Confession: I chose not to breastfeed my child. It wasn’t due to an inability to produce milk or a problem with latching. The truth is, I simply didn’t want to breastfeed.
This is where many people jump to conclusions about my character, labeling me as selfish, uneducated, or even lazy. They may even question my womanhood, as if there’s something inherently wrong with a mother who doesn’t feel the instinct to nurse her baby. Trust me, these are thoughts I’ve grappled with for years.
When my first child was born, I attempted breastfeeding and found myself disliking it from the very beginning. Unlike many women who describe a bonding experience while nursing, I felt anger and frustration. Each time I tried to feed him, I felt an uncomfortable sensation, and the idea of nursing filled me with dread. I found myself resenting my newborn for needing me in that way, and I was filled with shame for feeling that way.
After a few weeks, I decided to stop nursing, and I immediately felt a sense of relief. However, that relief was soon replaced by deep shame and guilt. I kept wondering: Why didn’t I want to breastfeed? What was wrong with me?
This self-criticism was compounded by societal pressures. The invasive question of “Are you breastfeeding?” is often posed to new mothers—friends, family, or even strangers. We don’t typically ask others about their intimate experiences during childbirth, so why is breastfeeding treated differently? It seems to imply that there is a right way to nourish our children, and I was clearly doing it “wrong.”
In addition to these intrusive questions, the media bombards us with articles touting the benefits of breastfeeding, with critics ready to pounce on anyone who admits they didn’t enjoy the experience. These messages create the perception that a mother who doesn’t breastfeed is somehow inadequate.
I want to emphasize that I recognize the benefits of breastfeeding, and I fully support a mother’s right to nurse her child as long as she and her baby are comfortable. However, this should not come at the expense of providing support and resources for those who choose not to breastfeed. I remember seeing a large sign in a local maternity store that declared, “Babies Are Meant To Be Breastfed.” Reading that made me feel physically ill and emotionally crushed. What did it say about me as a mother if I wasn’t providing that for my child?
Yet, over time, I came to realize I hadn’t failed. Breastfeeding simply wasn’t the right choice for my mental health. When my second child was born three years later, I chose not to attempt breastfeeding at all. It was a liberating decision that benefited not only me but my son and the entire family. Despite this newfound confidence, the shadows of shame and guilt lingered.
Throughout the years, the weight of guilt has lightened. Time has a way of healing. Additionally, there has been a growing acceptance of formula feeding in recent years, and more resources supporting all mothers, regardless of how they choose to feed their babies. Experts like Laura Peters, a lactation consultant, are advocating for an inclusive approach, emphasizing that “Ultimately, what matters most is love.”
We need to move away from idealizing mothers as self-sacrificing martyrs and recognize that each mother’s experience is unique. These stereotypes can create unnecessary stigma and further perpetuate feelings of guilt among mothers who take different paths. Motherhood takes many forms, but one thing remains constant: the love we have for our children.
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In summary, the journey through motherhood can be complex and fraught with societal expectations. While I initially struggled with feelings of shame and guilt over my choices, I’ve learned that every mother’s path is valid, and love is the most important thing we can offer our children.