When I was a working mother nursing my infant, I referred to pumping as a “conference call.” Saying, “Excuse me, I need to take a conference call,” felt less awkward than revealing the reality: that I was about to fortify my office, disrobe partially, and connect myself to a machine. At the time, I believed discussing pumping would diminish my professional credibility. I worried that my colleagues would question my dedication and focus.
As a lobbyist frequently working from the State Capitol, my “conference calls” required me to excuse myself from budget hearings and bill discussions to trek several blocks to my car for pumping in a parking garage. Recently, a female senator introduced a proposal to create private areas in the Capitol for women to nurse or pump. A male senator jokingly suggested placing the lactation suites in the female senator’s office. “It’s not funny. It’s not funny. It’s not funny,” she murmured to herself. The proposal ultimately failed.
The underlying message was clear: nursing mothers are better off staying home. Their presence is unwelcome in government — whether as legislators, lobbyists, or advocates. Is it any wonder I trudged away to my “conference calls” day after day, torn between my roles as an employee and a mother?
All these challenges, from pumping in a freezing cold car to a sweltering one, actually made me one of the “fortunate” ones. I held a white-collar position that allowed me to excuse myself for private moments on my own terms, unlike teachers, nurses, and countless shift workers. Even though my employer was too small for legal protections to apply, my boss was consistently supportive of my choice to pump. Above all, I had a private office with a door. Yet, despite these advantages, anxiety plagued me: was I shortchanging my coworkers and clients by splitting my focus?
Everything shifted when our office manager mistakenly let an outside auditor use my office. Bracing myself to tell the auditor I needed my office for a “conference call,” I knocked, expecting to find a middle-aged man. Instead, a woman about my age looked up. I explained the mix-up and she smiled, saying, “No problem, but I’ll need a private space to pump.” I was momentarily speechless. Before I knew it, we were engaging in a conversation about our babies and the struggles of pumping while working.
Her confidence in asserting her right to pump inspired me. From that day forward, I decided to speak openly about my pumping needs. The results were eye-opening. People were far more understanding than I had anticipated. Asking for support from my colleagues actually brought us closer together.
When attending conferences at hotels, I stopped retreating to my car to pump and began asking colleagues if I could use their hotel rooms instead. One colleague routinely asked for two room keys, silently slipping me the second key before I could even ask. Another not only shared her room but also left muffins and juice on the bedside table for me. Acquaintances became friends, and friends transformed into family.
Moreover, as I became less self-focused, I noticed colleagues doing whatever it took to support their families. My supervisor, who was caring for her elderly mother in another state, had no qualms about stepping out of meetings to communicate with caregivers or adjusting her workweek to catch a flight. A father even wrapped up a meeting early to take his son to karate. The more I paid attention, the more I discovered a network of family support all around me. This opened up dialogues with colleagues and clients that deepened our connections and reinforced our commitment to our shared mission.
When I shared my observations with my husband, he remarked, “You’re bringing your whole selves to work.”
Ultimately, asking for pumping accommodations laid the groundwork for my journey as a working mom. While I’ve long since put away my pumping equipment, my need for flexibility remains. I still occasionally excuse myself from meetings, now to pick my daughter up from preschool. By making my family obligations visible and significant, I hope to contribute to paving the way for other working mothers in the years to come. I’m not on a conference call; I’m nurturing my child. I excel as an employee, and bringing my whole self to work only enhances my performance.