After welcoming my third little one into the world, I thought I was finally getting the hang of things. Sure, she hadn’t been the best at nursing, and I’d dreaded feeding her, but I was determined to make it work. We found a position that suited her, and despite the soreness, I felt we were making progress. Little did I know, I was in for a ride.
That fateful Saturday morning is etched in my mind. The baby was happily swinging away, the older kids were engrossed in their play, and I was savoring a rare moment with a book. Suddenly, it hit me. I couldn’t catch my breath; my vision swirled, an intense ringing filled my ears, and I felt like I was shaking uncontrollably. I dropped my Kindle and screamed.
My partner rushed to my side, panic evident as he shouted, “What’s going on?!” Just as suddenly as the wave of terror had crashed over me, it receded. I was left feeling shaky and bewildered, as if I had just stepped off the craziest roller coaster. Before I could articulate what had happened, my milk let down.
“I think I just had a panic attack,” I managed to say, and then I nursed the baby.
A few hours later, while in the kitchen, the feeling struck again. This time, I dropped my plate and collapsed onto the floor, sobbing. My partner came rushing in yet again, and just like before, the panic faded, followed by that familiar letdown sensation.
By the end of that weekend, I had experienced a dozen panic attacks, each lasting about a minute and each occurring right before my milk let down. Confusion wrapped around me like a heavy blanket, and I was lost.
It took months to understand what was happening. I fell into a deep depression that nearly knocked me off my feet. Despite nursing only a few times a day, the panic attacks persisted, and I felt utterly trapped. My milk supply was fine, and my daughter wouldn’t take a bottle, so I kept nursing through the turmoil.
Eventually, I discovered I was dealing with a severe form of a condition known as D-MER, or dysphoric milk ejection reflex. While most breastfeeding moms experience joy and bonding during nursing, I was met with a whirlwind of anxiety and dread.
In a normal breastfeeding scenario, the brain releases prolactin and oxytocin during letdown. While oxytocin brings feelings of love and happiness, high levels of dopamine can inhibit prolactin, leading to anxiety and confusion. This imbalance can create a vicious cycle: low dopamine levels enhance feelings of unease while high oxytocin levels amplify fear.
Most instances of D-MER are mild, leading to slight discomfort during nursing. However, cases like mine can be debilitating and overwhelming.
D-MER has only recently gained medical recognition, so its prevalence is still unknown. Thankfully, awareness is growing, and treatment options are emerging. Back when I was struggling, medical professionals were unsure if medications were safe or effective. The common advice? “Just stop nursing.” But resigning from breastfeeding wasn’t an option for me.
Five months passed without clarity about what was happening. I continued nursing for an additional four months after I finally had a name for it, but knowing the label didn’t provide relief. I thought I had to endure the pain for my daughter’s wellbeing.
Now, I understand that D-MER is not a psychological disorder; it’s a hormonal imbalance that can be treated. There’s no need to suffer in silence. If you find yourself battling D-MER, talk to your healthcare provider. They might be unfamiliar with it, but that’s okay. Resources like IVF Babble can provide valuable information, and articles about D-MER can help facilitate the conversation. Remember, you don’t have to be experiencing severe symptoms to seek help, and you certainly shouldn’t sacrifice your emotional health for the sake of breastfeeding.
In conclusion, no one should feel miserable while feeding their child. There are avenues for support and treatment available now that weren’t there before, and every breastfeeding journey deserves to be a positive experience.