When I returned to my job after maternity leave, I was already struggling with the immense difficulty of balancing my professional life and my new identity as a mother. I knew the process of pumping breast milk at the office would be challenging, but I expected my company, a large and seemingly modern organization, to provide the legally required basic accommodations. To my shock and frustration, I discovered they did not. There was absolutely no dedicated, private, secure nursing room available on site. I was initially directed to use a small, multi-stall women’s restroom, which was definitely not private, sanitary, or acceptable for storing milk.
I immediately raised the issue with my manager, pointing out the legal requirements for a private, non-restroom space for lactation. My manager simply shrugged off my concern, telling me to “just use the supply closet if the restroom feels too dirty.” That option was clearly unsuitable: it was often locked, dusty, filled with chemicals, and not lockable from the inside. Feeling completely disregarded and furious, I took matters into my own hands. The next day, I started using the only space I could find that offered any semblance of privacy: an unused, slightly awkward conference room that was almost always empty and thankfully had a door I could lock.
I placed a temporary handwritten sign on the door declaring it “OCCUPIED: Lactation in Progress – DO NOT ENTER” every time I needed to pump. This solution worked for maybe three days before the complaints started rolling in from my colleagues. A male executive, who frequently used that room for last-minute phone calls, became especially irritated, complaining loudly that I was “monopolizing company resources” and interrupting his business. He insisted that the makeshift setup was unprofessional and a major inconvenience to the entire team’s workflow, acting as if I were taking an extended, unnecessary personal break.
The situation quickly spiraled out of control and landed squarely on the desk of the Human Resources department. HR called me in for a meeting, expressing “concern” over the “disruptive nature” of my actions. I firmly held my ground, stating clearly that I was not disrupting anyone; rather, I was fulfilling a biological necessity while demanding the legal accommodation the company was obligated to provide under federal law. I emphasized that I had offered a legitimate, private alternative to the supply closet and that their failure to provide a proper room was the root cause of the entire problem, not my pumping.
HR’s immediate solution was disappointing and infuriating: they ordered me to stop using the conference room immediately, citing “scheduling conflicts,” and instructed me to return to the previously suggested, completely unsanitary restroom. I refused flatly and pushed back with the relevant legal statute, threatening to file a complaint with the labor board if a proper, permanent, lockable room with a comfortable chair was not provided within the next forty-eight hours. My unwavering firmness and direct use of legal terminology clearly shocked them into action, as they realized I was serious about fighting for my rights.
Within twenty-four hours, the situation was resolved, but not without lingering resentment from the executive and some of my less understanding colleagues. HR quickly converted a small, unused storage area near the break room into a fully compliant nursing room, complete with a lock, a comfortable chair, and a nearby outlet. While I won the battle for the nursing room, the process of demanding and fighting for such a basic right left me emotionally drained and deeply disappointed in my company’s lack of support for working mothers. It shouldn’t take threatening legal action to secure a clean, private space to feed my child.
