Breastfeeding often feels like a taboo topic outside of the parent community. The time and energy mothers devote to nursing, as well as the joys and hardships associated with it, are rarely—if ever—acknowledged. But we’re hoping to change that—one story at a time.
In honor of breastfeeding mothers around the world, our Raw Milk series shares real stories and experiences from our community. Here, Olivia Tokunbo shares about her breastfeeding journey as a NICU mama with a baby who had a difficult time latching.
My breastfeeding journey started with a breast pump. A nurse showed me how to use it in less than a minute. By her memorized and robotic movements, I could tell she’d done the performance countless times before. She was in and out before I could even grasp what I’d be doing. For the next 16 hours, I practiced pumping instead of nursing. We delivered labeled vials of freshly pumped colostrum to my son down the hall in the NICU until the next day.
A lactation consultant came to assist us for our first try, and it was tricky but she said it would be. I honestly didn’t think much of it. I believed my experience with the pump would end at the hospital because I was so determined to breastfeed my son. I thought that was the magic thing that strengthened a connection between mother and child. I had no idea just how difficult it would be. I couldn’t possibly imagine that three days of pumping would lead to six months of it. I didn’t realize the journey to nursing could ever be that rocky.
There is no pain like feeling rejected by your baby. My son would fight me from pure frustration—scratching at my breasts, flailing his body, and screaming were common occurrences at every feed. In addition, a sobbing me and a very concerned but supportive daddy. My partner would encourage me until I passed my limits, then he would warm up pumped milk, and calmly take our son while I collapsed into despair.
“I can’t do this.” “What’s wrong with me?” “Why doesn’t he want me?” “I’m starving my son.” “I’m a terrible mother.” “If I stop, I’m giving up on him.” “Remember: ‘breast is best.’” “I’m a failure.”
The negative thoughts consumed me. The weekly doctor's appointments and growth charts, the pumping 6+ times a day, the raw nipples, the seven lactation consultants, the scale I bought to weigh the ounces after every feed, the pang in my gut every time someone called my baby “tiny.” It all led to a very significant postpartum depression and anxiety diagnosis. I still suffer from it 14 months in, but the bad moments come and go. In hindsight, ironically this thing that I thought would create such a bond actually cultivated resentment and disconnection.
I love my baby more than anything else, but I found nursing him so dreadful. Those two things can co-exist.
If I could go back to the beginning, I’d wrap my arms around me and say what I say to you: Give. Yourself. Grace. You are an incredible mother and I’m proud of you. Your dedication is admirable.
Breastfeeding is HARD. It is not as “natural” as it’s made to seem. You’re both learning something new, this takes time, practice, and consistency.
Rejection is not an easy feeling to feel, but you are your baby’s whole world. I promise they aren’t rejecting you, they just don’t understand.
The screaming is unbearable, but remember this is the only way babies know how to communicate their frustration.
You are not starving your baby. Language matters. They’re hungry but not starving. It’s okay to need help. There’s a reason lactation consultants are in business.
Yes, breastfeeding is a wonderful bond to share with your baby but if it’s taking away from your ability to be a whole and healthy mother, it is no longer wonderful.
One of the things that make you an incredible mother is your ability to show up for your baby and want the best for them—if you’re so depressed you can’t get off the couch, it’s taking away from your ability and it is not worth it. You both deserve a healthy you. This is not giving up, this is choosing yourself as well as your baby.
The choice to continue or to stop has always been yours, and no one else’s. No matter what you choose, it does not define your motherhood—you do.
We hope you find encouragement here, and if you have a story to share of your own, send an email to aly@sollybaby.com. We’d love to hear from you.
