Getting Sticky With Allyson Felix

Our conversation with Allyson, in partnership with our friends at Hanna Andersson. Seeing one of the world’s fastest women padding around in buttery-soft, holiday-ready PJs with her children felt like an extension of our conversation: a balance every mom is trying to find.

In 2019, Allyson Felix penned an op-ed for The New York Times, starting a ripple effect in maternity-leave policy across the world of professional sports. The article recounted her experience of feeling penalized for becoming a mother. The public condemnation over how a major sports apparel brand treated one of its top athletes was so swift that the company announced a new policy guaranteeing pay and bonuses for 18 months around pregnancy.

Allyson is the most decorated American track and field athlete in history (we had to double and triple check to make sure none of her accolades in the following summary were missed). She’s a seven-time Olympic gold medalist, an eleven-time Olympic medalist overall, and a twenty-time world championship medalist. She’s also pumped in stadium bathrooms and has been expected to share a hotel room with a fellow athlete during a championship meet—with her infant in tow. 

The aftermath of the contract, though, is proof of something important: speaking up can prompt real-world change, despite how scary it is. And it is scary. Athlete contracts are lucrative, and standing up to one of the biggest powers in the commerce space—potentially severing that connection—is a huge risk. But to quote Allyson: “Knowing it will impact so many others makes it worth it.”

In our latest feature, Allyson talks about holiday magic in motherhood and what it means to be an example for women who want both a career and children. It’s possible; it’s within you. But as she’s shown time and again, personal strength alone isn’t enough. Policies and the systems behind them still need to evolve so that more women can thrive without having to fight for the balance she helped make possible.

Allyson wearing Hanna Andersson holiday flannel pajamas, and her children wearing matching pajamas in the Happy Trees on Green print.

“It was fulfilling to have more agency over how my son came into this world”

My road to motherhood was harder the second time around. We did IVF, and that journey came with a lot of ups and downs, heartbreaks, and new experiences. But there was also so much joy in being able to have the birth experience I wanted after a traumatic experience with my daughter. It was fulfilling to have more agency over how my son came into this world.

I had preeclampsia with my first pregnancy and I was aware of the risks the second time. You do have a higher chance of getting it again, but it’s not guaranteed. Taking a baby aspirin daily can help and is often recommended for women at risk. Thankfully, I ended up not having it the second time and I was able to have a VBAC, unmedicated, which is what I really wanted. I learned so much from my first experience that I knew exactly what to look for and what I needed. I had to fight for it, but I had an amazing care team—I had a Black doctor who was amazing, a doula, a midwife, and I did hypnobirthing, which was a really unique experience.

Hypnobirthing is essentially a practice of self-hypnosis where you listen to different audio tracks that guide you through breathing and visualization. It felt a lot like meditation and is meant to reframe language and mindset around birth. We’re so used to hearing trauma stories, the worst-case scenarios, and this really focuses on positivity and the possibility of birth being a joyful experience. I took a six-week course (three hours, one night a week) and learned so much. It was a beautiful experience and helped me feel more prepared.

I explored different approaches, and hypnobirthing felt like something that could really help me. Meditation was new for me at this point. I’ve tried to incorporate those practices into my daily routine as I’ve gotten older, but it wasn’t where I started from. I knew I wanted a vaginal birth without medication, and I knew I needed a plan.

Wearing the Hanna Andersson holiday flannel pajamas.

Fun Places to Pump: Stadium Edition 

Writing the op-ed for The New York Times was terrifying. It was so far outside my comfort zone, and it wasn’t something I ever envisioned doing. But I was going through so much—the birth complications, my daughter in the NICU for a month—and I felt deeply that it needed to be said. I believed in it, even though I was scared. It wasn’t calculated or strategic. It was just something I had to do.

And the response to the piece was mind-blowing. There was so much support. Women across different industries reached out saying that they’d been through similar experiences, and while that was encouraging, it was also heartbreaking to realize how many people are affected by the same issues. 

We need better childcare access, paid leave, and more flexible work options. Hybrid setups, too. All of that matters. And our healthcare systems need to honor and protect women more effectively. Culturally, we have to move away from this idea that women can “do it all” without support. Yes, we can do incredible things, but we need the structures in place that allow us to. Motherhood shouldn’t be seen as something that dims you—it’s a natural part of life, not the end of another chapter.

Wearing Hanna Andersson Family Matching Pajamas.

I definitely waited when it came to starting a family. I felt that pressure; that I couldn’t have a child at the peak of my career. I thought I wouldn’t be able to achieve what I wanted professionally if I took that step. And even when I finally thought I’d reached a point where it was “safe” to have a child, I still found myself in a difficult situation.

I hid my pregnancy with my daughter. The second time around, I was much more intentional about being transparent because I wanted to help shift the culture. I wanted to show that you can do the work you love and have children. We need more examples of that. My first experience was awful in terms of treatment and what I went through, and I was really hurt by it.

I remember coming back to competition when my daughter was eight months old. I’d made the world championship team, and I was assigned a roommate. Meanwhile, I had an infant, I was breastfeeding, juggling all the logistics. Thankfully, I had the resources to get my own room and bring help, but what if I didn’t? The system isn’t built with mothers in mind. There were times I’d be traveling internationally, washing bottles in hotel sinks, or pumping in bathroom stalls at stadiums around the world. We can do better than that.

Wearing the Hanna Andersson holiday pajamas.

Awareness and education can literally save lives

We need to be more open and vulnerable about motherhood. There are so many things you only learn once you’re living them. Breastfeeding, for example: It’s hard. No one really tells you that. It’s work. Pumping is work. You’re doing it all day, and I wasn’t prepared for that reality.

Balancing all of that with training took time. When I first came back, I was demanding the same things from my body pre-pregnancy, and that was absolutely not realistic. I had to learn to listen to myself—stay hydrated, prioritize rest, give myself grace. Sleep looked different. If I’d been up all night, I had to be okay with taking a day off and adjusting instead of pushing through. It became about working smarter, not harder.

When it comes to maternal health, especially for Black women, there’s still so much progress to be made. Doctors need to educate women on their risk factors, and women need to be able to advocate for themselves. 

We need more implicit bias training for doctors, and we need real policy change. We also have to keep amplifying stories like mine, because sadly, they’re not uncommon. Women need to know that sometimes they’ll have to advocate for themselves. You walk into a doctor’s office, and they’re the expert, so it can feel intimidating and scary to question or even speak up. 

Wearing the Hanna Andersson holiday pajamas.

But what we’ve seen, especially with women of color, is that their pain is not believed and they are not believed. It’s infuriating when you know something’s wrong and you’re not being listened to. We know our bodies. 

Gratitude? Check. But also: Exhaustion? Double, triple, quadruple check. 

We spend so much time preparing for birth but not enough time talking about what happens after. For example, a lot of people don’t realize you can get preeclampsia after birth. The “pre” in preeclampsia refers to eclampsia, not the timeline, and that’s something many women aren’t aware of.

For me, one of the biggest surprises was just how hard becoming a mother can be, even when it’s something you’ve wanted for so long. Particularly with my second, I remember feeling like wow, I am really in the trenches. I’m exhausted, trying to keep up with my older daughter, managing family and work responsibilities. Two things can be true. You can know you really wanted something but still find the reality of it to be challenging.  

That guilt is real, especially when you’ve faced fertility challenges. Having gone through such a hard journey to get there, it’s easy to think, so many women would want to be in this position. But at the same time, your feelings—whatever they are—are completely valid. 

Real rewards are reaped when shared

Right now, my husband is home with our kids, and we also have family support. It’s been fluid. In the beginning, when I first had my daughter, he was working while I was at home. For us, it’s always been about moving with what works for our life. It probably won’t always look the way it does now, but right now, this setup works. We really approach it as a team—we all have the same end goal, and getting there takes effort and sacrifice from everyone. It also means accepting that it doesn’t have to look like the traditional model of what family roles used to be.

For me, reframing the narrative starts with sharing my belief that motherhood has made me better. It’s really sharpened me—it’s given me greater motivation and a deeper sense of purpose. As we see more examples of women doing both, it helps shift the culture as a whole. I remember talking with Naomi Osaka after she had her daughter, right in the prime of her career, and she said that seeing more women doing it when she was growing up would’ve made a huge impact on her.

We have to get to the point where we’re showing people that this is possible. You can be supported. We need to do better with that support, but you can do work that you love and have the family you want, and they can exist in harmony instead of competing. That’s not to say it’s not hard—because it is—but it’s absolutely possible.

I’m really proud of the documentary. It tells my story, but what means the most to me is that my story isn’t unique because a lot of women can relate to it. I hope it inspires people to push for change in their own ways. It’s been amazing to see it come to life after such a long process, and it feels good to see the impact it’s having on those who’ve watched it.

In both motherhood and my career, I’ve learned that it’s always bigger than yourself. It can be really hard when you’re fighting for something you might not personally benefit from, but knowing it will impact so many others makes it worth it. That, to me, is the bigger reward—and it’s been a constant theme throughout my career.