When I first opened that can of formula for my daughter, I was overwhelmed with emotion. It wasn’t just the lack of sleep and the whirlwind of postpartum hormones; it was the pain of disappointment and heartache. I had envisioned an exclusive breastfeeding journey, but reality took a different turn.
In those early weeks, I was devastated to learn my milk supply was low. We sought help from specialists, adjusted my daughter’s latch, and I tried every supplement imaginable. I was nursing or pumping every hour, drinking enough water to fill a small pool, and experiencing the kind of nipple trauma that could rival a horror movie.
Despite our best efforts, my little one was still hungry, and I had to make the tough decision to supplement with formula. This led to further supply challenges, and by three months, we transitioned to formula entirely.
With baby number two, I was hopeful that things would be different. However, the same supply issues resurfaced, compounded by the demands of a toddler who needed my attention the moment I sat down to nurse. Within just a few weeks, we were back to supplementing, and soon enough, our second child was on formula exclusively by two months.
I grappled with feelings of inadequacy and guilt. I felt like I had failed—not once, but twice. The “If only…” scenarios haunted me, weighing heavily on my heart. I was burdened by the guilt of not fulfilling what felt like my most fundamental role as a mother: nourishing my children.
What about the guilt of feeling relieved when I stopped nursing? Suddenly, I was no longer tied to a schedule; my husband could help with feeding. I could enjoy a margarita without a second thought. I was reclaiming my body, and yet guilt lingered, as if I had gained my freedom at the expense of my kids.
I was constantly reminded that “Breast is Best.” I had read the studies that touted the numerous advantages of breastfeeding—smarter, healthier, more successful children, they claimed. But I often wondered: Do we really need more studies to prove this point? Isn’t there more pressing research to focus on, like curing cancer?
These societal pressures made me acutely aware of my breastfeeding struggles. I could feel the judgment from other mothers when I pulled a bottle from my diaper bag. Even when someone shared the latest breastfeeding research, I felt it was a subtle jab at my choice.
One time, my son’s pediatrician casually mentioned that our baby “didn’t have the benefit of the natural immunities in breastmilk.” I wanted to shout, “I tried everything, okay?”
The reminders of breastfeeding’s benefits are everywhere—support groups, public service announcements, and dedicated months of awareness. While they are important, they often serve as painful reminders of the breastfeeding experience I never had. That special bond I had longed for slipped through my fingers, leaving me to grieve what might have been.
I yearned for a support network of moms who had similar experiences with formula feeding. It would have been comforting to share tips like, “What’s the secret to getting the last spoonful out of that can?” or “Is it really a big deal if the formula has been out for more than an hour?”
I don’t wish to undermine breastfeeding moms; I respect their commitment. It’s hard work, and I applaud anyone who can do it successfully. The choice not to breastfeed, however, comes from countless individual reasons. Among all the mothers I know, not one stopped nursing out of mere convenience.
I’m finally starting to see the value in my own journey. I take pride in my body for bringing two beautiful children into this world and doing its best to nurse them. I’m proud that I was able to feed them, keep them healthy and strong, even if it wasn’t the way I initially envisioned.
Life is too short to dwell on guilt for things beyond our control. What matters is the effort we put in, the lessons we learn, and recognizing the many ways we succeed as mothers along the way.