When Ember was only a few months old, a stranger asked me if I was breastfeeding. I hesitated to answer and then proceeded to explain our complicated situation. I launched into an explanation about how we nursed a couple times a day but that I had to pump and bottle feed both my milk and formula. I rambled. I stuttered. I fidgeted. Honestly, I think the woman regretted asking. I left the conversation, embarrassed not by my awkward actions, but because I could not answer with a definitive yes. Later, it occurred to me that she, a stranger, should have been embarrassed for asking. This is a topic that I have struggled to discuss with others because it was a painful journey for me. I guess I’m finally ready to rant about it.

Let me begin by saying that I’ve asked countless women if they are breastfeeding…and I wish I had known better. But I didn’t. I was simply making conversation, not realizing it was a loaded and sometimes difficult question. Lots of people have asked me, and I’m not mad at any of you. But I do think it’s important to know that this probably isn’t an appropriate question for someone who isn’t a VERY close friend or family member (and even though, maybe don’t ask). I’ll attempt to explain why this is a question you shouldn’t ask, and I’ll try to share my journey.

1. It isn’t your business. The way a mother feeds her baby is between her, her partner, and the baby. It shouldn’t be public knowledge, and it shouldn’t matter to anyone else.

2. Your response could be hurtful. If I had said yes to the stranger, what would she have said back? Would she have told me that it was good that I was? What if I simply said no? Would she have acted disappointed or, even worse, lectured me on how “breast milk is liquid gold”? No matter how you respond to a woman’s answer to this question, you run the risk of hurting her feelings or making her feel inferior.

3. Sometimes the answer isn’t simple. Lots of women, like me, feed their babies using multiple  methods. For me, it wasn’t as simple as exclusive breastfeeding. I wanted that to be our reality, but it wasn’t. I didn’t know how to answer the question because my response wasn’t simple. Yes, I did breastfeed my child, but no more than once or twice a day at that point, and I already felt awful about the situation. I certainly didn’t want to vocalize it to someone.

4. We don’t want your opinion about the topic. I don’t care who you are. I don’t care if you work for the La Leche League or you’ve exclusively fed 12 kids or you’re a lactation specialist. Unless I ask for your advice, you shouldn’t offer your opinion or lecture a woman about this topic.

5. Related to #2 and #4,  judgment creeps into the conversation, and it isn’t fair to judge a woman’s choice, whether she is breastfeeding or not. People may have good intentions when encouraging women to breastfeed, but it’s not always that simple. And trust me, we know breast milk is gold. That statement is everywhere, including on the boxes of formula we need to feed our kids (which enrages me, by the way). So please, bite your tongue and don’t tell a woman she should be breastfeeding. You don’t know her story.

It’s taken me a long time to be able to talk about this topic. I hoped to breastfeed my child, maybe even exclusively. That simply didn’t happen for us. Was it because Ember was early? How early, we still don’t know (that’s another story). Was it because I labored for 30+ hours and then had a C-section? Maybe. Was it because my husband was in Florida and I was all alone when my water broke? Shrug (he still made it in time for the birth, but it was very nerve-wracking for me without him there at the start).  Can I blame the hospital since they gave her bottles (without asking me) during our stay? Possibly. She was a bottle-baby from the start. Was it because Ember had a tongue tie? Who knows.

Here is what I do know: I tried so hard to breastfeed. Ember was what some refer to as a “lazy nurser.” She didn’t mind nursing, but she didn’t pull out much milk. Since it’s a supply and demand system, it’s important that the baby removes enough milk that the body must create more. So when we did nurse and she didn’t take much, I then had to pump afterward to remove more milk. This process took a very long time, and sometimes when I finished, I simply had to start all over again. Also, she was still hungry after nursing, so I had to give her a bottle of pumped milk or formula. (Bottles are so much easier for babies, and I couldn’t blame her for wanting a bottle since she had them from day 1.)

Even with pumping, I didn’t make enough to feed her. I choked down lactation tea, ate oatmeal, met with a lactation consultation several times (who was amazing, BTW), read forums, drank blue Gatorade, and swallowed disgusting Fenugreek pills. And I pumped. Man, did I pump. I was tethered to that thing. There were days I pumped eight or more times for almost an hour each time. It became a full-time job. The pump’s rhythmic, hypnotic sound pulsed in my head all day long, even when I was in bed. I would have been content to pump and exclusively bottle-feed her breast milk. But I couldn’t. It seemed like no matter what I did, I couldn’t make much milk. There’s a term for women like me: low-supply moms. It makes me sad to say that, but it’s the truth. I never could produce enough to feed my child. I used to sneak from the pumping room past my husband with my little hands covering the bottles so he couldn’t see how much milk was in them. I didn’t want him to see the pathetic amount I had produced in all the time I had been pumping. I was so ashamed of my body and its inability to feed our child.

The final straw for me was when I attempted to use a small syringe and a tube to encourage Ember to improve her nursing habits and to increase my supply. Basically, you fill a syringe with milk and push it through a tiny tube that is taped to your chest and aligns with your nipple. As the baby nurses, you push some of the milk through the tube so that the baby gets more milk and nurses better. What a wreck this was. I struggled to get that tube into her mouth (or to stay there), I squirted her in the face, and I shot milk all over myself and the floor. It was so frustrating for both of us, and it didn’t change anything. It was around this time that I realized I wasn’t enjoying my baby. I was so stressed about my damn milk supply and our failed breastfeeding journey that it was all I could think and talk about. I cried way too often. And I must have exhausted those around me with this topic.

Thankfully, my husband was the voice of reason. He supported me during all of this. He listened to me ramble on and on and on about nursing and what I could try next. He held me when I cried. He encouraged me. He also gently reminded me that he got very little breast milk as a baby and was mostly a formula baby. He pointed out that he was healthy and strong. He occasionally told me that we could trust science, and that formula wasn’t the worst solution. He must have been so tired of hearing about milk and pumping. I was constantly disappearing into the other room to pump and then emerging in a bad mood. I’m sure he missed his wife–the one who was happy and enjoyed life. But he supported me no matter what I wanted to try, and he listened time and time again. He reassured me over and over when I quit pumping around 5 months that Ember would be just fine. He never doubted me, never pressured me, and never made me feel inadequate, even though I experienced all those emotions daily.

When I think about friends and strangers that made comments about breastfeeding, I no longer feel angry. I distanced myself from some people who pressured me and made comments about how I could nurse if I just kept trying. I didn’t need to hear their opinions. I didn’t need them to make me feel inadequate–I already did that to myself. Now, looking back, I believe they probably had good intentions. But they simply don’t know my journey. They weren’t there with me when I sat on the kitchen floor and cried after I accidentally spilled 8 oz of milk that had taken many pumping sessions and all day to get. They weren’t there at 4 am when I set an alarm to pump for my baby. They weren’t next to me while I pumped hour after hour, alone in a room with a pump strapped to my breasts. They don’t know my shame. They weren’t there when I sobbed into my husband’s chest and told him I was failure. They don’t know, and I no longer care what they think.

This post is long, and I rambled. Breastfeeding may seem like an easy point of conversation, but it isn’t. It’s so much deeper and more complicated than that for most women.

I’d also like to make this statement for women who can and do breastfeed: I applaud you. I have no intention of implying or indicating that you have done anything wrong. I envy you. I wanted to be you. And I imagine that breastfeeding involves so much work and sacrifice, and you should be very proud of your accomplishment. I don’t know what it’s like to exclusively nurse, and I imagine the sacrifice is enormous. You can and should talk/post about your breastfeeding accomplishments. You deserve it. But please, please know that breastfeeding isn’t actually possible for all women, and that many women cannot do what you do for a variety of reasons. Just as we should applaud and be proud of you, you should be sensitive to us and our journeys.

What I’ve learned this year is that no matter if we breast or formula feed, we’re all trying our best. We need to support each other, not break each other down. Instead of judging or preaching, try listening and empathizing (like my husband did for me). And most of all, take care of your mental and emotional health so you can enjoy your babies; they grow so fast.

(Family pic from when Ember Eve was a month or two old)