When I was a working mother, I often referred to pumping as a “conference call.” Saying things like, “Excuse me, I need to take a conference call,” felt much easier than revealing the reality: I was about to retreat to my office, strip down, and connect myself to a machine. I worried that discussing pumping openly would tarnish my professional image and lead colleagues to question my commitment.
As a lobbyist frequently operating from the State Capitol, my “conference call” ruse meant stepping away from budget discussions and bill conferences to pump in the chilly confines of a parking garage. Recently, a female senator proposed a bill to create private areas in the Capitol for nursing mothers. In response, a male colleague jokingly suggested placing the lactation rooms in her office, prompting her to mutter, “It’s not funny. It’s not funny.” Ultimately, her proposal failed, sending a clear message: nursing mothers are unwelcome in government roles.
Despite the challenges I faced—like pumping in a freezing car or a sweltering parking garage—I realized I was among the “fortunate” ones. My white-collar job allowed for some flexibility, and although my employer lacked applicable legal protections, my boss was supportive of my pumping needs. I even had a private office! Yet, anxiety lingered: was I letting my coworkers and clients down by juggling my roles as an employee and a mom?
Everything shifted the day our office manager asked to use my space for an outside auditor. Instead of a middle-aged man, I encountered a woman my age who kindly informed me, “I need a private place to pump.” For a moment, I was at a loss for words. We quickly found common ground, sharing stories about our babies and the hurdles of balancing work and motherhood.
This encounter sparked a change in me. I resolved to be more open about my pumping needs, and the results were eye-opening. Colleagues were far more understanding than I had anticipated; reaching out for accommodations brought us closer together. During conferences, I began asking colleagues if I could use their hotel rooms to pump instead of retreating to my car. One colleague routinely provided me with an extra room key, and another left a snack for me on the bedside table. These small gestures transformed acquaintances into friends.
As I became more visible about my needs, I also noticed others navigating their family responsibilities. My boss, balancing work with caring for her elderly mother, didn’t hesitate to step out for important calls. A dad even wrapped up a meeting early to take his son to karate. Recognizing these shared experiences fostered deeper connections and a stronger commitment to our work.
When I shared these observations with my husband, he remarked, “You’re bringing your whole self to work.” This shift in perspective laid the foundation for my journey as a working mom. Though I’ve long since stopped pumping, my need for flexibility remains. I still excuse myself from meetings to pick my daughter up from preschool. By making my family obligations visible, I hope to pave the way for future working moms. I’m not on a conference call; I’m caring for my child. My dedication as an employee is enhanced by my authenticity.
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In summary, embracing the realities of being a working mom—like pumping—can lead to stronger relationships and a more supportive work environment. Recognizing that family needs are part of the workplace landscape ultimately enriches professional life.
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