Care, Trust, and Choosing Each Other

A few months ago, many of us came across the story of Janell Green Smith.

She was a midwife and birth worker. She understood the healthcare system, how it worked and how it could fail patients.

And still, after giving birth, she died from complications that should have been caught.

That story stayed with people, not just because it was heartbreaking, but because it disrupted a narrative many of us have been taught to believe that if you are educated enough, resourced enough, informed enough, you can protect yourself. For Black women, that has never been the full story.

Across income levels, across education levels, across professions, Black women are more likely to experience complications during pregnancy and childbirth. We are more likely to be dismissed when we raise concerns, more likely to have our pain minimized, and more likely to fall through the cracks in a system that was never designed with us at the center.

And here at home, the reality is especially urgent. In Houston and across Harris County, Black women face some of the highest risks when it comes to maternal health outcomes. In fact, Harris County has been identified as one of the most dangerous places in the country for Black women to give birth.

For many, the experience of bringing life into the world is shaped not just by joy, but by uncertainty, by the need to advocate, to double-check, and to push to be heard.

This is not about individual failure.It is not about one bad provider or one isolated experience.

This is about patterns. It is about gaps in care, gaps in trust, and gaps in accountability that continue to show up, no matter who you are on paper.

And yet, even in the face of that reality, something else has always been true:

We have each other. That’s what makes Black Maternal Health Week so critical. 

Yes, it brings attention to the disparities. Yes, it creates space for data, policy conversations, and accountability. But it also does something just as important: it shines a light on the Black women who are doing the work.

The Black midwives who are guiding births with care and cultural understanding.The doulas who advocate in rooms where patients are too often ignored.The doctors and clinicians who listen, who take their time, and who treat Black women with the dignity they deserve.The community-based organizations making sure information, support, and resources reach the people who need them most.

These are not side efforts.They are essential. And they remind us that while systems take time to change, support does not have to wait.

At Black Girl Caucus, we talk often about what it means to choose each other.

In this context, it looks like being intentional about where and how we seek care when we have the option. It looks like sharing information openly about providers, resources, and what to expect. It looks like showing up for the people in our lives not just after the baby arrives, but throughout the entire journey, pregnancy, postpartum, and beyond.

It looks like listening when something doesn’t feel right.It looks like believing each other the first time.

And it looks like continuing to build spaces where Black women can connect, ask questions, and feel supported, without judgment, without dismissal, and without having to prove the validity of their own experiences.

We know that not every Black woman has access to the same choices. We know that structural barriers are real and persistent. Choosing each other is not a substitute for systemic change.

But it is a way we close the distance in the meantime. It is how we protect one another in the spaces where we can. This week, and beyond, we will be sharing organizations, providers, and resources across our community, because access to information is part of access to care. Because no one should have to navigate this alone.

And because when we choose each other, intentionally and consistently, we create something stronger than the gaps we are working to close.