I did not breastfeed my baby. I had no issues I knew of with milk not coming in. I had no problems with my milk not being rich enough or the baby not latching. I chose not to breastfeed. Before birth, I made a conscious decision not to breastfeed, and in consultation with my doctor, I planned to take the tablets I needed to dry up my milk. Phew, okay, now that it’s out – queue the pitchforks 😊.
This was one of the best decisions of my life and one of the best decisions I made as a new mother. However, shortly after I made this decision, it became painfully clear how unpopular it was. It quickly became apparent that announcing you were not going to breastfeed was nothing short of blasphemy.
This is an important message because that’s what we do here at FIGGI. We share the truth as we live it without fear of judgment. It may differ from what most women have in mind for their journey as new mommies. Still, to me, the blessed relief of knowing I did not have to add this to my plate as well was the best decision I ever made, not only for my baby but also for my husband and me.
So, how did I get to this decision? Well, I rode the breastfeeding-is-life wave from the beginning of my pregnancy. Not because I wanted to but because I didn’t know I had a choice. There is so much pressure on new moms from all angles: the unsolicited family advice, the confusing online opinions, the doctor’s advice, and your own views and dreams of what you want motherhood to look like to you. It can get crowded in your mind.
Where It All Began
I lost a lot of weight, could only eat what I dub “cold sandwiches” (cucumber on brown bread), and was in a perpetual state of absolute misery. I had multiple panic attacks, and my gynecologist had to place me on anti-anxiety meds. My over-excited state was not good for the baby.
I was attending my first big Baby Expo, excited to shop and explore all the cute new things my little one had to have. I never even gave it a second thought; I just walked past all the breast pumps and loaded them into my wagon like tampons. Something you need, no use in even wondering if you want it or not, it’s nature and you need it. Done.
As with any new mommy-to-be, I wanted the best for my little girl. I wanted to be the best mom, give her the best life, and provide her with every healthy option and all the love her little heart could hold. Breastfeeding was high on that list, right?
In the background, though, I was dealing with a barely under-control panic disorder, an excruciating travel schedule, grave employment uncertainty, and the death of a dear mentor. On top of all this, I was not blessed with an uncomplicated pregnancy. I was bedridden for the first trimester of my pregnancy with all-day debilitating nausea, severe anxiety, blinding migraines, excruciating cramps, and multiple visits to the emergency room.
As my pregnancy progressed, I dragged my sick, barely functioning body out of bed and returned to work. I could not take any more time off, had no one to fulfill my travel schedule, and had projects to which I had previously committed. Getting on plane after plane, vomiting in strange bathrooms, and sleeping in several hotel rooms did not make things easier.
Throughout my pregnancy and after, I often heard that many women feel a lot better after vomiting and can just continue with their day. Nope, this was not me. I was down for the count. I had full-day mentoring sessions and presentations to give to rooms of 30 or more. I would get up, vomit, and lie on my bed, dragging my stockings on until literally two minutes before I had to leave or be late for my presentation. I was bogged down by all-day, completely consuming nausea.
I lost a lot of weight, could only eat what I dub “cold sandwiches” (cucumber on brown bread), and was in a perpetual state of absolute misery. I had multiple panic attacks, and my gynecologist had to place me on anti-anxiety meds. My over-excited state was not good for the baby.
At 5 months, I was admitted to the hospital again with severe cramps, incredible joint pain, and anxiety-related depression. Thank God for the wonder of my gynecologist, who really GOT me. She was such a force of enlightenment, hope, and unwavering support. I don’t know what I would have done without her.
During this phase, I also lost my only office help, forcing me to take over their tasks. The commitments were already made, and someone had to see it through. My husband was also going through an intense transition at work that caused a lot of financial uncertainty for us. Not the best place to be when a baby is on the way. Our house was in literal shambles because an ongoing renovation overhaul was going on. This meant building dust in every nook and cranny of the house, a wooden board hammered into the wall to protect us from the elements, while they built the rest of the lounge, screaming and complaining neighbors, building rubble everywhere, a hundred men in the garden every day, and the incessant sound of drilling.
At seven months, I got the worst call of my life. My dearest mentor, with whom I worked closely daily, had shockingly died. He was healthy, having a typical day, got up, and just died of a heart attack. He was my biggest supporter, a huge part of my life, and one of my biggest clients. In a matter of minutes, I lost one of my best friends, my most respected mentor, guide, and advisor. I also lost a lot of financial certainty three months before giving birth. All planned projects stopped, and everything hung in the air. Add to this that my husband’s income was also highly contentious, and our stress quickly turned severe.
At eight months, I was placed on bed rest. The little one had stopped growing, and intervention was needed. Rest, eat high-calorie meals, and prepare for the arrival of this blessing. My panic disorder was out of control, and I fought to keep all the levels of my life steady.
Decision Time
In my state, there was no way I could have done the best for my little girl. Adding latching techniques, worries over sufficient milk, painful breasts, struggling to nurse, sore nipples, and pure exhaustion, did not seem like good additions. This was a recipe for walking over the edge. The ledge would be a faint memory.
An epiphany came to me when I cried exhaustedly, at the end of my rope and all hope. What if I don’t breastfeed? It felt like a naughty thought, something I didn’t dare voice because good mommies-to-be don’t say such things. I continued toying with this idea secretly and prepared to drop this bomb on hubby. He showed immediate and unwavering support. Not why’s, but’s, or if’s.
By the end of my pregnancy, my marriage had suffered. I had been bedridden for almost all of my pregnancy. I was grief-stricken, over-committed at work, and over-stressed about all our uncertainties. We went from a couple never watching television because we preferred talking to each other to never speaking. My husband was a great support system but could only take so much. He was dealing with his own pre-baby stress, and we were both trying to fight through our individual battles without putting even more pressure on the other.
I knew with absolute certainty that I absolutely had to get back to a better equilibrium if I was going to get my life back on track. I also knew that beyond anything, my biggest goal was to be the best mommy I could be for my little girl. This meant not taking out my frustrations on her and not being half-present because I was dealing with my emotional struggles. It also meant not giving up precious memories with her because I again fought myself off the panic ledge.
In my state, there was no way I could have done the best for my little girl. Adding latching techniques, worries over sufficient milk, painful breasts, struggling to nurse, sore nipples, and pure exhaustion, did not seem like good additions. This was a recipe for walking over the edge. The ledge would be a faint memory.
I don’t know if it’s due to my background, but I also had severe anxiety about having another person claim such an intimate part of my body. I know it’s your baby, and it should be different. But to me, it was not. It was difficult to imagine, it was uncomfortable and panic-inducing to think I had to bare my breast to another being.
Choosing What Is Right For Me
Gosh, the looks, the comments, the grunts, the “umphs,” and the overall disdain for you not being “a real mother” and doing what’s best for your baby was exhausting.
Decision-time. If there is one thing I have learned from my life, with absolute certainty. I am responsible for how I choose to act around others. I am responsible for dealing with my crap; it’s not someone else’s cross to bear, especially not your child’s. I had a duty to look after and ensure my own mental health, emotional health, and physical health. Only if I was in a good place with this could I be the best mommy I could be. To me, this meant, No Breastfeeding. Not putting myself through that as well. Not adding to the snowstorm that just occurred the last nine months. Being in a healthy place was the best thing I could do for her. This meant being well rested, as unstressed as possible, mindful, as patient and calm as possible, and as connected as possible.
This was the best thing I could have done for myself and my baby. My husband was such a great support and took over half of the nighttime bottle feedings, which gave my body and mind additional time to rest and recuperate. When I woke up in the mornings, I was relaxed, calm, and ready to spend every second cooing and aahing at my new baby. Those were the best moments of my life. Little Lily nestled in my arms while we sat in the rocking chair for hours. Me singing along to all my favorite playlists on her bedroom Bluetooth speaker. Pure patience and endless love for her when she cried, was fussy or needed all of me. I had space to get back into a healthy mental frame; most importantly, I could be so incredibly present because I was not overly exhausted. I remember every finger grip, every almost smile, every burp, every wiggle, every snuggle.
Something had to give, and I knew I was a woman in crisis by the time I gave birth. I could not in good conscience add the emotional and physical stress of something else, in this case, breastfeeding, to my list. My first priority was being the best new mommy I could be. To do that, I needed to make the right decisions for myself.
Believe me. This was HARD. Gosh, the looks, the comments, the grunts, the “umphs,” and the overall disdain for you not being “a real mother” and doing what’s best for your baby was exhausting. So exhausting, in fact, that we decided to just tell people I could not breastfeed. Alarmingly, this only lessened their disdain by a fraction. Hey, if there is a medical reason or you were unlucky enough to have a body that could not nourish a baby, slightly forgivable. Consciously choosing this, on the other hand: Is absolutely sinful!
I choose to give my reasons for not breastfeeding in this article, but I urge you not to see this as me making my case for not doing it. I have no one to answer to, and even if I did not come into motherhood with the challenges I faced, I could still have chosen not to breastfeed. It’s my body, mental health, baby, and choice. Just as I have complete respect and genuine awe for the Mommies that do breastfeed. It’s your body, it’s your baby, and it’s your choice.
The Takeaway?
Here’s to the mammas that silently cried in the bathroom after grandma had yet another insensitive comment on your choice. To the mommies who were made to feel lesser-than by a well-meaning friend’s unsolicited advice on the miracle of nursing. Life is hard enough, Mommy, and parenting is terrifying. Holding that baby for the first time is scary. Not one of these other individuals is responsible for her life, just you. We often think our best is pushing through and despite all odds, doing what is expected or what the books tell us to do. However, we forget the lasting emotional and psychological damage we can do to our children by taking out our tiredness, frustrations, and struggles on them. Being a healthy and happy Mama was the best gift I could give to my baby.
Love and Light
Jeanne
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