of this phrase: “My kids turned out fine.”

It’s often delivered with a shrug, a smirk, or that trademark I’ve-been-there laugh. It’s meant to shut down conversation, to reassert authority, to wave away whatever newfangled guideline, boundary, or preference you’ve just expressed about feeding your child.

It’s very tempting to let it slide. After all, you’re probably already tired from a late-night nursing session, a sink full of pump parts, and the mental gymnastics of tracking ounces, wake windows, and developmental milestones. That “turned out fine” response is defensive, dismissive, and uninformed all at once.

When I hear it, my gut reaction is, Did they, though? I know millennials — my peers — who live with chronic gastrointestinal issues, food allergies, and autoimmune disorders. I wonder how much of that connects back to being fed table food earlier than today’s recommendations or to shifts in infant feeding norms that strayed from what science (and history) tells us is optimal.

Black Breastfeeding Week, observed from Aug. 25 to 31, is the perfect time to confront why “my kids turned out fine” isn’t the mic drop people think it is, and how bridging the gap between science and tradition can ensure our babies thrive.

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Generational resistance — and where it comes from.

For many Black families, resistance to exclusive breastfeeding or extended nursing is layered with historical trauma.

“Our ancestors were expert midwives, doulas, lactation consultants, and wet nurses,” I told one friend recently. “Because those skills were exploited during slavery and beyond, we saw disassociation for a few generations. Some never learned to do it themselves.”

Like farming and other ancestral skills, lactation was commodified and weaponized against us. Enslaved Black women were often forced to feed white children while their own infants went hungry. That history calcified into cultural gaps and generational disconnects.

When a modern Black mom chooses to exclusively breastfeed, or to nurse past infancy, older relatives may not have a lived model for it. They want to be helpful, but because they didn’t do it themselves, they can’t be the “expert” in that space. That can stir up discomfort for grandmothers and other support people.

International Board Certified Lactation Consultant and mother of two, Nichelle Clark, has lived this dynamic firsthand.

“Chile! Them folks — and by them folks, I mean family and friends — called me all kinds of high and mighty,” she says, “just by making different choices for my children. I’ve even received it from other parents in my generation as if breastfeeding my kids was an affront to them. It comes from societal guilt and shame and class wars, but it’s still baffling every time.”

Science vs. tradition: the collision

Modern medical recommendations don’t always match generational norms. The World Health Organization recommends breastfeeding for at least two years, with solid foods introduced around six months. Globally, the average natural weaning age is between 2 and 4 years, and in some cultures, children have nursed until 5, 6, or even 7.

In the U.S., many parents — and especially many grandparents — were told something different. In the 20th century, formula feeding was aggressively marketed as modern and superior. Breastfeeding rates plummeted, and early introduction of solids became the norm.

That divergence can cause friction. Older relatives may question why you’re “still nursing that big ol’ baby” or insist a cup is “good enough” past a certain age.

Nichelle nursed her son for five years (exclusively pumping) and her daughter for two and a half years. She’s heard it all.

“You can’t spoil a baby; they don’t go bad,” she says with a laugh. “And if I am, spoiling them with love and nurturing is a good thing. I’ve had to gather a few folk — this is my body. As long as I’m ok with it and my child is ok with it, we good over here.”

She’s also quick to note the roots of the resistance. “Going back to slavery, they had to have the babies, then prepare them for servitude. It was life or death. And trauma like that doesn’t just go away. Even in more recent history, Black parents didn’t have the luxury of just being still and healing and nurturing in the postpartum period. People fear and judge the unknown.”

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The problem with “fine”

“My kids turned out fine” is often meant to reassure — Look, you don’t have to work so hard; everything will be okay. When it’s used to dismiss current research or override a parent’s decision, it becomes a barrier to informed care.

Nichelle reframes the conversation around access and agency. “There’s the saying ‘breast is best’ and ‘Fed is best.’ Not fed is a felony. Informed is best. When parents are informed of their options, whatever option they choose for their family is the best.”

That’s the crux. Informed choice respects the realities of each family, whether that’s exclusive breastfeeding, combination feeding, or formula use. Too often, “fine” is used to gloss over the fact that older generations didn’t always have that choice. Formula was sometimes free, while lactation support was nonexistent. Paid maternity leave was rare. Racist hospital practices still push formula on Black mothers disproportionately today.

When we flatten all of that into “fine,” we lose the opportunity to talk about what could have been better — and what can be better now.

Extended nursing: What’s the real issue?

The WHO guideline of breastfeeding for two years is still seen as radical in many U.S. circles. Nursing beyond the first birthday invites side-eyes, unsolicited weaning tips, and whispered judgments. I practiced baby-led weaning with both of my sons, nursing them for nearly two years each. For me, the “right” time was when they were ready — not when someone else’s comfort level ran out.

Nichelle echoes that sentiment and pushes back on the myths about extended breastfeeding.“I think people think it’s selfish or that we don’t have boundaries with our children. It’s not that at all. It’s responding to your child and creating secure attachments.” She’s also frank about the joy. “It was wonderful. Even with teeth. I was only bitten once, and it wasn’t bad enough to stop nursing.”

Bridging the gap — without pointing fingers.

So how do we move from generational tension to genuine support?

1. Yield the floor.
If you plan to be part of a family’s village, accept that the parents get to make the choices for their child. Inform if you have factual, up-to-date information, but don’t impose based on your own history.

2. Validate — then update.
Nichelle’s approach with well-meaning elders is simple: “Yep, I’ve heard that. We DID used to believe that. But newer research is showing us we didn’t have the full picture.” It honors their experience while making space for new knowledge.

3. Center informed choice.
Avoid framing feeding decisions as moral hierarchies. “Informed is best” leaves room for all realities — medical, financial, and emotional.

4. Create new support systems.
If the discouragement is coming from inside the house — literally — help connect moms to peer groups, doulas, or lactation consultants. “You can create your own community,” Nichelle reminds parents.

5. Keep history in the conversation.
Understanding why breastfeeding fell out of favor in Black communities — from slavery to systemic barriers in healthcare — reframes it not as a personal failing but as a cultural interruption. Reclaiming it is restoration work.

Why this matters during Black Breastfeeding Week

Black Breastfeeding Week champions health equity, cultural reclamation, and closing the gap in breastfeeding rates that persist between Black families and the national average.

For Nichelle, this work is deeply personal and deeply historical. “It feels like… reparations,” she says. “I feel like my ancestors’ wildest dreams. Taking back our cultural practices and reclaiming our narrative so that Black babies can reap the benefits of this good milk is such an honor. It kinda feels like working for the TVA [from Marvel] and I’m righting timelines.”

Moving forward

The next time someone says, “My kids turned out fine,” you don’t have to launch into a lecture. You also don’t have to let it stand unchallenged. A simple, “They did — and I want mine to, too. That’s why I’m making these choices,” can be enough to signal that your parenting isn’t up for debate.

Our mothers and grandmothers did the best they could with what they knew and with what they could access. We honor them by using the best of what we know now — even when it looks different. “Fine” is good, but our babies deserve better than just fine.

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