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It’s another emotional day at the parent-baby group. As I cradle my daughter against my chest, I notice a fellow mom in tears. I try to comfort her while discreetly handing a rattle to a nearby baby.
In that moment, I can relate to the whirlwind of emotions that comes with motherhood. The hormones and pressures can lead to tears as we navigate the challenges of caring for these precious little ones. For some, this means dealing with the heart-wrenching decision of returning to work, and for others, it’s the struggle of balancing their career with the demands of a newborn.
Today, the source of concern for one mom—let’s call her “Working-Mom Anna”—is her low breast milk supply. I can empathize with her; in fact, I have an overflowing stash in my freezer that I’m more than willing to share.
As I approach Anna to offer my extra milk, she declines, despite her distress. This situation highlights an often-overlooked aspect of motherhood: the vast community of breastfeeding support and the stigma surrounding it. The pressure to breastfeed is immense, and many moms find themselves in organized groups, whether it’s through milk banks, social media, or local meetups.
Before I became a mom, I had no idea about the complexities of breastfeeding. From understanding how milk is expressed to learning about the benefits of “human milk,” it was a whole new world. I had calculated how much milk I would need before returning to work, and I had a surplus. Yet, Anna didn’t want it.
I faced rejection again when “Eco-Mom Lisa,” who had also sought milk from our group, turned down my offer. She was concerned about the small amount of antidepressant medication I was taking. While my daughter thrived on it, the fear of potential risks led Lisa to refuse it for her baby.
This left me feeling uneasy and questioning my choice to breastfeed, battling guilt over needing medication for postpartum depression. Would I be a better mother if I could manage without it? The stigma surrounding mental health made it difficult to shake off the feeling of inadequacy.
According to the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG), a significant number of women experience depression during pregnancy and postpartum. Untreated postpartum depression can hinder child development, making my struggle all the more poignant. Despite the guilt, I recognized that without my medication, I wouldn’t be able to connect with my daughter the way I wanted to.
Fortunately, after confiding in another mom, I learned about a network of parents in need of breast milk. I posted in a local Human Milk for Human Babies group late one night and was amazed when four people responded almost immediately.
Feeling like a secret agent on a mission, I packed my frozen milk and met a stranger in a parking lot. The connection we shared over my milk was both bizarre and beautiful. In the end, someone did want what I had—my daughter continues to benefit from our nursing relationship, and I am grateful for the medication that supports my mental health.
Summary
In a world where breast milk is often seen as the gold standard for feeding infants, the author reflects on her journey of excess milk that went unwanted. Despite the stigma and guilt surrounding her use of antidepressants, she finds hope in connecting with other mothers in need, ultimately realizing that her willingness to nurse and her mental health are vital for her relationship with her child.