A Reflection on Maternal Bonds, Human Consumption, and the Path of Remembering and creative ACTION

She wandered through her memories
Baby suckling on her breast
Her most tender memory of this life
Until…
her grandchildren were born

She knew less then
About other baby animals
And all the newborns that could never suckle
Because her children ate cheese
And coffee had cream
And oh yes, that constant children’s pleas
For summer ice cream

She just did not know
Yet once she did
She could not unknow
And the heaviness of carrying this knowing
And the throwing
Of caution to the wind
Of sharing this with her own grown daughter
Now feeding her offspring un-suckled death stuff

And the trampling of pearls
And the unfurls
Of knowing anger..
The anger of knowing
With nowhere to come up for air…

Milk is not just a food; it is a message. A mother’s first gift. A sacred exchange designed to bond, nourish, and protect. Each mammalian species produces milk uniquely suited to its own offspring. Human milk, for example, contains a precise combination of proteins, fats, sugars, immune-boosting compounds, and living enzymes—all tailored to meet the specific needs of human babies. Cow’s milk, on the other hand, is perfectly calibrated for calves: creatures meant to grow from 90 to over 1,000 pounds within a year.

Yet somewhere along our human journey, we began taking what was never meant for us. We normalized the consumption of milk from other species—particularly cows—and embedded it into our rituals, recipes, and identity. Milk became a commodity, divorced from its sacred origins.

This practice is not benign. Nor is it without consequence.

The Biological Mismatch

Cow’s milk contains a protein called casein—specifically, the A1 beta-casein variant—which, when digested, releases a compound known as beta-casomorphin-7 (BCM-7). This peptide can bind to opioid receptors in the human body, influencing neurological and gastrointestinal functions. Though more research is needed, studies suggest that BCM-7 may contribute to gut inflammation, mucous production, and behavioral issues in sensitive individuals. Beyond allergies and intolerances, some people report foggy thinking or mood changes linked to dairy. These are not small matters in a culture already plagued by disconnection—from our bodies, from one another, and from the earth.

And beyond the biological lies an even deeper wound.

The Silent Grief of the Dairy Mother

In dairy production, calves are routinely taken from their mothers within hours of their birth and slaughtered for leather or veal so that humans can consume the milk intended for the calf. The Cow bellows and searches for her young. Her body continues to produce milk, but a suction machine takes the place of her calf, and the sounds of contented feeding are replaced by the indifferent hum of mechanical efficiency.

We drink that milk and fail to recognize the grief we’re swallowing along with it. We have normalized this breaking of the maternal bond so thoroughly that human mothers often willingly feed their own children the product of another mother’s loss.

This is the part that undoes me.

A Personal Reckoning

I remember the sacredness of nursing my own children: the tender tether, the primal love flowing from breast to mouth. I didn’t know then about the calves. I didn’t think of them as babies, too. I didn’t understand the cost of the cheese on our pizza, the cream in my coffee, the ice cream on summer days, butter slathered on toast. It all seemed so harmless. Victimless.

But once I knew, I could not unknow.

And with that knowing came a heavy, lonely grief—not only for the cows and their calves but for my own children, who were raised on food that denied another child its birthright. Grief for my grandchildren, too, whose bodies were being offered these same substances, dressed in smiles and dairy mustaches.

When I tried to speak, the words came hard. The message felt too tender, too easily rejected. It wasn’t just information I was offering; it was a plea to remember the sacred, to realign with the earth, to let compassion steer our choices.

Sometimes, in the face of this knowing, I have fallen into despair. Into blame. Into the old wound of feeling unseen and unheard. I have felt anger—not just at the system, but at those I love most. At the resistance. At the indifference. At the way sacred truths get cast aside as “too much” or “too radical” or “just a personal choice.”

But again and again, I come back to love… to the slow and imperfect ways we awaken. To the spiral path of remembering, which often brings us down into the mud before lifting us toward the light.

A Sacred Turning

The truth is: it’s not just about milk. It’s about remembering what we’ve forgotten: the sacredness of the mother-infant bond; the intelligence of our own bodies; the wisdom of living in right relationship with all beings. Milk is a symbol and measure of how far we’ve strayed and how deeply we long to return.

Choosing not to consume non-human milk is more than just a health decision, more than an ethical stance. It is a declaration of remembrance. It is a reclamation of sacred alignment. It is saying: I will no longer numb myself with what belongs to another. I will no longer participate in systems that break hearts for profit. I will find another way.

A more nourishing way.

A more sovereign way.

The way of coherence, in which mother and child remain together, and food is not born of grief.

This is my prayer, which is also the prayer of many others, including Olympian Dotsie Bausch:
That we remember.
That we choose differently—not out of guilt, but out of reverence.
That we create a world in which no mother—human or otherwise—must cry for her stolen child.

So, what is a soul to do against the power of the dairy agri-cult? You can do this one simple thing today: support the work of Switch4Good, Dotsie Bausch https://switch4good.org/fiscal-act/ by signing today and returning to the Mother of us all….

With Much Compassion,
Tami Hay for MVG
Million Vegan Grandmothers