Holding the Weight: Babywearing and the Practice of Community Care

The Weight We Carry

In babywearing, we’re always talking about weight.
How to distribute it.
How to carry it comfortably.
How to keep it close enough to protect, but not so tight that it restricts.
We troubleshoot aches. Adjust tension. Recommend carriers based on the body doing the holding.

The longer we do this work, the more we realize: the weight isn’t just physical.

Sometimes, it’s emotional—the weight of exhaustion, of doubt, of postpartum identity shifts that no one warned them about.
Sometimes, it’s historical—the weight of being a first, or an only. The weight of navigating spaces that weren’t built for you. Of raising a child while healing from the way you were raised.
And sometimes, it’s communal—the weight of care that extends beyond your own child. The sibling on your hip, the baby whose parent is working late, the niece you carry because someone has to.

Babywearing is personal. But it’s never just individual.

As educators, we often meet people in moments of overwhelm.
They might be struggling with buckles and straps—or with sleep deprivation, or dysphoria, or trauma that lingers beneath the surface.
They may not say it outright, but you can feel it:

That unvoiced question: Don’t I deserve to be held too?

When we step into those moments with empathy, skill, and presence, we do more than teach people how to use a carrier.
We help them reclaim a sense of steadiness.
We offer options that meet them where they are.
We offer language that reflects who they are.
We offer support that doesn’t require performance, perfection, or explanation.

That’s community care.

This is the quiet radicalism of babywearing work.
Not just helping a baby settle, but helping a parent breathe.
Not just adjusting a carrier, but adjusting the expectations someone thought they had to live up to.

Healing isn’t only about what we throw off. It’s about what we carry together.

Babywearing educators hold a unique kind of knowledge:
How to hold with strength and softness.
How to center without suffocating.
How to care without assuming.

And perhaps most powerfully—how to say with our actions:
You are not alone.

We’re still learning what it means to hold the weight well: to center without overshadowing, to support without assumption.

It doesn’t require a background in therapy to support someone’s healing. As babywearing educators, we can weave this perspective into our everyday work in small, meaningful ways:

• Lead with consent and collaboration: Ask before touching someone’s carrier or body. Offer choices. Empower them to guide the session based on their comfort and goals.
• Normalize emotions: When a parent tears up, gets frustrated, or shares something vulnerable, meet them with calm acknowledgment, not quick fixes. “That makes so much sense” can be just as powerful as “Here’s how to tighten that strap.”
• Use inclusive, affirming language: Reflect the caregiver’s identity and family structure. Avoid assumptions about gender, biology, or who “should” be wearing the baby.
• Slow down: Holding space for someone’s story is just as valuable as demonstrating a carrier. Sometimes, giving a parent five minutes to breathe while their baby rests on their chest is the consult.
• Trust that your presence matters: You may never know what someone is carrying when they walk in the door. But the way you see them, support them, and stand beside them can help shift how they carry it.

Trauma-informed babywearing support isn’t about saying the perfect thing. It’s about offering a steady hand in a moment when someone is trying to hold it all together.

And sometimes, that’s exactly what healing looks like.

Babywearing isn’t just technique

It’s an invitation.

To listen

To honor

To show up with care that moves beyond words

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