08/20/2019
As the theme of this years World Breastfeeding Week is empowering parents I want to start the week off by addressing one of the most dis-empowering phrases I came up against when I was struggling to breastfeed. While I entirely agree that it is cruel to tell mothers that 'breast is best' and then fail to support them, dismissing mothers with meaningless, empty platitudes like 'fed is best' is absolutely not the answer.
Why Fed is Best will never speak for me, from a mother who couldn’t breastfeed.
When we talk about breastfeeding there are often a lot of numbers involved, statistics, percentages, sums of money and so forth. So I want to begin by sharing with you the breastfeeding numbers that are really important to me:
4, that’s the number of children I have, and the number of times I’ve tried to breastfeed
3, that’s the number of times I failed at breastfeeding (and yes, I know looking back that I didn’t fail I was failed, but at the time, I, unequivocally, felt like I had failed)
1, that’s the number of serious su***de attempts I made as a result of not being supported to breastfeed, coupled with severe post-natal mental illness. There were several other, less serious attempts.
Hundreds, well certainly more than I can count, self harm scars, cuts and burns, from where I was punishing myself for not being able to breastfeed, and from trying to provide my body with a physical outlet for my emotional pain.
I share these numbers with you because I want you to understand that no-one understands better than I the pain of not being able to breastfeed. I don’t have breastfeeding baggage, I have shipping containers full of grief and pain and loss.
In all my breastfeeding struggles the thing that came up again, and again, and again was well-meaning people telling me that it didn’t matter how my baby was fed. They were trying to be helpful and supportive of course, but their words did untold harm. To constantly have my grief dismissed and invalidated, to be told over and over that all the effort, the blood sweat and tears I had put into trying to make breastfeeding work were pointless, because it didn’t matter was devastating. It didn’t matter, don’t bother, get over it, it’s not worth being upset about. In the end I stopped talking about it, stopped reaching out for help. I shut down, and started trying to deal with the pain in the only way I knew how, by hurting myself.
What I needed, and what I eventually got with my 4th child, when I was struggling to breastfeed, was for someone to tell me that they understood. To have someone acknowledge and validate how important breastfeeding was to me, and how hard I’d tried to make it work. With a lot of skilled practical support I was able to feed my fourth, and last baby, but as important as that practical support was, what was possibly even more valuable was the emotional support of finally finding people who didn’t try to invalidate how important breastfeeding was to me and who didn’t dismiss my pain with an empty platitude.
I should also add here, that when I reached out to my local breastfeeding support group, I was struggling and supplementing with formula and no-one accused me of feeding my baby poison, as breastfeeding supporters are so often accused of doing. No-one by word or deed insinuated that I was less of a mother because I needed to use formula. No-one implied that I simply hadn't tried hard enough. I found nothing but compassion and understanding.
I couldn’t breastfeed, but don’t ever try to tell me that it doesn’t matter. It mattered to me. It meant the world to me. When it was taken from me it sent me to one of the lowest places I’ve ever been in my whole life. And those feelings matter, and they deserve to be met with empathy and understanding, not brushed aside and dismissed with meaningless slogans and empty platitudes.
Lisa (Chair)