Confession: I did not breastfeed my son. This choice wasn’t due to a lack of ability, insufficient milk supply, or difficulty with latching. I simply didn’t want to.
It’s not uncommon for people to leap to conclusions, labeling me as selfish, lazy, or uninformed. They might wonder if there’s something inherently wrong with me, as if I lack the instinctual drive that many women are said to possess when it comes to nurturing their infants. I can assure you, these were the very thoughts that plagued me for years.
When my first child arrived, I attempted breastfeeding, but from day one, it was an experience I despised. I didn’t feel that magical connection that so many describe. Instead, I felt frustration and rage. The thought of nursing my son filled me with dread, and I found myself resenting him for needing to feed in that way. I loathed myself for these feelings.
After a few weeks, I stopped breastfeeding and felt a wave of relief wash over me. However, that relief was quickly replaced by a heavy burden of shame and guilt. I believed that I should want to breastfeed; there must be something wrong with me for not wanting it.
While I harbored a significant amount of self-loathing, societal pressures only intensified my feelings of inadequacy. The intrusive question that seems to be acceptable for anyone to ask a new mother—“Are you breastfeeding?”—is a prime example. We wouldn’t dream of asking about other intimate details of childbirth, so why is breastfeeding fair game? It seems to imply that there’s a right way to nourish a child, and I was clearly doing it wrong.
Alongside this, the plethora of articles and posts proclaiming “breast is best” bombarded me. I encountered judgment from those who were quick to criticize anyone who didn’t enjoy breastfeeding. This constant messaging created an overwhelming narrative that not breastfeeding equates to being a subpar mother.
This culture of shame must change. I acknowledge the benefits of breastfeeding; most people do. I wholeheartedly support a mother’s right to breastfeed in a manner that suits her and her child. However, the same level of support must extend to those who choose not to breastfeed for various reasons.
During my early days as a mother, I came across a sign in a popular baby store that read, “Babies Are Meant To Be Breastfed.” This statement made my heart sink. It felt like a personal indictment. What kind of mother was I if my child was meant to be breastfed, and I had opted against it for my own mental health? It left me feeling defeated.
Eventually, I came to understand that I hadn’t failed. For me, breastfeeding was not a viable option, and it only worsened the postpartum depression I was grappling with. By the time my second son was born three years later, I decided against attempting to breastfeed altogether, and it was the best decision for my family and me. I felt assured in my choices and received the support I needed from my partner and healthcare providers, yet the guilt lingered.
Over the years, I’ve realized that this guilt has lessened. Part of it is simply the passage of time—healing occurs. Additionally, there’s been a growing acceptance of formula feeding and a broader support network for all mothers, regardless of their feeding choices. Experts like Marie Thompson are advocating for an end to the judgment surrounding breastfeeding. She emphasizes that “love is what’s important” in motherhood.
We must stop idealizing mothers as self-sacrificing figures who all share the same instincts and desires. These stereotypes only create further stigma for those who parent differently, amplifying the guilt we may already feel. Motherhood is unique to each of us, but one common thread exists: we all love our children deeply.
In the end, love is what truly matters.
Summary:
The author reflects on her decision not to breastfeed her son, discussing the guilt and shame she felt due to societal pressures and her own expectations. She emphasizes the need for broader acceptance of different parenting choices, advocating for love as the most crucial element of motherhood.