3 Re-Imagining Queer Black Motherhood Elizabeth Y. Whittington Introduction Recently, as I have tried to start dating again, I have been met with various responses by different women when they find out I have kids. One woman said, “you know it would be easier if your ex was a man.” Another woman said, “You are the first woman I have met who has children with another woman.” It seems even in the Queer community my mothering is an anomaly or difficult to process because it does not follow the traditional way of conceiving and parenting. I have discovered that at my age, it is still somewhat unique that my children were not conceived from either an exhusband or ex-boyfriend. In dominant discourse, motherhood traditionally results from a cis-gendered man and a cis-gendered woman having intercourse and the woman conceiving a child. In the last few decades, there has been a rise in same-sex couples or single parents choosing to have a child without having a partner (Roberts 2017). Throughout this chapter, I explore my various journeys to motherhood. Autoethnography As a critical autoethnography, it is important to position myself in this piece. I am a Black, Queer, non-heteronormative, cis-gender woman who was raised in an extremely religious household. I grew up like many being told that being a mother consisted of marrying a man and having a child. However, this would not be my story. In the following chapter, I explain the process of drawing on personal experience (through journal and memories) and then applying theoretical lenses to generate new insight into the cultural and communicative practices surrounding Black queer motherhood. When compiling these narratives, I realized Patricia Hill Collins’ book that discussed Black motherhood themes and realized many of the themes were presented in my own narratives. I examine these theories of Black motherhood, queer motherhood and Black feminism as lenses to unpack my experience and share these insights in the form of four narratives of my personal motherhood journey. Autoethnography is “a critical DOI: 10.4324/9781003311799-5 Re-Imagining Queer Black Motherhood 43 methodology or approach to doing critical cultural examinations that might shape the mode of investigating experience, but not establish a standard of experience” (Alexander 2012, 141). Eguchi (2015) reinforces “that autoethnography is a powerful and radical method to disrupt normative systems of knowledge production to investigate historically marginalized experiences” (29). They continue “autoethnography is about the way in which the self-implicates the complexities and contradictions of ideological and material environments” (29). “Autoethnography focuses on personal experiences in order to critically and performatively investigate social, cultural, political, and historical concerns“ (Eguchi 2020, 111). Although more traditional scholars regard autoethnography as less rigorous, it actually becomes a place of transparency for the scholar and disrupts the reader’s ideals on how traditional research is analyzed and discussed (Boylorn 2008; Eguchi 2020). I specifically use Patricia Hill Collins themes of Black motherhood to analyze my own queer Black motherhood experience. I use Hill Collins as she was the first Black feminist scholar to explore Black motherhood in depth. Using this technique, I disrupt how mothering is seen in a largely heteronormative society that does not always understand the lens of queer Black motherhood or unconventional ways of mothering. Based on my experiences as a queer Black mother, and with the aid of critical reflection informed by theories of Black motherhood, I share four narratives that will help lend insight to the particular challenges of growing up queer amid the assumptions of heteronormativity, the importance and challenges of Black motherhood. These distinct, but interconnected narratives work together to demonstrate how queer Black motherhood is framed and challenged by the dominant discourse. The public discourse of motherhood does not leave space for the mothers who are not biologically mothers, those who become mothers through reproductive assistance without a male partner, or other mothers. Even within the queer community, motherhood is questioned when it is not the result of traditional male and female sexual intercourse. The assumptions of the dominant discourse on motherhood are based on biologically conceiving a child with a male partner and going into labor to deliver the child. When these assumptions are made, queer people both biologically carrying and non-carrying partner are seen as a deviation from the norm and ostracized from the conversations between “real parents.” For my ex-wife, she struggled with her role as the twins’ mom because people would ask who was she when we would go to any events that were not specifically for queer people. I was once asked by a cis-gender heterosexual male, if I had become pregnant with twins “naturally” after he found out I was married to a woman. He seemed to be asking if I conceived through a process called in vitro fertilization (IVF), in which some couples chose to transfer two embryos and if they both implant, it results in twins. He was referring to people wanting twins and using IVF to make it happen. First, I was taken aback because no matter who the person is, going through fertility treatments is stressful and 44 Elizabeth Y. Whittington financially taxing so for him to be so cavalier about it was offensive. And second, even if I did conceive my twins via IVF it was none of his business because regardless they were twins, but I also realized my own defensiveness in wanting to prove the validity of my twins to this stranger. The whole experience had me question how strangers determine the validity of how I became a mother especially to multiples and the audacity that it must have been result of medical intervention that I had twins even though twins run in my family because we were a queer couple. The audacity of some non-Queer people in their ability to define what motherhood should look like for people has led me to recognize the need for discourse that outlines the problem that exists for queer people and parenting. “Queer autoethnography is an intellectual and political commitment that destabilizes and denaturalizes the normal and ordinary sustaining the heteronormative logics of present-ness” (Eguchi 2020, 112). In other words, through my narratives I will create conversations that will hopefully allow for non-normative ways of mothering and queerness to “no longer [be] an ideality” (Eguchi 2020, 112). Through this methodological lens, I explore my journey to motherhood both nonbiologically and biologically but neither in the traditional sense. These narratives will highlight the heteronormative responses and interactions with both heterosexual and queer communities. In critical research establishing a historical perspective illustrates how the past can impact the present and future. Historical Perspective Black Motherhood Historically, Black women in the United States as slaves were not seen as the traditional mother. They were forced to mother and nurse slave owners’ children. Their own children were raised by the older slave women. They were seen as property and many times separated from their children as soon as they were old enough to work in the fields or the house. Dani McClain, author of We Live for the We, stated in an interview about the political power of Black motherhood, “We have centuries of experience trying to build family and support family and support our children in a place that’s often inhospitable” (quoted in Jeffries Warfield 2019). From slavery, Black women were not allowed to mother their children in the traditional dominant discourse. There was no such thing as being a stay at home mom, a working mom, or a housewife. They were forced to create new ways of mothering, creating spaces using other slaves to help raise their children. The idea of it takes a village comes from African countries to raising children during slavery (Hill Collins 2000). From there, during Jim Crow, Black women were forced to work outside of the home as neither their husbands nor they could afford to survive Re-Imagining Queer Black Motherhood 45 without both incomes. Many times, Black men were forced to work jobs that barely put food on the table, Black women were regulated to service jobs, cleaning and taking care of White people’s homes. The images of Black women as mothers are relegated to the “controlling images of the mammy, the matriarch, and the welfare mother” (Hill Collins 2000). From the Moynihan Report, “Black mothers were accused of failing to discipline their children, of emasculating their sons, of defeminizing their daughters,” Black women were often blamed for the destruction of the Black family (Hill Collins 2000, 173). This report was created in the 1960s as a way of blaming Black women for that destruction. White Feminist in the 1970s and 1980s described traditional motherhood in ways that lacked an examination of race and class. Motherhood was seen as White and middle class (Hill Collins 2000). Black women were not seen as mothers in this traditional realm even though it was Black women who were taking care of the children in many White households. Feminism has been one of the “few discourses advancing important analyses of motherhood, the combination of its perceived Whiteness and anti family politics limits its effectiveness” (Hill Collins 2000, 175). Without understanding the unique intersections of Black motherhood, traditional feminism has left Black women largely dismissed as a voice within motherhood discourse. Black women are going to have to find their own discourse for motherhood. Hence, this chapter adds another layer to the voice of Black motherhood in ways that challenge the dominant discourse of motherhood by adding to the narratives of what Black motherhood entails through the narratives told. For many Black feminists, motherhood becomes a cite for “personal and collective empowerment” (Baade 2019, 44). On the other side, the Black community tried to combat these negative stereotypes but at the detriment of Black women. Hill Collins (2000) states, “The controlling image of the ‘superstrong Black mother’ praises Black women’s resiliency in a society that routinely paints us as bad mothers. Glorifying the strong Black mother represents Black men’s attempts to replace negative White male interpretations with positive Black male ones” (174, 175). Recently, research on Beyonce and Black motherhood examines how she has worked against these ideas of controlling images and how her work complicates “the binary frames of celebrity motherhood and pathologized Black motherhood” (Moss 2016; Baade 2019, 44). Black motherhood has continued to try and fight the stereotypes of both sides to find their place in the definition of motherhood. From the images in the dominant discourse to the images within Black communities, Black women have had to learn how to re-imagine motherhood in authentic and realistic ways. Cox (2009) describes how since slavery the boundaries of gender have caused a tension for Black women not seen in White motherhood with having to balance the role of motherhood in the domestic arena and having to work outside of the home. This places a greater strain on Black women threatening the dependency of women on men in White 46 Elizabeth Y. Whittington patriarchy. The presence of Black women had no choice but to dismantle these ideas and threaten racial and gender oppression. This chapter adds a Black feminist analysis through autoethnography to the discourse of Black motherhood through a lens of queerness. The next section explores the history of queer motherhood. Queer Motherhood The Puritanical Christian position that marriage was between a man and a woman and that sex is for procreation, means that the thought of a queer person becoming a parent is unnatural (Clarke 2000, 192). Puritans believed that marriage was for procreation and practical survival necessary during that time. There was not an emphasis placed on love. Many queer people and/or families were not even allowed to adopt until the legalization of same sex marriages. Although every state adoption law for same sex couples are different, some states will allow religious adoption agencies to not let same sex couples adopt (Vile 2020). This and the loopholes within the law have caused queer families to seek other ways to create a family. With the creation of reproductive assisted technology, the rise of more queer families having their own children seemed feasible. However, this technology was created to “complete a traditional nuclear family by providing a married couple with a child” (Roberts 2017, 248). Laws were created through legislation regulating the use of artificial insemination to a husband and wife and some courts going as far as allowing parental rights to the sperm donor because “a child needs a father” (Roberts 2017). In this context, Roberts means that based on the cultural belief that children need to have a father in their life even if it is technically just the sperm donor. The path to motherhood for queer women as been fraught with many complications and legal and financial hindrances. Personally, I have never had an insurance company willing to pay for any fertility treatments, although I do not have a diagnosis of infertility. Many companies, especially in the South, chose to not allow this as part of an insurance package because of the opportunities it would afford queer women. We are forced to find ways to afford these procedures and many end up in debt trying to afford the ability to mother. Radical feminists have argued that “the new reproductive technologies serve more to help married men produce genetic offspring than to give women greater reproductive freedom” (Roberts 2017, 248). Queer families are deemed unnatural and therefore face the difficult tasks of how they become mothers. Rather it is through adoption or through reproductive assistance, becoming a mother is a well thought out and wanted plan. However, due to stereotypes of the dominant society, queer people are deemed unfit to parent as they are labeled as pedophiles or raising more “gay” children. The path to motherhood is not seen as the traditional path that many seek when becoming a mother, it is often met with difficulties and obstacles. For some, they find Re-Imagining Queer Black Motherhood 47 other ways to “mother” by unofficially adopting other LGBTQ+ youth whose families of origin have disowned them. Regardless of how mothering happens, for many it is not an easy journey. Many times, queer individuals must reimagine what motherhood and family mean in the LGBTQ+ community. The following narratives explore what it means to reimagine Queer Black motherhood through a Black feminist and queer lens. Theoretical Framework Black Feminism A brief explanation of Black feminism lays the foundation of each of the narratives providing a theoretical framework. The Combahee River Collective was a collective of Black feminists and laid the foundation for the work of Black feminists. Their politics included: actively committed to struggling against racial, sexual, heterosexual, and class oppression and see our particular task the development of integrated analysis and practice based upon the fact that the major systems of oppression are interlocking. The synthesis of these oppressions creates the conditions of our lives. (The Combahee River Collective 2000, 232) They also discuss how the nature of our (Black women) lives is political, leading to the personal is political. “There is also undeniably a personal genesis for black feminism, that is, the political realization that comes from the seemingly personal experiences of individual black women’s lives” (233). It is through our personal lives that we realize we are the only ones that can liberate us. “Our politics evolve from a healthy love for ourselves, our sisters, and our community, which allows us to continue or struggle and work” (234). In essence, their personal is political. “As a critical social theory, Black feminist thought aims to empower African-American women within the context of social injustice sustained by intersecting oppressions” (Hill Collins 2000, 22). Hill Collins describes, “Black woman’s standpoint as ‘centered in the experiences and ideas shared by African American women that provide a unique vision on self, community, and society and the theories that interpret these experiences’” (Richardson & Taylor 2009, 250). The difference between feminist theory and Black feminist thought is that the experiences of Black women are at the center instead of all women, which many times focuses on White women as seen with the issues in studying motherhood. However, Black feminist thought is rooted both biologically and ideologically and can be used by non-African Americans (Richardson & Taylor 2009). Black feminist thought will support the understanding of my personal narratives of motherhood. Situating my experiences as a Black feminist illustrates 48 Elizabeth Y. Whittington how my personal experiences are also political. Walker states, “I believe that the truth about any subject only comes when all sides of the story are put together, and all their different meanings make one new one” (quoted in Hill Collins 2000, 38). Motherhood has been researched from the perspective of a White feminist lens, a Black feminist lens, but little research explores the experiences of Black queer motherhood. In fact, many times Black lesbian and/or Black queer experiences have been erased from the research (Combahee River Collective 1995). “As political Black people, we bear the twin responsibilities of transforming the social, political, and economic systems of oppression as they affect all our people— not just the heterosexuals—and of transforming the corresponding psychological structure that feeds into these oppressive systems” (Combahee River Collective 1995, 201). Using Hill Collins (2000), two of the five themes on Black motherhood—(1) Bloodmothers, Othermothers, and Women-Centered Networks; (2) Mothers, Daughters, and Socialization for Survival—I incorporate my narratives to understand how these themes are similar or need expanding to understand Black queer motherhood from a non-heteronormative lens. Narratives and Analysis Mothers, Daughters, and Socialization for Survival The sexual politics of Black motherhood hold many contradictions in understanding the Black mother-daughter relationships (Hill Collins 2000). “U.S. Black mothers are often described as strong disciplinarians and overly protective; yet these same women manage to raise daughters who are selfreliant and assertive” (185). This section discusses how Black mothers raise their daughters for survival by any means necessary. Growing up, I had what I now know were romantic crushes on different girls. My mom dismissed the first one as genuine concern for my best friend when I tattled about her having a boyfriend, when the real reason was, I was jealous that she did not want me to be her girlfriend. My mom explained away the second girl I had a crush on by saying I wanted a big sister, and that was why I gave the girl special notes, cards, and flowers. My mother dismissed my sexual exploration as harmless platonic interests. She did not know how to help me survive as a queer Black woman, so she dismissed it all. When I started dating a woman, she assumed it was a phase that could be ignored. When I married a woman, I did not talk to her for six months because she refused to acknowledge my wife. When I became a mother, she only acknowledged me as the mother as I was the one who birthed my twins. And now as a divorcee, she constantly talks about my future husband and tells me to count my blessings that I have twins and that I do not need more children, even though my desire is to have more children regardless of if I have a partner. My mother (and many Black mothers) ensure our physical survival at the expense of emotional destruction Re-Imagining Queer Black Motherhood 49 (Hill Collins 2000). “African American women have long integrated economic self-reliance and mothering” (184). Black mothers are considered deviant for teaching their daughters how to fit into the sexual politics of Black womanhood. By learning the politics of Black womanhood, future Black mothers are learning to prevent sexual assault, wage, and occupation discrimination. White hegemonic society disapproves of this motherhood because it brings threat to their power. (Landeros 2017) There however is an absence of sexuality in this learning of sexual politics. The assumption is identifying as heterosexual. For traditional White motherhood, “paid work is defined as being in opposition to and incompatible with motherhood, work for Black women has been an important and valued dimension of motherhood” (184). For my mother, she had to ignore my sexuality in hopes of showing that part of survival means following the heteronormative way of motherhood. Her blatant disregard to my family dynamics when I became a mother as an adult was her way of continuing to place a “strong emphasis on protection, either by trying shield” me “as long as possible from the penalties attached to” her “derogated statues or by teaching” me “skills of independence and self-reliance so that” I “will be able to protect” myself (185–6). My mother was strict, extremely religious, and narrow-minded. The struggle to explain any emotional experiences I experienced was met with “you just need to pray about it.” This theme acknowledges that Black mothers are complicated and that as a daughter, “growing up means developing a better understanding that even though she may desire more affection and greater freedom, her mother’s physical care and protection are acts of maternal love” (188). Bloodmothers, Othermothers, and Women-Centered Networks I started my first journey to motherhood in 2001, when I became a nanny to my little cousin. I was with her from the time she woke up till the time she went to bed. I gave her baths, I fed her, clothed her, and even nursed her back to health when she was sick. She went to college advising appointments with me, the movies, the grocery store, and other errands throughout my day. I was the first person she walked to. I was more than a nanny; I was her other mother. “An ‘othermother’ is a woman who assist blood mothers by sharing mothering responsibility” (Landeros 2017). People would tell me “wait till you have your own child, you will love that child even more.” I could not comprehend it because my heart felt like it would burst, I loved this child so much. She meant the world to me. I loved her deeply and for people to dismiss that love or lessen it because she was not biologically mine left me feeling as my role was cheapened. 50 Elizabeth Y. Whittington I was also the “nanny” for my cousin’s daughter. I planned my classes in the evening while in college so that I could watch her during the day. This is part of Hill Collins’s (2000) Othermothers and Women-Centered Networks theme. Although, there has been research done on other mothers in lesbian parenting, none of these researchers have situated there research crediting Hill Collins who was one of the first to research other mothers in the Black community (Hayman et al. 2013; Brown & Perlesz 2007; Morrow 2001). This concept comes from African communities (and then slave communities) where the phrase “it takes a village” first originated. Many times in research, Whiteness situates a term and forgets to credit marginalized groups for their start with coining the term and concept. Thus, for the purpose of my research I credit Hill Collins for her research on the concept where Blackness is centered. Instead of using an online system or an agency, my cousin reached out to my mom and then to me to see if I would be interested in taking care of her newborn daughter. My cousin was overwhelmed with working full-time, being a new mom, and a new wife. Within Black communities, cooperative childcare are ways that Black mothers can still figure out mothering with the help of an othermother to do the caring for when the bloodmother (biological) cannot or has other responsibilities in addition to mothering (Hill Collins 2000). My little cousin took her first steps toward me, she read her first book to me, she said her first words to me, I was a part of all the intricacies of motherhood, but biologically I was not her mother. When I was in graduate school, I had a group of four Black women friends. One of the women had a child and together, we all became her caregiver. We would create a schedule based on all of our schedules so that her mother could take her classes and work without having to pay babysitting fees. “Historically, within Black diasporic societies, communitybased childcare and the relationships among bloodmothers and othermothers in women-centered networks have taken diverse institutional forms” (Hill Collins 2000, 180). There was a certain pride in knowing we each had a role in ensuring the growth and well-being of this child. Adopting the African centered way of childrearing illustrated the importance of mothering of this child regardless of biological ties. “The traditional family ideal assigns mother’s full responsibility for children and evaluates their performance based on their ability to procure the benefits of a nuclear family house” (Hill Collins 2000, 182). With the erosion of these women-centered family networks due to the “changing institutional fabric” of the importance of achieving the more traditional White American way of parenting has shown the decline in ways of supporting Black children (Hill Collins 2000, 183). My second journey to motherhood happened when I was dating my now ex-wife. She decided to adopt a baby when we first decided to start dating, so I came into the child’s life as an infant. I was there for the sleepless nights, the late-night feedings, and all the other moments in between. Re-Imagining Queer Black Motherhood 51 My ex-wife adopted her with her ex-partner. In fact, they are the first case in Georgia to legally adopt a child while being separated. It was not possible for me to have any legal rights to this child, but it did not lessen how much I loved her. She was also my whole world. However, when it came time to legitimize my role with her, many people dismissed my role as her parent because legally, I had no claims to her. I struggled with feeling like a mother but not being validated as a mother by our culture because the child already had two mothers and my role seemed confusing to outsiders. Again, I took on the role as an othermother. In many Black families, other mothers serve as a secondary provider that comes from the network of women known in the community (Hill Collins 2000). Bloodmother (Biological Motherhood) The rise within the motherhood becoming more prevalent in queer communities, there is a return to this woman-centered network, especially as queer Black women. When I decided to conceive, I sought out other Black queer women on their experiences conceiving and raising children. I joined a Facebook group full of queer women trying to conceive and a group dedicated to Two Mommy families. I started to seek out and create spaces full of Black queer women. The reason for this was at the time my family (two women raising through co-parenting one adopted child and planning on using reproductive assistance to have another child(ren) was not seen as normative to society. I wanted my children to be protected and loved by women who understood and appreciated our family dynamic. When a family is regarded as unnatural in a community, it is vital that there are people around them that value their existence and that requires other queer people. The homophobia that plagues the Black community leaves these woman-centered networks being more queer women-centered networks or ally women-centered networks. The value seen in these networks from my own experience made me realize that I was already disrupting the heteronormative version of motherhood that adding queer women-centered networks was another disruption to the capitalistic ideals of parenting. Meaning that these children were not my property and I did not think of them in that way. “Under the property model that accompanies the traditional family ideal, parents may not literally assert that their children are pieces of property, but their parenting may reflect assumptions analogous to those they make in connection with property” (Hill Collins 2000, 182). My children were conceived via medicated intrauterine insemination (IUI). This means that I took fertility medicines to ensure the ovulation process was as timed as possible. I think took a trigger shot (which triggers the eggs to be released), I went in every few days to monitor my follicle growth to ensure that my follicles were growing at the appropriate size and lastly a doctor inserted a catheter inside of me with sperm received from a sperm bank and injected it. I stayed laying down for 15 minutes and then waited two weeks to 52 Elizabeth Y. Whittington see if I was actually pregnant. I went through three rounds of this trying to align things correctly. Finally, on the third try, 14 days later, my wife and I took a pregnancy test and it was positive. Once, I had a positive pregnancy test, I called the doctor’s office to set up a Beta test (a blood test to determine how much of the pregnancy hormone is present). Because of the trying to conceive group I was in on Facebook, I knew that the test numbers could range from low to really high. When we got our beta numbers back I thought “Wow, this is really high.” After the first test, patients have to go back for a second test a week or so later and the numbers need to double in order for it to be a viable pregnancy. My numbers almost tripled and I remember thinking this was so odd. I never thought it could be twins because there were women with high numbers and I only had one follicle that was big enough when we inseminated. Around six weeks, I was able to go in for an ultrasound and there were two sacs, which meant I was having twins. A lot changes, when it is twins, I would need to see maternal fetal specialists for all of my pregnancy, but first I needed to graduate from the Reproductive clinic which did not happen until I was 12 weeks. Most of my conceiving took place in a clinic and was controlled as much as possible, which most feel is unnatural. However, my body still had to accept the sperm and make the baby and that one little follicle that should not have made it wanted to make it and it did. My body went through the same process as a woman does who has sex with a man but instead the sperm was inserted via a catheter. The chances are not much higher than traditional conception. I felt all the anticipation and disappointment just like couples who have to pee on a stick month after month. Living in the margins of what society deems as “normal” leaves the outsider to start to critically examine how these definitions are not effective for people. For mothering, Black mothers found a way to raise Black children as healthy and productive adults despite how society treated them. “The resiliency of women-centered family networks and their willingness to take responsibility for Black children illustrated how African-influenced understandings of family have been continually reworked to help AfricanAmericans as a collective cope with and resist oppression” (Hill Collins 2000, 183). The lack of discussion of where queer Black women fit in this theme is a necessary discussion. I have had Black women not acknowledge that my children have two mothers. Or have seen Black queer women being passed over as suitable caretakers for families simply because of who they love. Black women are willing to help but not accepting the homonormative dynamics of my family is problematic as well as not accepting me as part of the network because of my sexual orientation. The Reality of (Queer) Black Motherhood The reality of my motherhood may seem complicated, but what journey to motherhood is ever easy. The reality of motherhood is that our journeys are unique and different and special. Black motherhood is hard and fraught with Re-Imagining Queer Black Motherhood 53 complications, contradictions, and struggle, but this journey I am still on has had so many wonderful deviations from the norm of how some feel motherhood should happen. My patience was learned through being a nanny, my unconditional love was grown with a child that was not legally mine, and learning how to “mom” happened through learning how to care for children through the hard times. The reality of my queerness is that my children get to see so many different ways family can exist and realize that love does not always come from those related to them. My reality is MY reality and no one else’s. This journey is how I define my motherhood. Hill Collins does not acknowledge the troubling of deviations to when daughters do not follow the heteronormative path to motherhood. My mother does not acknowledge my bonus daughter as part of me because she does not acknowledge my ex-wife as part of the twins. My ability to survive was not created through my mother’s socialization. I discovered that my own path to motherhood could not follow the socialization of survival without acknowledging the importance of the emotional wellbeing of my daughter. That her survival also means understanding motherhood in non-heteronormative ways. Survival means understanding race, gender, and sexuality of my children in order to reimagine Queer Black motherhood. Conclusion Motherhood has long been seen as a heteronormative task. When seen in the traditional terms of motherhood, motherhood is a daunting and thankless task. Research keeps showing that there is an increase in women choosing not to become mothers as birth rates continue to decline every year. However, when motherhood is studied through the eyes of a nonheteronormative lens, motherhood is not just about a woman birthing a child. Black motherhood has bloodmothers, othermothers, and womencentered networks that highlight the real work of a community of women to mother children regardless of their biological attachment to them. However, Black motherhood is fraught with complications when they leave out an analysis of sexuality as a part of motherhood. For Black queer mothers, there is a movement back toward more ancestral ways of mothering. Mothering is not limited to one form or type, but to numerous ways of mothering that deserve validation. This chapter explores my experiences as a Queer Black mother in various spaces with both biological and nonbiological children. By looking at two themes of Black motherhood, I began to unpack and re-imagine how Black motherhood can be expanded and disrupted from traditional Black motherhood troupes. I expanded on the idea of queerness in Black motherhood as a way of revising some of the contradictions in Black mothering. Although, this is just one experience it brings to light experiences of a Queer Black mother. Hopefully, this begins the conversations of queering mothering through a Black feminist lens as a way to re-imagine motherhood. 54 Elizabeth Y. Whittington References Alexander, Bryant. 2012. The Performative Sustainability of Race: Reflections on Black Culture and the Politics of Identity. New York: Peter Lang. Baade, Christina. 2019. “A Complicated Transformation: BEYONCÉ, ‘Blue,’ and the Politics of Black Motherhood.” Popular Music and Society 42, no. 1: 42–60. 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