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Why I Let Go of My Breastfeeding Dreams
The day I had been waiting for finally arrived after five long years of trying to conceive: my twins were born. I always envisioned myself breastfeeding, but that plan took a turn when they arrived ten weeks early.
I had friends who warned me against starting breastfeeding, sharing their own struggles of balancing trips to the hospital with caring for newborns. They both ended up stopping after just a few weeks and regretted it. Given that I had a cesarean section, I knew recovery would be challenging, and I weighed my options carefully. Ultimately, I decided breastfeeding wasn’t the right fit for me. I felt at peace with my choice, and thankfully, my family supported me unconditionally.
When I lost one of my twins at eight weeks, I actually felt a sense of relief for not having started breastfeeding. I believe the emotional weight of that loss would have been heavier if I had formed a deeper bond through breastfeeding, which I might have needed to let go of.
Fast forward four years, and my little girl arrived. This time, I was determined to try breastfeeding. However, it wasn’t until hours after her birth that I had the chance to attempt it. She latched on, but as a newbie, I couldn’t tell if she was actually getting any milk. After four days in the hospital, I thought we were making progress. She would suck, fall asleep, and then suck again hours later; I held onto hope that she was getting enough.
Then, I moved to a mother/baby convalescent home for a few days, where the challenges began. My daughter was a bit jaundiced, making her sleepy. Despite the nurses’ advice to remove her pajamas to wake her up, she continued to doze off during breastfeeding. That’s when I was introduced to the dreaded pump.
To me, pumping was like a modern-day torture device. My first experience was excruciating—almost worse than childbirth itself. I barely got any milk, and as the days progressed, the cycle of pumping and trying to feed her became exhausting. My daughter was the one crying in the nursery for food until she finally received a full bottle of formula, which seemed to be what she needed.
In my attempts to persevere, I kept trying to breastfeed, encouraged by the staff at the home, who were all about promoting breastfeeding. But the next day, I found my daughter blissfully asleep again while I desperately tried to wake her. I was overwhelmed. I felt a moment of anger and frustration that startled me. Thankfully, my husband walked in just then, and I handed her to him until I gathered myself.
That moment made it clear that it was time to let go of my breastfeeding dream. If I ever felt the urge to harm my child, I knew something had to change. I tried my best, but my well-being and my daughter’s were the priority.
Here’s the thing: my son, the surviving twin, was formula-fed and is thriving. He’s rarely sick. I believe that every mother should do what’s best for her and her baby—whether that’s breastfeeding, stopping if it doesn’t work, or choosing not to start at all. For me, starting formula was the healthiest choice for both of us.
If I ever get lucky enough to have another baby, I think I might skip the pumping entirely and head straight to bottles. And you know what? I’m completely okay with that.
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In summary, I learned that it’s important to prioritize your mental health and your baby’s needs above all else. While I had dreams of breastfeeding, I found peace in my decisions and embraced what worked best for my family.