The short version: I planned to be an enthusiastic, long-term breastfeeder. Instead, my daughter Maya screamed every time she latched, my nipples were left raw and bleeding, my milk came in late, and three weeks in, my doctor told me it was time to stop. Switching to pumping and formula saved my mental health and let me actually bond with my baby. If breastfeeding isn't working for you, you are not failing – you're making the right call.
Going in with high expectations
Long before I was pregnant, I had a picture in my head: me, breastfeeding confidently and openly, well past the point most mums stop. My undergrad and Master's degrees are in Public Health with a focus on maternal health, so I'd read more breastfeeding research than most. I wanted to be that mum who normalizes nursing in public. I pictured cozy, easy bonding time with my baby.
It didn't go that way at all and I think that gap between expectation and reality is exactly why I'm writing this.
A traumatic delivery, then a painful first feed
My labor was long and traumatic. I didn't end up in a C-section, but I had a postpartum hemorrhage and needed several interventions. By the time my daughter, Maya, arrived, I was exhausted and pretty beaten up. We had an hour of skin-to-skin contact, which was a welcome distraction from everything still happening with my body.
When things settled, my midwife brought Maya to my breast and helped her latch. It didn't come naturally to her – she struggled and kept pulling off. We tried a little longer, she may have gotten a few drops, and then we stopped for the night.
That night in the hospital, every feeding attempt ended the same way: Maya would come to my breast and start screaming – the kind of crying that sounds like real pain. When she did latch, it was excruciating for me. By morning, my nipples were raw and bleeding.
I'd been through gallstones, broken bones, and labor. I hadn't expected breastfeeding to belong on that list.
Hand expressing, pumping, and a lactation consultant
Back home, my midwife suggested hand expressing to give my nipples a break. I had no idea what I was doing at first, but I figured it out – squeezing out drop after drop of colostrum and feeding it to Maya off my fingertip, five drops per side, every three hours. We barely slept.
The next day we rented a hospital-grade double pump and I started pumping eight times a day. Maya still wouldn't latch, so we began bottle feeding. Since my milk hadn't come in, my best friend (who was still nursing her own son) brought over her breastmilk every single day. That kindness still gets me.
A lactation consultant checked Maya for tongue and lip tie (a slight lip tie, nothing that should have blocked feeding), tried different positions, used a nipple shield, and syringed formula onto my nipple to teach Maya where milk came from. We left with a plan.
The breastfeeding lesson plan that didn't work
Every day I tried a "breastfeeding lesson" with Maya, building up slowly. The rest of the time, we bottle fed and I pumped eight times a day for 20 minutes each. The pain never let up — even with the shield, it felt like knives. My milk didn't come in properly until day 10.
I supplemented with formula and felt, the first time, like I was giving her poison. The "breast is best" messaging is everywhere, and it makes the moments it doesn't work out feel so much heavier than they should.
For about two-thirds of every day, I cried from exhaustion, pain, and a growing sense of guilt and inadequacy. I couldn't even enjoy Maya sleeping on my chest because I was so consumed by the breastfeeding struggle.
The doctor's visit that changed everything
At the three-week mark, with no progress and me crying constantly, losing my appetite, and feeling increasingly anxious, my mum took me to my family doctor.
She didn't hesitate. Breastfeeding wasn't working for us, and it was time to stop. She was concerned I was heading into postpartum depression, and she asked me directly: was it more important to keep chasing a breastfeeding relationship that might never work, or to take care of myself and my daughter?
I walked out of that office feeling like a weight had lifted. I think I just needed a medical professional to give me permission to stop.
If you're in this spot right now: if breastfeeding is taking a serious toll on your mental health, that's worth raising with your doctor sooner rather than later – you don't need to wait three weeks like I did.
Becoming a pumping mum
From that point on, I called myself a pumping mum. I kept up roughly five pump sessions a day for months, we settled into a solid bottle-feeding routine, and most importantly, I was happier. Maya and I bonded hard and fast once the pain and pressure were gone.
One strange, happy twist
Around three months postpartum, once I'd emotionally recovered from those first six brutal weeks, I brought Maya into bed and offered her the breast again (half out of curiosity). She latched and stayed on for ten minutes a side. There was pain, but manageable pain, the kind that's supposed to fade with time.
It was strangely validating. I'd spent weeks wondering if I'd just been too sensitive about the pain. That session told me no – it really had been that bad. I tried again daily for the next ten days. She refused every time after that. Little rascal.
What I'd tell another mom going through this
Looking back, it came down to a mix of factors: Maya's small mouth, my flat and unusually sensitive nipples, my slow and low milk supply, my emotional state after a frightening birth, and Maya's own resistance. None of it was anyone's fault – our anatomy and timing just didn't line up.
A few things I'd want another mom to know:
- Bottle feeding has real upsides. My husband bonded with Maya over feedings in a way a lot of partners don't get to. I had the freedom to step away when I needed to, and we always knew exactly how much she was eating.
- Guilt doesn't mean you did something wrong. I felt guilty for a long time. That feeling is common, but it isn't evidence that you failed.
- It's okay to stop. If you're white-knuckling through pain and tears every single day, that's worth re-evaluating, not pushing through indefinitely.
This whole parenthood thing rarely goes the way you pictured it. You adjust, you do what works, and you move on.
Related: Breastfeeding in the First Four Weeks – 4 Things You’ll Be Glad You Knew
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