This past weekend, my social media feeds were flooded with a delightful trend: mothers from around the globe started sharing their Tree of Life “brelfies”—a term for breastfeeding selfies—thanks to the popular app PicsArt. (By the way, how did I not discover this app sooner?) These images were stunning and heartwarming, showcasing mothers nourishing their little ones, all while incorporating a Tree of Life graphic as a tribute to the nurturing essence of breast milk.
The intent behind these photos was to promote the normalization of breastfeeding, a crucial movement that deserves attention. Women should never feel embarrassed for nursing in public, nor should they be pressured to cover up or labeled inappropriate. After all, they are simply providing sustenance for their hungry infants. While I genuinely appreciated the beautiful images circulating online, I must admit they also stirred up feelings of sadness within me.
I was unable to breastfeed. It was something I longed for deeply. Before my first child arrived, I was determined to make it work. I had heard the warnings about the challenges of breastfeeding, but I was convinced I could handle it. However, once my son was born, I soon realized that things were not going as planned. We consulted a lactation specialist both in the hospital and shortly after returning home. Around the time he was six days old, I began to suspect something was amiss.
I didn’t feel the engorgement I expected. I knew I had milk, but I doubted it was sufficient. At a La Leche League meeting, other mothers reassured me to relax. When I asked about supplementing with formula because he seemed perpetually hungry, the response was a resounding “No!” It was as if the word “formula” was taboo, whispered as if it were something disgraceful.
I returned to the pediatrician, who noted that my son was gaining weight, albeit slowly. “Don’t give up,” she urged. I persisted, trying to pump milk, but after an hour of effort, I had barely an ounce to show for it. I called the lactation consultant, who echoed the same encouragement. I kept pushing forward—drinking more water, baking lactation cookies, and taking heaps of fenugreek. Yet, by the time my baby was a month old, we learned he had lost almost two pounds from his birth weight, and we rushed him to the hospital. Even then, the conversation didn’t center on the fact that breastfeeding wasn’t working; rather, it was about what could be wrong with my baby. He underwent countless blood tests, and well-meaning mothers suggested we rule out tongue-tie or other issues, rather than considering that perhaps I simply didn’t produce enough milk. Surely, all mothers could breastfeed, right?
As it turned out, that belief was flawed. Without further ado, I called my partner, Jessica, and told her to grab some formula and bottles on her way to the hospital. “We’re feeding him,” I declared. Almost immediately, my baby began to gain weight. Two days later, we left the hospital with doctors finally acknowledging what I had known all along: my baby was starving, and the only solution was formula.
With my second child, I was determined to try again. I thought about all the different approaches I could take, but once again, it didn’t work out. However, this time, I was ready. At his two-week check-up, when he wasn’t gaining weight, I didn’t hesitate to give him a bottle. No emergency hospital visit this time.
The inability to breastfeed weighed heavily on my heart for a long time, filling me with guilt and sorrow. Watching those stunning images shared on social media, reading my friends’ enthusiastic comments about them, was painful. I love my children just as fiercely as they love theirs, and I want the best for them too. I certainly don’t want to undermine breastfeeding—I’ve faced accusations of doing so with my assertion that “fed is best”—but I want other mothers like me to realize what I failed to understand.
It’s wonderful if you can breastfeed, and if that’s your choice, you should receive all the support you need. But not every mother can, and I couldn’t for reasons that still perplex my OB-GYN. I almost let my baby go hungry because I was swayed by those insisting that “breast is best” instead of trusting my instincts.
Moms shouldn’t be judged for breastfeeding, but we also shouldn’t be shamed if we can’t. There’s enough judgment in the world without adding to it for how a mother chooses to feed her baby. Regardless of the method, what truly matters is that our babies are happy, healthy, and thriving.
So here’s my own Tree of Life selfie, along with a friendly reminder: we all love our children, and as long as they are fed and flourishing, that’s what counts most. For more insights on navigating motherhood, check out this other blog post on our site. Also, if you’re considering at-home insemination, you might want to explore reputable retailers like this one that offers at-home insemination syringe kits. For further information on pregnancy and home insemination, visit this excellent resource.
Summary
In a heartfelt reflection, Lisa Thompson shares her experience with breastfeeding and the emotional struggles that accompany it. While the Tree of Life breastfeeding selfies aim to normalize nursing, they also highlight the pain of those who couldn’t breastfeed. It’s a reminder that every mother’s journey is unique and that the health and happiness of our children should always come first.