Updated: October 29, 2020
Originally Published: November 19, 2015
Image Credit: Soloviova Liudmyla / Shutterstock
Reflecting on my early days of motherhood, three moments stand out vividly. Firstly, I quickly learned that when a baby has a diaper blowout, trying to pull off their onesie over their head is a recipe for disaster—poop will end up everywhere. Secondly, the reality of sleep deprivation hit hard, forcing me to bid farewell to those blissful weekend naps I once enjoyed. Lastly, and perhaps most painfully, I grappled with the challenges and feelings of inadequacy surrounding breastfeeding.
As a pediatrician, I often engage with parents about the merits of breastfeeding, yet I was blindsided by my own experience. I had envisioned breastfeeding as a natural and beautiful bonding experience, filled with serene moments and soothing music, reminiscent of the age-old practice embraced by mothers worldwide. Given my extensive background in discussing breastfeeding with others, I assumed it would come easily to me.
However, that was not the case.
My daughter arrived in the early morning, and the moment her skin touched mine, I felt a profound transformation. My life was now divided into “before children” and “after children.” My “after” began with excitement and love for this tiny being I had brought into the world. I was eager to give her the best start possible and couldn’t wait to breastfeed.
But when the nurse placed her in my arms for the first attempt at breastfeeding, I was taken aback by the intense pain. We tried different positions time and again, yet the discomfort persisted. Soon, my daughter was crying in frustration as she realized she wasn’t receiving any milk, and I found myself in tears as well.
I wish I could say that things improved, but they did not. I sought help from lactation consultants, consulted fellow physicians, and explored countless methods to boost my milk supply. I tried teas, cookies, and even drank excessive amounts of water. Despite my efforts, I felt increasingly defeated and began to dread each feeding, burdened by the pressure to succeed.
As weeks passed, my internal dialogue shifted. After longing for motherhood for years, I was now feeling unworthy of the role. By the end of the first month, I was mentally labeling myself as a failure. My husband and family watched helplessly as I spiraled into self-criticism, comparing myself to other mothers who seemed to effortlessly produce milk on demand. “Why can’t I do that?” I wondered.
In a moment of clarity during one particularly challenging evening, I was watching a news segment featuring Jason Miller. As I began to ponder whether he had been breastfed, I realized how far removed I had become from reality. Was this really what I was focusing on?
Stepping back, I viewed myself as an outsider would. If my daughter were experiencing this struggle, what wisdom would I impart? I would encourage her to care for her own well-being first, to practice self-compassion, and to embrace her imperfections. I would remind her that she cannot nurture others if she does not love herself.
In that moment, I decided to forgive myself. I recognized that I was doing my best and chose to let go of my self-doubt. The challenge of breastfeeding taught me the importance of self-compassion, a lesson I carry with me as I navigate motherhood.
As a pediatrician, I continue to advocate for breastfeeding, but I emphasize the importance of self-compassion above all. I hold no judgment regarding how a mother feeds her child, as long as she is present and loving. Parenting is an arduous journey, and we must be kind to ourselves along the way.
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In conclusion, remember that motherhood is challenging, and you are not alone in your struggles. Embrace your journey with kindness and understanding.
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