Just like all my other hopeful (i.e naive) plans about becoming a mother — natural hypno-birthing, only organic cotton clothing, chemical free soap and lotion — I planned on breastfeeding my baby for at least a year. Of course. No questions asked. And then I got hit by a mack truck of postpartum anxiety.
It all started with the traumatic (for me) birth of my daughter — not to mention the 5 1/2 years it took to get pregnant. From my water breaking but labor not starting to the power struggle between my nurse and my doula to 3 hours of pushing to the unexpected caesarean to my uterus not contracting down after birth and having clots pulled out by hand to my husband standing there holding our baby wondering if I would live — things did certainly not go as planned.
Then, I had a little trouble breast-feeding in the hospital. I had help from the nurses and a lactation consultant, for sure, even my pediatrician. They would all grab my breast and shove it into my daughter’s mouth until she properly latched. They adjusted my arms until I was holding her at just the right angle. They also gave me a latex nipple shield that she could nurse through and that seemed to work well. But, they all insisted it was only temporary and skin to skin mouth to nipple was the best. And the mom-shaming seed was planted.
Mom-shaming
It was insinuated by all these helpful professionals that if I did not breastfeed, and breastfeed properly, I would be doing my child a disservice. And why would I want to do that? I could do it! I am mother now, hear me roar! Yes, I was breastfeeding but I had to use this little piece of plastic to make it work and that made me less than.
Then, my daughter was not gaining weight quickly enough and the nursery nurses gave her a bottle of formula without informing us! It was in her best interest but that was the first moment I felt like a failure as a mom. It wasn’t enough that I could barely get out of my hospital bed to pee or change my own pad, let alone take a shower. I had to feel bad about not feeding my child perfectly.
Our first night at home, we had a postpartum doula help us ease into caring for our first and only baby. She was mostly there to support me and make sure I was fed and comfortable. But she also acted like an expert in breastfeeding, so we followed her lead.
If my child started fussing or crying when trying to feed, the doula would reset my daughter by holding and rocking her until she was calm again. I just sat there and watched her swish my baby up and down in her arms making this weird shushing sound, feeling helpless and powerless. And we would try again. It didn’t feel right but I bowed to her experience and authority.
I kept using the nipple shield and a nursing pillow to rest my baby on but hired another lactation consultant to come to my house and help me. She weighed my daughter before and after feeding and showed us how she was not getting enough milk from me. So I had to pump breast milk and bottle feed her between nursing sessions.
The other less obvious evidence of lack of nutrition was how much she would cry at night because she was just hungry, which we did not realize for two weeks. Oh the anguish of thinking I was not keeping my child well enough simply because she needed food!
Then my first pediatrician, who I selected very carefully, started giving me passive aggressive attitude about using the nipple shield and bottle feeding at all. She, again, would shove my daughter’s mouth on me to prove I could do it. And, with her help, I could. But on my own was a different story. And that, I found out, is the case for so many women.
Postpartum anxiety
Now, add to the mix that I began to experience a severe case of postpartum anxiety. And my anxiety was all about breastfeeding to boot. I realized all I was thinking, all day long on repeat especially while breastfeeding was, “What time is it? When is three hours from now? Will she eat then? What time will she go to sleep? Will I sleep?” I also realized these thoughts, and my experience of them, were not reality. So I took to Google.
After having been screened for postpartum depression only by my birth doula and OB GYN, and passing with flying colors, I found a list of symptoms for postpartum anxiety that were completely different from the postpartum depression symptoms list. And I had all of them. I was a textbook case. I showed the list to my husband and he agreed.
So, I tried treating it with my acupuncturist at first. She used needle treatments and herbs. And it worked. For a while. Then it didn’t. I joined a postpartum support group. And that helped. Although I was anxious just thinking about leaving the house to go to the meetings. But it was good to be in like minded company and to know I wasn’t alone.
Then, I had a nervous breakdown. At the urging of my pediatrician, I was feeding and/or pumping 8 hours a day to get my daughter enough milk and it was just too much. I burst into tears and called the lactation consultant. I told her the schedule I was following and she told me to stop doing that immediately. No human would be able to physically sustain that, she said. No wonder I was on the verge of going crazy. I had no time to myself, no sleep, and no idea what I was doing. I switched pediatricians.
Self-care
Next came the appointment with the psychiatrist. She prescribed Lexapro but warned me it would take 6–8 weeks for it to kick in. It took the full 8 weeks, of course. But, one thing she said to me finally led me down the path to healing.
She said it was OK to stop breastfeeding if I needed or wanted to. I squinted my eyes at her, not sure I was hearing her correctly. She said if it would help me to feel better and take better care of myself, there are excellent, organic formulas that would help my baby grow and thrive. I was listening.
She sent me home with an article by three female maternal psychiatrists, all mothers themselves, who worked at UCLA. It was about how they each had their own trouble breastfeeding. They saw patients like me all day long with postpartum anxiety or depression. Being medical doctors, they knew the virtues of breastfeeding for a year or more. And all three of them stopped breastfeeding early and none of them regretted it.
Boom. Finally a way out of my self mom-shaming for even considering wanting to stop. They extolled the value and importance of the mother’s health and happiness. How the focus is almost solely on the child, leaving the mother’s health in the dust. How the bonding with your child can only really happen when you are both healthy and that it does not solely depend upon breastfeeding. This resonated as I happened to be bonding very well with my daughter, however much milk she was getting or not getting.
Bottles
That was my first window into how I could improve my mental health and still feel good about getting my daughter the nutrition she needs. The second was my highly intelligent family member saying how, with his first child, he wished they had turned to formula sooner. Now here’s a person with a very smart, healthy, well-adjusted, talented, kind son. And he was not breastfed for even a month because his mother had trouble producing milk. Hearing that gave me hope.
I went to a local mom’s club meeting at the park and met another new mother. When it was time to feed her baby, she got out a bottle, some powdered formula, and some water. She mixed it all up in seconds and her daughter was happily eating while we talked. I had to keep my jaw from dropping. Could it actually be that easy? I had bottle envy for sure.
Next, I talked with my friend who’s second child was born a month before mine. She never breastfed and she too had suffered from PPA. She saw so many moms like me having trouble and decided if her milk didn’t come in quickly, she would go straight to the bottle. I looked up to her and her opinion and knew she was a good mother. I took note.
The clincher was finding out my mother had only breastfed me for 8 months. I always thought it was for a year. But, apparently, my father wanted to go on a ski trip with her so she weaned in time to go. I turned out OK, I thought. I’m an intelligent, healthy person who could not have a closer bond with her mother. Plus my father, an M.D. himself, said that after three months, a child can form their own antibodies. He assured me she would be fine. Phew.
Weaning
I called the lactation consultant and told her what I was thinking. I mentioned how trying to feed my daughter just that morning, she resisted feeding at my breast with loud cries and a bright red face, turning her head back and forth in a ‘no’ gesture. The consultant said, “Oh, you’re both done. You can stop. But you might want to do it one more time for nostalgia’s sake.” Nope, I thought. I will not miss this struggle one bit.
She sent me a plan on how to wean and encourage my milk to dry up — something many mothers would never consider. It was a combination of freezing cabbage leaves to wear inside my bra 3 times a day, rubbing cabbage cream on my breasts, pump weaning less and less each day, and freezing the breast milk for the future. It was not easy but I did it.
The next week I met with a new mom friend and her two kids. She had been to my house while I was breastfeeding just the week before. She was a hardcore breast over bottle mom. When I took out the bottle and gave it to my daughter, she could not hide her look of surprise. I quickly explained my decision and she nodded quietly. But did we get together again? Nope. I felt quietly shamed by her for giving up so quickly. But I still felt firm in my choice and knew it was the best decision I could have made for my own sanity and my daughter’s health.
Incidentally, the night of my decision to stop breastfeeding, after happily feeding my daughter with a bottle of European formula from grass fed cows, she slept through the night for the first time ever. Like twelve hours straight. We both woke up happy and ready to start the next chapter in our lives. To continue bonding as the happiest and healthiest versions of mother and daughter we could be, ready to take on the world. Mom-shaming or no.
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Previously published on medium
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Photo credit: by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash
