Mothers Assemble #1: On Breastfeeding

A collective essay featuring diverse stories from women across Substack who have shared their breastfeeding experiences.

Feb 04, 2025

Mothers, assemble! We’re talking about breastfeeding.

When I first published Breastfeeding Is a Full-time Job (Part 1), I foolishly felt like the only mom in the world failing at this maternal process that I thought was supposed to be innate. How can I possibly have all this milk and still be unable to give it directly to my baby from my body? Haven’t moms been feeding from the breast since the dawn of time?

Then comments started pouring in from mothers across Substack who were feeling the exact same way — some experiencing different struggles yet feeling equally frustrated and devastated that their bodies weren’t doing what they expected them to do. I recently posted Breastfeeding Is a Full-time Job (Part 2) to elaborate further on my own story and to share my best friend’s contrasting breastfeeding experiences.

There are plenty of “how to” guides and books on breastfeeding as a process (not all of them are … helpful), but I knew less about breastfeeding’s impacts on the mother herself even after I started. Since connecting with more readers on Substack, many of whom happen to be moms, it is abundantly clear that women have been trying to voice their stories about this since the first mother gave life (probably).

Perhaps it’s that Motherhood as a category of art is not generally considered popular for consumer storytelling like “romance” or “revenge” or “loss.” Stories of The Mother carry great importance for billions of us around the world but are somehow considered niche for the masses, so we have to sneak through corners of old bookstores, dusting cobwebs off of the minuscule “Parenting” section shelves, to maybe find texts about the mother’s identity, or hope that the online algorithms perchance feed us what we need from each other.

I want to see Motherhood go mainstream. And I’m just one microcosm of the women writing about these aspects of matrescence and identity — my stories are not unique, and I feel compelled to highlight as many stories as possible so that none of us feel alone. So that none of us have to crawl through the archives after a lap of fragmented sleep to find what we need about being Mother.

This debut Mothers Assemble piece features breastfeeding stories. Thank you to all of the mothers who contributed to what I hope is the first of many collective essays.

Your stories matter as much as anyone’s.

*I left all submissions as written (unless a portion was directed to me privately). If anyone would like me to edit any portion of your published quotes, please let me know and I’d be happy to edit accordingly. I wanted to leave them in your individual voices.

The Joy of Breastfeeding

Kiya Taylor from Promoted to Mother, 32 — Link to Substack

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a mother. And for almost as long as I’ve wanted to be a mother, I’ve wanted to breastfeed that child. It’s an indescribable, non-logical feeling – something etched into my psyche – likely rationalised by being raised myself by the quintessential earth mamma, before earth mamma-ing was a thing on Instagram.
Getting ready for the arrival of our child, my partner was worried about how firmly I held that belief. I assured him that obviously, I would do whatever our child needed – but that until that point, I needed to stay firm in my intention. I had grown so tired in pregnancy of people dismissing my intentions – the closest thing I could compare to intuitions – about birth and child-rearing in general. “Oh that’s nice”, they’d say, “but you just wait and see”. I am extremely fortunate that I’ve been able to breastfeed exclusively for the past 17 months (complemented with real food of course after six months). My daughter latched on as soon as we got out of the bath and hasn’t let go since.
Sure, we’ve had our bumps in the road, but we’ve been blessed with a relatively easy ride. Because of this ease, I’ve felt reluctant to share stories about breastfeeding as it’s become a space where so many women experience such heartbreaking struggles and pain. To share one’s joy in it feels as if you’re rubbing salt in someone else’s wound. I realise that in not sharing the joy, we limit the space in which other people can too. I’ve also realised that while my experience has been predominantly joyful, there were several things I wish I had known about beforehand.
Nobody told me that exclusively breastfeeding on demand means that you have to completely surrender to not knowing when they’re going to feed. While routines are generally not advised for newborns, most women will have some sense of ‘taking the lead’ in feeding their child. Demand feeding meant never being far from her – which 99.9% of the time, was my preferred choice. I never wanted to be away from her. I always wanted to be with her. But not having the choice of being able to step away for more than an hour at a time in the first few months, surprised me with how ‘trapped’ I felt.
Nobody told me that exclusively breastfeeding, even as she got older and the gaps between feeds started to get longer, that the guilt and visceral pain I would feel at any thought of her being hungry meant I would be terrified to be away from her. Nobody told me that exclusively breastfeeding meant you didn’t get a break from it even when you were throwing up for 24 hours from a virus and could barely eat. Nobody told me that exclusively breastfeeding would make me hungrier and thirstier than I have ever been. Nobody told me that exclusively breastfeeding would mean that your body would feel shared the entire time, and not your own. Nobody told me just how lonely exclusively breastfeeding can feel at times as you’re not ‘sharing the feeds’. And if I had been told these things, would I have done anything differently? No, probably not. The joys have far outweighed the challenges.
I have yet to find words to adequately describe the closeness - the oneness - I feel when I hold my daughter to my chest to feed her. The smiles and giggles, the playfulness, the little jokes we share between us. For that moment, everything else fades, and you’re in your own little world together. Sometime over the next few months, I know the rhythm will change, and one of us will take the lead on figuring out how this part of our relationship evolves. A change I am equal parts excited and terrified to explore. And while I wish I had been more prepared for these parts of the journey, I am so grateful for the experience.

Breastfeeding As a Labor of Love

Julie Laufer, 33 — Link to Substack

Breastfeeding, as many would say, was an absolute labor of love. I was not prepared for any of it, and I didn't really deal with any “issues.” On paper, things were fairly straightforward: an immediate latch, no tongue tie issues, fairly decent supply, etc. Our first day in the hospital after my 25-hour, 11pm birth, everything seemed to be going well. That night, however, I was met with my first round of cluster feeding, which had me up every 30 minutes or so. We asked if they had any formula we could supplement with at the hospital, and if I could pump to make up for it. The lactation consultant said she didn't recommend it. I asked if we could do it anyway. She said she'd check back later. She never came back.
Our first night home from the hospital was worse—I don't think any of us got any sleep. My son was cranky and, my nipples felt raw, and I wanted him, more than anyone else, to get some *sleep*. I'd taken a small shift to sleep while my husband held him, and at about 7am my husband was doing the same. My son woke up, started stirring, and I started nursing him again. He was latching but crying in between. I looked at my watch—8am. We were due at the pediatrician in an hour. I hobbled downstairs (because you know, 3 days postpartum) and grabbed a bottle of pre-made formula I had on hand, that I'd totally forgotten about, that was sent to me from something I must've signed up for. I fed my son half an ounce, and then another half ounce, and watched as he happily ate. I cried.
My husband woke up, just as he finished and started dozing off to sleep. "I know you didn't want to do that," he said. "But what's best for you is what's best for him here". I cried again. I didn't realize how much I needed to hear that — the permission to take care of myself, and realizing that that's how I show up for my son. I've carried that with me until this day. My milk came in fully 1-2 days later. I got used to a cycle of breastfeeding followed by pumping while my husband gave my son a bottle. I slowly gained confidence and realized I did know what I was doing.
Amidst the sleepless nights and the unpredictability, breastfeeding became a constant. At 6 weeks postpartum, My MIL came to visit and I caved and let her give him more bottles while I pumped more, and I ended up getting mastitis. I didn't let that happen again and prioritized feeding on my time, in my way. I met other mothers and gained confidence to nurse in public, without a cover. I built a stash for when I went back to work. I accidentally left the freezer door open and a good deal of my stash needed to be used quickly. We used it all and I replaced every feed with a pump while we got through it. I cried.
My grandmother passed away unexpectedly when my son was 6 months old and I traveled, without my son, to Europe—we weren't expecting to need to travel so soon, and so he didn't have a passport yet. I pumped and dumped from the bathroom at her funeral. I was too sad to try to figure out how to do even more. It felt important to give myself grace here.
When I got back home, I immediately nursed my son. I felt us both relax into one another. I had an unexpected work trip a month later. This time I was in the headspace to make a bit of a stink about being away from my kid and took pumping breaks, made them figure out the freezer situation at the hotel, etc. I flew with a cooler and it added to my mental load but it felt important to stick to my guns here. Slowly but surely, we started introducing more formula.
At 9 months postpartum, I dropped my first pump during the day, slowly started the weaning process. Over the next 3 months, I dropped the other work day pumping sessions and by the time my son was two weeks away from 1 we were at 2 nursing sessions - morning or night. I dropped the nighttime first, as our mornings were our special time. Besides a few trips and obligations, for that first year, I spent every morning nursing my son I still absolutely cherish that time.
Two weeks after his first birthday, on August 7th, I nursed my son for the last time. The waves of emotion hit—sadness, relief, pride, and gratitude swirled around. He was fussier than usual, seeming to not be interest in nursing at all, almost as if to say 'it's alright, Mama. This chapter can close'.
August 7th is the last day of World Breastfeeding Week. I didn't plan it that way, but what a beautiful way to close a chapter. I'm grateful for the women who came before me and who will come after me. I wish I could experience breastfeeding again for the first time but be armed with everything I know now.

Marisol Olivero, 31 — Link to Substack

I had a textbook pregnancy and birth. My immediate postpartum—not so much. For the nine months preceding my son’s arrival, I marveled at the precision of it all. My baby grew on schedule, from poppy seed to strawberry to butternut squash. Symptoms arrived and faded with their corresponding trimesters. My body passed every test, my midwife sending me off from each appointment with nothing but a reassuring nod. I was one of the lucky ones. I knew that. And with a perfect-score pregnancy, I felt immune to the possibility of complications as I went into labor.
Chase arrived at 6:07 p.m., his cries immediately filling the delivery room. Another passed test. Then, a reckoning. A blur of hours and a body that suddenly, shockingly, refused to cooperate. Blood loss, transfusions, blown veins, iron drips. My numbers refused to rebound. My body wasn’t doing what it was supposed to do. For four days, I was bed-bound, treated like a porcelain doll, desperate for a shower. The only thing I could do was nurse my baby. And even that felt like I was just going through the motions—fifteen minutes on one side, switch, chart the time, listen to the nurses’ endless loops of “Good job, mama.” But I wasn’t sure anything was happening. Chase kept losing ounces. My breasts felt the same as ever. “Can we see the lactation consultant?” *Not today, let’s focus on your recovery.* *Not today, she’s at a training.* *Not today, she’s not on call on weekends.*
By the fifth day, I was constantly blinking back tears as we crossed the last little finish lines toward discharge. My blood counts were up. Just one more blood draw. Just one more visit with the OB. Just one more weight check. But it didn’t feel like progress. I was swollen, aching, uncomfortable in every way. Sitting hurt. Standing exhausted me. Nothing felt right. Nothing felt like it was working. I wanted to scream, to cry, to collapse. Then—knock, knock. In walked Kate. The lactation consultant we had heard so much about, the one who always seemed just out of reach. And suddenly, the mechanics of it all—the positioning, the latch, keeping Chase awake for feedings—clicked. I saw him gulp. My breasts finally ballooned. My shoulders untensed.
This isn’t a fairy-tale ending to my breastfeeding journey. But it was one of those pivotal moments in early motherhood when something seemingly insurmountable becomes manageable. A reminder that I could figure it out, one way or another.
Six months in, and breastfeeding and I have settled into a love-loath relationship. I savor the quiet, dark middle-of-the-night feeds, just me and my baby. But the sensory overload can nearly undo me. I battle supply anxiety. I’ve never felt closer to depression than when I have to hook myself up yet again to the Spectra. I swing between wanting time to slow down—to cling to this fleeting first year—while also counting down the days until I can pack away the pump parts for good.
Motherhood is full of paradoxes. I just didn’t know that breastfeeding would be one of them. I thought I would either love breastfeeding or leave it altogether. So much of the stories out there frame it this way, so black and white. Six months in, I’m learning to live in that tension, to let it be both hard and beautiful at the same time.

Amanda Aaron, 34 — Link to Substack

Breastfeeding is not just breastfeeding. Here are the list of other influencing factors which determine your breastfeeding journey: how you birthed, how you feel about your birth, your emotions about the world around you, how well you're sleeping (or not sleeping), your overall health (of if you're sick), how you nourish your physical/mental/spiritual body, how healthy your emotional and relationship boundaries are (or how weak they are), how relaxed you are (or if you take on stress easily from people and the world around you), if you feel safe and secure (or not), and a million other physical and biological obstacles.
My baby was born in the onset of covid, April 14, 2020. Everything was in lockdown. I was very anxious to be out in public. I birthed quickly and powerfully in a hospital. My birth experience was euphoric and empowering. I was a sovereign, autonomous woman, backed up by my midwife and husband. I had a wonderful spontaneous vaginal birth without induction or intervention. While I had a very serious tear and half an hour worth of stiches, I was feeling on top of the world. Baby spent 2 wonderful hours on my belly after birth. At that point, my husband cut the umbilical cord and the midwife brought my baby over to the warming table to measure and check. Then I fed my baby for an hour and a half.
I remember the nurse saying "you have big boobs..." and I was like THANK YOU! All my life I've been small-breasted, but pregnancy was an incredible transformation from my boobs. I went from an A cup to an F cup and was advised that I needed to help the nipple get into my infant son's mouth because his mouth was so tiny that he couldn't get the nipple deep enough into his mouth to get a good flow.
I remember my nipples being really sore, but they never got infected. I applied nipple butter to each nipple after each feeding. While nursing, I would keep him on one boob for 20 minutes, then switch to the other boob, and go back and forth until he was done. I washed one nursing bra and one set of bamboo pads every night and put on a clean bra and clean pads. I used bamboo pads for any possible leaking and to keep a soft surface next to my nipple. I massaged my whole breast while my son nursed each time to make sure all the ducts were flowing smoothly. In the shower each night, I would massage from the nipple all the way up to my armpit to make sure the milk ducts did not get clogged.
The first two weeks was the hardest. Baby boy slept for very little periods of time at night. We misinterpreted advice from the midwife, which didn't help. We thought she said not to feed any more frequently than every four hours. What she really meant is don't go longer than 4 hours without feeding. Once we clarified that, I fed more frequently and baby boy slept better at night. But those first two weeks was a critical hit. Baby boy lost weight after being born (a small weight loss is normal, but if baby is not gaining weight by two weeks, it's concerning). I had no problem with my milk supply, but I did anything I could to increase my milk production. I took supplements (fenugreek and blessed thistle) - only one bottle of 180 capsules. I made lactation cookies (including brewer's yeast and oats). I ate soft, warm, oily/fatty foods to go easy on my digestive system and increase my mood. I had at least one cup of Mother's Milk tea everyday (often 3 cups a day). And I included oats in my diet as much as I could, including in smoothies. I also took marine collagen in my smoothies to aid repair in my body from birth, and I took ashwaganda and maca powder in my coffee to increase focus.
Somewhere between week 6 and 8, baby boy started putting on weight. That was a trying period, but we got through it.
When there was ever any hardness due to clogged milk ducts, I would soak the breast in a hot bath, massage a lot and squeeze the nipple to reduce pressure. Extra breastfeeding sessions with baby also help to unclog a duct. It was never that severe for me, but if I would have ever had mastitis, I knew to get cabbage leaves, freeze them, and apply them to the breast.
Your body changes the breast milk as to what the child needs so I was always happy to have my infant at my breast. The female body can sense if a toddler or a new born is at the boob (for mothers breastfeeding more than one child), and releases different breastmilk for each child (more sugar for smaller infants). Breastmilk changes as the child grows, but it also changes if the child gets sick. I wanted my body and my baby to be in sync so when my son did not enjoy being introduced to the nipple of a bottle and fought being breastfed from a bottle, I accepted it and moved on. My son never had a bottle and never used a sippy cup.
When I went back to work after a 1-year maternity leave, I was part time in the office, and part time at home. I had a breast pump and would pump my breasts over my lunch break when I was at the office, but I didn't have to worry about saving the milk because my son refused to take a bottle. By that point, my son was eating solid food to keep his belly full during the day when I was at the office. Instead, I would breastfeed my son as soon as I got home. The pumping at the office reduced the pressure a little bit, but I was always very full by the end of the day.
For us, breastfeeding and sleeping went hand in hand. There was no sleep training for us. I hated it and so did my son. Instead, I let him sleep on me, at the boob. That was his happiest spot. When our breastfeeding journey came closer to a natural end, my son was learning how to fall asleep on his own. It seemed a natural progression.
Did you know breastfeeding over 1 year is considered extended breastfeeding? How ridiculous is that? It goes as long as it needs to go and every kid is different. We breastfed until almost his third birthday. February 21, 2023 was our last breastfeeding. It was a wonderful, and equally exhausting time for me, but I wouldn't have done it any other way.

Breastfeeding With Just Enough Milk

India Douglass, 30 — Link to Substack

My breastfeeding journey was anything but easy. I was not a big milk producer, and I entered motherhood assuming I’d be able to store milk in the fridge, build a massive stash, and have enough to last until my son turned two. That’s not my story. Instead, this is the story of a mom who pumped just enough milk exclusively—until one night at 3 a.m., curiosity struck. I wondered if nursing might work so I could get back to sleep sooner.
Spoiler alert: It worked. From that day forward, I breastfed my son exclusively, with the exception of a morning and evening bottle his dad would give him so I could get a bit more rest at night. But let’s rewind. Here’s a glimpse into my breastfeeding experience.
My baby was born two months early and spent 23 days in the NICU. During that time, I was not able to get him to latch, so I primarily relied on pumping. Pumping in the NICU was a frustrating experience. There was so much pressure from others to breastfeed, yet I had one inverted nipple, and that side barely produced more than an ounce the entire time. Because of this, I was a “just enough” milk mama. I often felt discouraged, especially when I saw other moms with overflowing milk supplies. As a first-time mom, everything was new, and the weight of comparison was heavy. When my baby came home in November, I became obsessive about his feeding schedule. I ran our household like I was still in the NICU—tracking every ounce, feed, and minute. I started to develop anxiety around whether he was eating enough. Then, on November 22, 2023, I decided to trust my son and his feeding cues. I chose to stop obsessing over pumping and tracking. Instead, I’d pump when needed, store the milk, and focus on his weight gain and overall health. I refused to let postpartum anxiety win. My baby was thriving, gaining weight beautifully, and getting both breastmilk and formula (since he needed iron formula for supplementation).
Watching him grow motivated me to care for myself better, especially since I also have low iron. Once I let go of the obsessive tracking, things became easier. For a while, I continued a mix of pumping and formula feeding. Then, something magical happened. I wish I could remember the exact day, but sometime around January 22, everything changed. My son started nursing consistently. Before I knew it, most of his feeds were directly from me, with only about three formula bottles a day. It felt like such a milestone—one I never thought I’d reach. Even with my inverted nipple, my son was able to nurse from both sides. I am so grateful I didn’t give up. A fellow mom encouraged me not to quit breastfeeding. She suggested trying to nurse when my baby was calm and when I wasn’t in the mood to pump. That advice changed everything. After three months of pumping every three hours, I was exhausted. So one day, I tried nursing—and my son latched perfectly. That moment marked the beginning of a breastfeeding journey that lasted 10 months. The last time I nursed him was on his first birthday, October 21. I never thought I’d miss those days, but I do. I’d assumed I would hate breastfeeding, but going from believing I couldn’t do it to successfully nursing for nearly a year gave me a deep appreciation for the experience.
Breastfeeding was convenient, and I loved knowing my son could take both a bottle and the breast. It gave us flexibility—whether for date nights or when he stayed with a sitter. I’m grateful that for 10 months, I was his primary source of nourishment, with only minimal supplementation. Looking back, I realize my NICU experience contributed to my constant worry about whether he was eating enough. NICU babies are fed on strict schedules with precise measurements, so transitioning to breastfeeding felt uncertain. In hindsight, I think some of those bottles were unnecessary. If I have another child, I plan to breastfeed exclusively and pump only for moments when I need rest or my husband and I want a date night. Breastfeeding gave me a sense of power and pride—especially knowing my “disabled” nipple was able to provide for my child.
I thank God for this experience and the blessing of being a woman and a mother.

Breastfeeding Poetry

Marisa Steiner, 29 — Link to Substack

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

From the very first day 
I saw your little face 
The very first latch 
And suckle at my breast 

We were a team, me and you 
Figuring it out, the way mamas and babies do 

It wasn’t always easy 
The struggle to gain weight 
Supplementing then bottle refusal 
When mama was your only resting place 

It seems so long ago 
As I now hold you close 
Though a year older you still know 

Home is on my chest 
Resting at the breast 

We figured it out me and you 
As mamas and babies do
 Together we will be 
Snuggled up happily

Moriah Steiner, 36 — Link to Substack

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Dear, 
This loving you has been such a journey. 
It is one that makes my heart full. 
But there were days when it felt hard. 
Holding you until my arms were sore. 
Nursing through the pain and learning. 
But I knew it would nourish you. 
I knew it would sooth. 
There was so much love in the process. 
Day and night we journeyed on, and still we travel.

Different Breastfeeding Experiences for Multiple Children

Meredith, 36 — Link to Substack

I’ve had two very different experiences with breastfeeding. My first baby and I went through the wringer - nipple shields, oversupply, triple feeding, breastfeeding strikes, overactive letdown, seemingly endless cluster feeding, bottle refusal… all of it. I kept setting goals for myself (I’ll just try for 6 weeks, then 8, then 12, then 6 months, then 1 year). I wound up breastfeeding him well into his second year of life and only stopped when I was pregnant with baby number two. If you had told me at 4 weeks postpartum that we would make it to two and a half years I would’ve laughed in your face - the sort of hysterical laughter that comes from sleepless lights, covered in milk and spit up and poop. It was so hard and also so easy at times. I resented my husband for his useless nipples and the fact that only I could put our kid to sleep, but I also loved him for supporting me and making sure I was always comfortable when I was breastfeeding on-the-go (and I could write an entire essay about the places I’ve breastfed and pumped).
My second baby came five weeks early. She was tiny and needed a few days in the NICU and all I could think was - how am I going to breastfeed her if they keep giving her bottles? I hand expressed and then pumped in the hospital and, when I was strong enough to make it to the NICU to see her, she latched immediately. No fuss. No nipple shield. Very little skin-to-skin in her first 18 hours of life. I was thrilled and immediately took a picture to send to my lactation consultant (who had become my motherhood guardian angel). We still bottle fed her after each nursing session in the beginning, but eventually we didn’t need to anymore. In Spanish they say “cada niño es un mundo” or “every baby is a world” and it is so true. My experience with breastfeeding this time could not be more different than it was with my first. I have had mastitis twice (which is a special kind of poison made just for moms) but other than that, everything has been so much easier. I’m not sure if I’ll nurse her as long as I did my first, but I’m not setting any goals this time around. We’ll just go with the flow and see where we end up!

Katrina Donham, 37 — Link to Substack

Katrina has previously written about her breastfeeding experiences and its impact on her marriage on The Mother Chapter. She also writes here:

I had a really rough start with my first child — mastitis, clogs, latch issues, uncomfortable pumping, bottle rejection — and required the help of a lactation consultant (via Zoom!). Eventually, my daughter and I started learning how to solve the problem, together. When I got pregnant with my second child, I continued to breastfeed until third trimester (when my milk changed) and then after giving birth, I had a really easy time with breastfeeding. I nursed both of my kids for 40 months combined with only a three-month intermission. I'm so grateful that I did and stuck with it, but I'm also so grateful that it is over because it did a number on my mental and physical health.
As my essay linked above concludes: “So, if you’re feeling like there’s no end in sight as a breastfeeding mom or if you’re unsure if you’ll ever feel sexy again, I’m here to encourage you to really examine the pros and cons of breastfeeding, discuss your needs and wants with your partner and give yourself grace and space to make the decision that’s right for you. Your decision is the right one.”

Rachel Beiser, 29 — Link to Substack

I had my first child three years ago now, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget my breastfeeding journey with her. The short of it is that it was very, very challenging, and I kind of can’t believe that I made it through to the other side. The longer version is that my baby was in the NICU for a few days after birth, so naturally we were off to a rocky start from day one.
When we came home from the hospital she didn’t latch, and I will never forget the panic of realizing that I had no. freaking. clue. how to operate my pump. I had an emergency consultation with a lactation consultant who taught me how to use my Spectra and also tried troubleshooting my baby’s latch. Turns out, she had a tongue and lip tie that was preventing her little mouth from operating properly.
Meanwhile, since I had started pumping, I accidentally gave myself an oversupply of milk which quickly became hard to manage. We soon after got baby’s tongue and lip tie reversed which definitely improved things with her latch, but I was still struggling on my own - I got several clogged ducts a week (I must have had 40 or so total over the first 6 months) which was a massive strain on my mental health and obviously a physical strain as well. I agonized over whether to stop breastfeeding.
The mom guilt was real, but more than that, I wasn’t enjoying my maternity leave because of the pain and stress. However, and despite all the hardships, I really loved the experience when I wasn’t in pain, and I took so much pride in the fact that my body was able to continue to nurture my baby. After much back and forth, I bravely decided to wean at 2.5 months… only to be met with BREAKING NEWS about the formula shortage of 2022! (Crazy times — I still can’t believe that happened.)
In a funny way, I felt so much clarity and peace knowing that I would continue nursing despite my challenges, and I was deeply grateful that even though I was still encountering pain, I was lucky to have the reassurance that my baby would get the food she needed. The clogs went away sound the 6 month mark (I actually think it was due to switching brands of disposable breast pads - that’s a story for another time!) my supply regulated, and I was ultimately able to breastfeed my baby for 11 months total. So, despite navigating a NICU stay, tongue and lip ties, an oversupply, dozens of clogged ducts, and a formula shortage, I persevered and came out the other side. I am beyond proud of my body and resilience.
Flash forward to now — I’m on a very different breastfeeding journey with my second baby, and I can happily report that this time, it’s been smooth and enjoyable from the start. Every baby is different, and every journey comes with its own twists and turns. No matter where you are on yours, trust yourself, give yourself grace, and know that you are doing an amazing job.

Breastfeeding After a C-Section

Madi, 31 — Link to Instagram

C-section delivery! Told my milk wouldn’t come in and MAN were they wrong. I pumped 4 oz day 3 after giving birth to my son and asked for an early discharge due to the stress that being “stuck” in the hospital made me feel. I freaking hated the BF consultants. I exclusively breastfed my son for 5 months. Cool experiences to share around “emergency” supplementing, weaning, the decision to stop, etc.

I, like Madi, had bad experiences with lactation consultants after my c-section in the hospital. So much badgering, no applicable advice, too many opinions — I found my clinical lactation consultants after birth far more compassionate and helpful contrary to those barraging me aggressively in the throes of surgery recovery.

I think lactation consultants can certainly be invaluable — but like with any profession, a bad experience with one can sour a desire to consult again with another.

Weaning a Breastfed Baby

Kasey Butcher Santana, 37 — Link to Substack

Before my daughter was born, I was a bit anxious about breastfeeding. I knew I really wanted to do it, but there was so much info about breastfeeding struggles and nipple pain, etc. that it made me nervous. We had a single umbilical artery and the pregnancy had some extra monitoring because of that but, long story short, my daughter was born full-term and hungry.
Breastfeeding came naturally to us and I feel so lucky. Weaning was harder and I want to just put out a signal to other mothers: the weaning blues are real. I nursed my daughter for well over a year and even after she stopped nursing at other times, she still did at bedtime. Getting her to go to bed was a related struggle that made me feel like I did not know how to wean. I planned to gradually stop to protect my hormones and mental health, but my girl got so excited about bedtime stories that she just dropped the bedtime nursing session cold turkey.
I felt liberated from breastfeeding but also sad that when it was our last session, I didn't know to treasure it, etc. And then my hormones went nuts. If I hadn't known about the weaning blues, I would have felt even more stressed. I had anxiety and insomnia for about six weeks. I got sweaty and weepy. My heart raced. I tossed and turned at night and had nightmares when I did fall asleep. Because I had been warned about this possibility when I researched weaning, I felt like I was able to just kind of breathe through it as a short-term problem. I was exhausted, but I came out on the other side okay. Other moms might need more support and that's worth knowing and considering as part of a breastfeeding journey.

Breastfeeding Twins

Kristen Crocker, 36 — Link to Substack

Twins
The first time I breastfed, it was pumping in my hospital room. My twins were born prematurely, at 31+5, and they were on another floor while I floundered alone in the hospital room, hearing babies crying in nearby rooms, while I worked to hook myself to a contraption I’d never used before, with poorly sized flanges and poor advice from the hospital lactation consultant who seemed to be troubled by something personal. I never made enough milk for my twins. Every drop counts, they said. There was the time that the well-meaning nurse accidentally knocked the 12 or 14ml over across the counter. She had been trying to load it into their ng tubes. I suppose I will cry over spilt milk, I said. In the sad pumping room, there was an image that seemed to be from the 80s, a woman with Farah Fawcett hair, a giant belly, holding a cigarette, the words: Why start a life under a cloud? They had trouble latching, and trouble staying awake. They spent 40 days in the NICU, then they came home. I thought I might have felt beautiful when I was nursing, but instead, I felt like Jabba the Hut. I had my twin breastfeeding pillow, and from my control station, as I called it, I tried to have them latch and eat and interact with my then-husband and stepkid. We had to bottle feed them after, too, with the supplemented milk and formula. NICU babies. I hoped they were getting what they needed.
A Singleton
My second birth experience, with my third son, was also a NICU baby. I thought he latched well, and he moved his tongue and lips, and the private lactation consultant said she could see him swallowing. But he tricked us all. He always weighed the same after a weighted feed. We took him to the pediatric doctor to have his lip and tongue tie corrected. They took him in a back room, where I suppose they put him on a board and used surgical tools to help correct his mouth so he could effectively eat. He breastfed beautifully after that, and he gained weight. He is 6 years old now, obsessed with Wild Kratts. He can name every extinct animal from Back in Creature Time, tasmanian tigers, the ground sloth. Others I can’t recall. I had started drinking a bit then, but I had read a good hoppy ale was good for milk production, and I had also read There were times when I drank more than I should have, maybe. Times when I woke in a panic. Googling how many beers is safe. What signs would I look for in a baby that was being impacted by alcohol in the breastmilk. If you’re safe to drive, you’re safe to nurse, the OB had assured me. You honestly probably wouldn’t be conscious to nurse if you were at an unsafe level, she said. So I took that as my go-ahead. The only reason I stopped breastfeeding him, at 15 months, was because he started to wake after I would unlatch him. He would fall asleep at the breast, exhausted, my sweet lamb, and then…
My Daughter
I held my last baby in my arms in the OR. It was my dream. What was funny, not-funny was when she was placed on my chest, which was a moment I had imagined for so many years, my ongoing dream to start breastfeeding in the OR, I was shaking so badly that I couldn’t hold her for more than 45 seconds. Not in this lifetime, I suppose, I said to my husband. In this lifetime, I didn’t get a water birth, a baby to latch while still attached to her placenta. In the recovery room, she latched perfectly. Moreover, there has been beauty in this: I have never woken in a panic and panic-googled how many drinks is it safe to have while breastfeeding. It isa miracle, really, that she has been able to breastfeed without issues. My baby has rolls. I am proud of her rolls, the weight she has gained, sustained completely by the milk my body has produced. “What you saying, thick thighs?” I say to her sometimes. My husband thinks it endlessly hilarious. Sometimes I call her “double chin.” This baby has healed me, in ways I couldn’t have imagined I needed. I look into her eyes and she trusts me. And I trust me, fully.

Breastfeeding With Latch Issues

Charlotte, 35 — Link to Substack

I was desperate to breastfeed my first son, but things didn't go to plan. He had a tongue tie so severe he had next to no movement in his tongue, and as a result would grind his gums together in order to get my milk - I suffered a huge amount of physical trauma in the few days before the tie was flagged and, by the time I knew I had to stop - around a week in - I would cry when he looked at me for milk, terrified of feeding him. He had his tie cut, but my recovery took a long time due to repeat bouts of mastitis, thrush, and other complications. I expressed for months but, after developing postnatal depression, had to stop that too. The last time I fed him was a last desperate attempt to breastfeed - I managed to latch him despite months on bottles, he fed well, and I thought I'd mastered it. The next day I woke up in so much pain, with the worst mastitis I'd had yet, and that was the end.
When I was pregnant with my second son, I knew I wanted to try again, despite PTSD-like symptoms whenever breastfeeding was raised. I was luckier with him and, aside from some issues when teeth came in (he had a lip tie, his top teeth would sink into me when he was latched!) I fed him for 22 months. It was so healing, beautiful, and like nothing else I'd ever experienced.
I am 15 months into feeding my third child, a daughter, and have had the most beautiful journey with her, too. Breastfeeding is hard at times, but it is so worth it when you can make it work. I don't know how long I'll keep going for, and have started to pull back on on demand feeding now she's older, but can hand on heart say some of my favourite moments in the day are still when I'm sat feeding my baby, listening to the sound of her swallowing my milk as she rests her little hands on my chest. It's beautiful. I'm so grateful I was able to do it, after all.

Ellie, 38 — Link to Substack

'That's not good,' the doula said, shaking her head. 'If you don't get it right now, he's going to get lazy and he'll never latch properly.' I tried again and again to get his latch right - bringing my baby up to my breast and trying to get his nose to line up with my nipple, trying to do what she was telling me, trying to remember the videos I'd watched before I gave birth - and every time, I was getting it wrong. I was sitting upright in my low-lit bedroom, my back and each arm propped up with pillows.
Only three days before I'd given birth on the floor of this very bedroom, after 64 hours of contractions. I held my body tight and didn't let myself cry. But, desperate for comfort, I said: 'Everyone finds it hard, don't they?' I wanted her to say yes, yes of course, everyone does, don't worry, you'll get it, you'll get there, you're doing great. Instead - 'I didn't,' she said.
The next day I was in tears. I was still failing. Was she right? If I didn't get it right now, would my son 'never get it right' as the doula had said? I left a voice-note in a WhatsApp group of the mothers circle I was part of, a message where my voice trembled with tears. And the replies came like a flood of love: voicenotes and written messages from mothers with older babies, reassuring me that no, it would be fine, that they'd ALL found it hard, that we were learning together, that it had taken them weeks or even months before it clicked... I was beyond grateful for their words.
A few weeks later I was sitting on the edge of the bed, put my son to my breast, he latched comfortably and I fed him with ease. And I remembered the doula's words 'If you don't get it right now, he's going to get lazy.' And thought: what a fucking lie that was.
I ended up breastfeeding my son for four years... I still feed him about once a week. I am very gradually and gently weaning him, at a pace that feels right for both of us. It was never, ever my plan or intention to breastfeed for this long. In all honesty, before having a child I hadn't understood mothers who breastfed their children after babyhood. I thought they were weird. I had friends who described themselves being 'done' when their child was a year old and I'd thought the same would happen to me. I'd also heard of babies weaning themselves at that age, or of weaning being easy at that age. Yet my son turned one and was still feeding many, many times. a day with no sign of reducing feeds. He didn't really take to food - and often people suggested that was because I was breastfeeding him so much, as if it was my fault somehow.
People also blamed breastfeeding for my son's hourly wakes at night - and perhaps there was some truth in that, but nobody ever seemed to consider that maybe I wanted to keep breastfeeding because my son clearly wanted and needed to. I didn't feel the aversion or sense of being 'done' my friends had described. In fact, I was always grateful for the chance to sit down, to do nothing else except be still and watch TV or reply to messages on my phone or read. And even when he got too old for me to get away with watching TV, I would still read. I read so many books! And when he became a very active toddler and I was looking after him all day, those half hour feeds where I got to cuddle up to him on the sofa, exhale deeply and pick up a book were absolute bliss.
I am so grateful I didn't bow to other people's 'advice' or societal pressure to wean him earlier. I am so glad we're doing it on our terms - gradually, gently and slowly. When they're gone for good, I will so miss those moments of sinking into the sofa, my son sinking into my body, both of us calm and still, him playing with my hair or rolling a toy car over my chest, and me - picking up a book.

On Feeding Our Babies the Best We Can

Iva Markicevic Daley, 28 — Link to Substack

I felt guilty when my daughter’s pediatrician recommended we stop breastfeeding. Yes, after two months of weekly weight checks, hourly nighttime feedings, and a growing realization that my daughter puked less on days she drank more formula, I felt relief. But after a pregnancy (and a whole womanhood) hearing “good mothers breastfeed,” no matter how reassuring the pediatrician was, I couldn’t shake the thought that I was somehow failing my child.
In the four months since we stopped breastfeeding, my daughter has been steadily gaining weight. (At her last well-child visit, she finally hit the fifth percentile.) She’s been sleeping through the night, infrequently crying, and spitting up puddles rather than rivers. Because her weight is no longer an ever present stressor, I’ve been able to more joyfully show up for her. I won’t lie and say I never feel guilt anymore. It sneaks in when I see Facebook posts advertising local breastfeeding support groups, hear the women in my book club compare latching a-ha moments. But when I lie next to my daughter and watch her attempt to crawl, see her face break into a smile whenever I enter her eyesight, I’m reminded that, while it doesn’t look like what I thought it would, my daughter’s feeding journey is her own. And there is nothing wrong with it. Or me.

I have a lot in common with Iva’s story and I’m so glad that she felt empowered to share hers.

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Selene

Feb 4

Thank you, Violet, for creating such important space 🙏🏻 Here is to Motherhood becoming mainstream 💪🏻

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1 reply by Violet Carol

Ellie Nova

Feb 5

Thank you Violet for gathering these stories together - it is so moving to read them and everyone's different experiences, as well as the similarities. Thank you for sharing my words here; it means a lot.

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