by Niyati Kandikanti
When I became pregnant, my ethical commitment to animals deepened in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
During pregnancy, my hopes and dreams of meeting my baby carried me through the fear and the physical changes. My body was transforming in ways that felt both miraculous and frightening. Organs shifted. Sleep fractured. Energy disappeared. But the thought of finally holding my child made everything meaningful.
As the months passed, I began to feel motherhood not as an abstract idea, but as a biological force. A protective instinct that was cellular. Hormonal. Mammalian. I started thinking more about other mothers, especially those whose reproductive cycles are controlled, whose pregnancies are not chosen, whose babies are taken from them.
When I gave birth, I was fortunate. I was in the safe hands of skilled professionals who guided me through labor. Even in pain and exhaustion, I was supported. That safety is a privilege. Birth stripped me down to instinct: breathing, enduring, surrendering. It was raw and deeply animal in the most honest sense.
Postpartum was another reckoning. My body felt like it was in shreds. I was physically depleted and emotionally wide open. I had never felt more vulnerable. My only coping mechanism was holding my baby. Skin to skin. Breath to breath. That closeness regulated me as much as it regulated him.
It has been a couple of months now, and I feel like I will never stop holding or kissing him. Even when I feel completely clueless as a new mother, one thing is clear: feeding my child with my milk is the most important and natural function I perform. It is not productivity. It is not output. It is relationship. And it is his inexorable birthright.
Breastfeeding reshaped my understanding of lactation entirely. The let-down reflex. The hormonal waves. The way milk is not just calories but immunity, comfort, communication. Producing milk is not mechanical — it is relational, emotional, viscerally familial, and neurologically hardwired toward fulfillment of a physical and emotional bond. And that realization makes it impossible for me not to think about the millions of mothers whose lactation is invaded and desecrated for unnecessary dairy products. Dairy systems, from the smallest to the largest, depend on forced impregnation of female animals and forced separation of mothers and babies. Milk becomes an abstract commodity, grossly detached from the individual, maternal bond that created it—and from the profound grief and suffering that result when it is severed.
My heart goes out to all the mothers and babies — human and nonhuman — whose rights are violated, whose bodily autonomy is denied, whose children are stolen, and whose bodies are exploited down to the last drop to satiate this parasitism.
Motherhood has softened me and strengthened me at the same time. It has made my ethics less theoretical and more embodied. Less about slogans, more about protection. Less about outrage, more about responsibility.
When I hold my baby now, I don’t just think about the future I want for him. I think about a world that respects reproductive bodies — that sees mothers and all bodies not as property or production systems, but as sentient beings with sovereign bonds that matter.
Pregnancy didn’t create my ethics. But it rooted them deeper than ever before. If you are not vegan, I urge you to give it serious consideration. To reflect on your values and whether supporting this needless desecration and endless suffering aligns with them. Because once you understand motherhood in your own body, it becomes impossible to ignore it in others.
Niyati Kandikanti
hails from Hyderabad, a city in India known for it’s famous Indo-Persian cuisines, passionate people and multicultural lifestyles. Despite her palate being accustomed to traditional meat dishes, she turned vegetarian in her teens due to ethical qualms. In 2024, after learning about the dairy industry, she and her partner went vegan. They were recently blessed with a baby and look forward to being a happy vegan family.
