FFF Friday: “We will bond no matter how she is fed…”

Earlier in the week, I shared an expert’s perspective on the emotional and mental health impact of formula feeding. Megan’s story feels like the perfect corollary to the insight offered in that post; a raw, brave account of mental illness and how this illness influenced a truly informed decision not to breastfeed. 

It is so incredibly humbling to get stories like the one below. The fact that you trust me and this space enough to share them here is not taken lightly… and while I hate that any of you even have to write these heartbreaking accounts, I can’t help but celebrate your resilience and willingness to speak your truths in the hopes of helping others feel less alone. 

So thanks, Megan. And thanks to all of you who share and read and participate – you are all amazing.

Happy Friday, fearless ones,



Megan’s Story

During the summer of 2014, I spent two months separated from my husband.  I took our 4 kids, packed up and went to another state to stay with my parents.  Things were pretty tough.  Traumatic would put it mildly.  But there’s a happy ending.  We both desperately wanted our marriage to succeed.  With blood, sweat and tears on both sides, we reached a really good place by the end of the summer – a fantastic place, even!  That fall, reunited both physically and emotionally, we finally made significant progress in so many areas of our lives that we had been struggling to move forward with over the decade of our marriage.  We remodeled our house (which we bought bank owned and in need of repair).  We instituted family rituals and routines that we had always wanted in place, but never quite could manage because we often couldn’t be in the same room with each other – hurt feelings make it hard to pretend that everything is fine.  But mostly, we both felt very strongly that there was another child ready to come to our family.  It was a very exciting, exhilarating time.  And a very anxious time.  Things were still so new.  We had just demolished the foundation our entire lives had been built upon for the last 11 years, and our new foundation was yet to be truly tested.  We were about to do just that – and how.


The day after my birthday in September, I started what would be my last menstrual cycle.  We were so thrilled!  This baby was figuratively and literally a symbol of our renewed and healing relationship.  Hope for the future of our family.  Evidence and a symbol of just how far we had come, of the new life we had brought to our union.  I was basking in the glow of being pregnant again.


Eventually, however, elation began to give way to a gradual sinking… At first I just thought it was exhaustion from first trimester blahs’.  But as the days began to grow shorter, and colder, we began to see that this was depression.  Depression wasn’t something foreign to me.  I had struggled with major postpartum depression with 3 of my 4 babies, with depression in-between postpartum periods as well.  I had a history of childhood sexual abuse, though, so I mostly attributed my depressive episodes with my work to resolve the effects of that abuse.  I kept figuring “once I get past this issue, I’ll be able to move on with a normal mood”.  Grieving and untangling trauma can be very difficult, and often looks like depression.  As we neared December, however, I hit a new low, even for me.  I went from being just fine and functional in the morning, to being so low that afternoon that I began thinking not just suicidal thoughts, but even thinking that my children would be better off being spared the agony of living with such a mother.  I thought to myself, “I can see how those mothers end up drowning their children in the bathtub.  I can see how that would be merciful”.  Then I wondered, as I brought up the image of the logistics in my mind, how you would drown multiple children, and what would you do with the bodies?  If you did them one at a time, they would freak at seeing the bodies of their siblings…..”  OH MY GOD!!  Did I really just think that???  Right as I thought that, the very clear phrase came into my mind “I need medication”.  That snapped me out of it, and gave me a surge of energy and forward momentum to act on a solution.


I reached out to my husband.  I told him he needed to come home.  I was shaken, I was ashamed, I was afraid.  What was happening?  That was NOT like me.  What was going on?  I couldn’t wrap my brain around it, but I knew that this couldn’t happen again, something had to change!  Dealing with things in psychotherapy wasn’t addressing this issue.  What else would??  Could medication really help?



Near the end of the two months I’d spent at my parents, when things began to calm down and my husband and I had a solid timeframe and plan for our reunification and going back home, my mother sat me down and had a talk with me.  That summer she was finishing up her rigorous PhD program in psychology.  She later said she was too close to the situation to be able to see it clearly for a time, but by the end of the summer, she finally had drawn a few conclusions that put the pieces together.  She read me the DSM-V definition of Bipolar I.  I was crushed.  I fit the description to a t.  I didn’t want to believe it.  Bipolar meant something was wrong with me, and I didn’t want to own that.  That was shameful.  And it meant I had a part in the separation, and I wasn’t the innocent victim.  I needed to be the innocent victim, and I needed him to be the perfect bad guy.


Fast forward again to that dismal and garish December.  At this point, my mother’s conversation came back to me in vivid detail.  Maybe she was right!!  A sense of relief washed over me.  This wasn’t my fault!!  I can do something about this that would actually work!  Exercise wasn’t cutting it, praying and reading my scriptures diligently wasn’t cutting it, having a close connection with my husband wasn’t cutting it, having good friends wasn’t cutting it… But if this is bipolar and not just me not “trying hard enough”, then I could see a light at the end of the tunnel.


So, at 20 weeks pregnant with my 5th child, I was officially diagnosed with bipolar I disorder, and began taking lamotrigine.  It pulled me out of my depression!  What elation, what relief!  Of course, I obsessively looked up and read every scientific study I could get my hands on, and I was very worried about the effects on my baby, but most studies concluded that after the 1st trimester, baby was at relatively low risk.  Then I began to notice a ramping up of anxiety.  It started gradually, but I began to notice feeling really great, and very productive, but increasingly I began heading toward fully anxious, crawling out of my skin feelings.  And then I realized, 3 weeks in a row, getting to the point where I was becoming paranoid again.  That was enough.  I went back in to my doctor and pretty much insisted he start me on lithium.  I was 32 weeks pregnant.  It helped!  I was so excited, and the case studies on lithium said that as long as baby didn’t have any troubles eliminating or getting dehydrated, that as far as they could tell, lithium didn’t have any measurable side effects.  Yes, they knew it was transferred to baby in breastmilk, but didn’t really see consistent harmful effects.  I felt comfortable with those odds.


Then came the day, at 37.5 weeks, when I began to wonder how the hormones of breastfeeding would impact me postpartum.  My biggest fear was having a major mood set back after birth, and for good reason.  I had a very clear history of it.  And, the medications were still helping, but I wasn’t actually feeling rock solid stable yet.  I still was having some ups and downs, just not so extreme.  All the research said that breastfeeding was protective against PPD, but nothing was said about bipolar.  So I asked my psychiatrist and my OB what their clinical experiences were.  They both said that almost universally, when moms are having postpartum mood issues, they fairly immediately improved after ceasing to breastfeed.  Clinical experience has to account for something, doesn’t it?


I think the biggest reason I could see their point and trust it was that not even a week before these discussions, I had about 4 hours of “warmup” labor, and it put me into a manic place, followed a few days later by a depressive place.  We increased the dosage of both my mood stabilizers, and that noticeably helped.  So when both my providers agreed with each other about stability and breastfeeding in my situation, I whole heartedly could see their point of view.  If I wasn’t even mood stable before birth, what would be the after birth chances when things really got screwy with my hormones?  It also occurred to me that my psychotic episode the summer before happened while I was still breastfeeding my one year old.  They were right.  Breastfeeding was not the option for me if my main goal was emotional stability.  I was crushed.  And peaceful.  And then obsessive about ordering just the right bottle feeding supplies.  And then crushed.  And then peaceful.  And then obsessive about looking up research to tell me that my doctors were wrong and I could actually breastfeed and I would be able to stay mood stable at the same time….


And then my shipment of bottles, pacifiers and all things formula feeding came in.  I could barely look at the unopened amazon box for a few hours.  I placed it on my couch where it could torment me every time I passed it.  Then I’d have a good cry, and busy myself with something to forget it.  Then I finally screwed up enough courage to open the shipping box.  Then I had a good cry, but left all the bottles and things in their original packaging – I wasn’t really going to use these, was I???  Eventually, after enough tears and grumpiness, I decided I would stop thinking about it.  I invited my older daughters to help me open them.  They were thrilled.  They wanted to touch everything, suck on everything (of course) and figure out how everything worked. Bottles and pacifiers are definitely a novelty in our home.  To this point, the only bottles I had ever owned always lived safely covered in thick dust in the cabinet above the fridge (you know, the useless one you can never get in and out of because it’s too high and you always have stuff on top of your fridge in front of it?).  Boy is this a change.  It did comfort me that the small size bottles, when I held them up and imagined feeding my baby from them, felt very close…. Like maybe I could bring baby really close to me like if I was breastfeeding.  Bottles and pacifiers safely in the dishwasher and ready to be sanitized, I needed a good cry again.


And why was I crying?  I had hope for stability.  I was making choices that would not only benefit my new baby, but all my children and my marriage too.  I was making a choice to skip the living hell that is the ups and downs of bipolar – a choice that would afford me the chance to be in the world of people, living in the moment and enjoying that living.  Bipolar depression is completely exhausting and isolating, and bipolar mania is terrifying and crazy making because you can’t trust your gut or calm down enough to take in the moment.  Why would I want that?  Wouldn’t I want the best thing for everyone I love, including myself?


That night, my husband held me while great sobs wracked my frame.  I didn’t want to grieve.  I didn’t want to have to grieve.  I didn’t want to need to grieve.  I wanted to just treat this as a matter of fact, and then move on.  Grieving is scary – what if I get going and can’t stop – what if it’s not actually grief but just that ugly old depression again?  I felt broken, helpless, like a failure… Why did I have to be bipolar?  Why couldn’t I be stable?  Why did I need medications?  Why weren’t they working better yet?  Where was the line between a normal emotional response and a bipolar swing?  In truth, I don’t think they can really be distinguished, after a point.  The feelings are there either way.  The options are learn to sit with it in a way that isn’t destructive, or adjust medications.  After my intense crying session, I felt better.  That was a good sign that this was grief!  But grief usually comes in waves. I woke up the next morning after nightmares about having to bottle feed next to my breastfeeding friends.  I felt so surreal, to be bottle feeding – and horrifying.  I got up, sad and even angry.  Angry that this is my situation.  Angry at myself, angry that this is just part of living and having a body.  I’m grateful for my body and the children I have been able to conceive and give birth to, and the four I was able to breastfeed, even if it was a great struggle for my mental health in every postpartum period.  I’m grateful for this baby too – this little miracle child of the seaming back together of my marriage that was hanging by a thread only just one year ago.  And I feel raw.  I don’t want one more thing put on my plate that I don’t feel I have the capacity to do and do well.  I don’t want to see anyone pregnant and brimming with excitement about breastfeeding.  I don’t want to imagine them taking their brand new baby onto their chest, and having their baby root and suckle.  I don’t want to imagine that and a hundred other images I have in my head from my own babies.  I just want to fall down face first and sob until I have no strength left to sob.   And I want to not have to sob, to be able to either breastfeed, or get over it.


So why is it so emotional?  Why can’t I just “get over it”?  I never realized how much of my self worth was wrapped up in my ability to breastfeed, and ultimately in my capacity for perfection.  Good mothers feed their babies, but the best mothers know that “breast is best” right?  Good mothers know that emotional stability and consistency are keys to raising well-adjusted children, but the best mothers are just born with that natural ability.  Good mothers often sacrifice and put their children first, but the best mothers never have needs of their own and can endlessly give whatever their children require without resentment or burnout.  Wow.  What a load of distorted thoughts!!!  Does any of this sound familiar to you?


The truth is – the best mothers recognize their limitations, and plan for them.  The best mothers accept reality, get help, surround themselves with supportive people, and don’t try to brute force themselves into good mental health through sheer force of will and determination.  The best mothers recognize that breastfeeding, while extremely biologically engineered to create bonding, is not the same as bonding.  It’s a tool.  Bonding is a choice – one that continues through the child’s entire life span, and has many stages and phases.  You can’t breastfeed your teenager back into a close relationship with you if you haven’t stayed close through his earlier childhood and tween years…..  The best mothers understand that our imperfections are gifts to ourselves and our children.  Seeing that we aren’t perfectly put together all the time lets them know that it’s okay that they aren’t perfectly put together all the time either.  It gifts us all a sense of “we’re in this together – I’m ok, you’re ok”.  Which brings the sweetest sense of safety, connection and reassurance I’ve ever known.


The best mothers know that when we love ourselves, warts and all, we are providing the greatest example for our children we possibly can.  An example of just showing up, being transparent, and having self-compassion and self-kindness.


And that’s why my bottles are currently sitting in my dishwasher sanitized and ready to be packed into my hospital bag.  That’s why I have histamines and decongestants ready to go to dry up my milk supply.  That’s why I have a list of friends and family who have agreed to help support me after birth.  That’s why I’m still taking my mood stabilizers.  That’s why I’m going to finish writing this, and then go enjoy the last precious days of being a family of only 6, before our world changes to welcome our new one.  She’s precious no matter my weaknesses, and we will bond no matter how she is fed, because I will be emotionally stable enough to enjoy her.


Want to share your story? Email me at formulafeeders@gmail.com.

Mothering Through the Darkness

Throughout the publication process for Bottled Up, there was a lot that ended up on the cutting room floor (um, like my entire first draft). I’m incredibly grateful to my editor, Naomi Schneider, who turned what was basically a disgustingly navel-gazing account of my own breastfeeding struggle into a serious, research-heavy social commentary. But one thing I do regret is that much of my struggle with postpartum depression was removed from the final manuscript, because as years go by, I become more and more passionate about the intersection of breastfeeding and postpartum mood disorders. I think it’s easy to dismiss anecdotal evidence of women claiming that breastfeeding provoked or exacerbated their PPD or PPA, until you’re faced with the bloody, exposed guts of what this actually looks like. The more we speak out about our experiences, the more people will (hopefully) listen and consider what the pressure to breastfeed is doing to the collective mental health of mothers. MOTHERINGTHRUDARK-1

That’s a big part of why I’m bouncing up and down with excitement today, as the announcement for the next HerStories Project anthology goes public. Coming from SheWrites Press in the fall of this year, Mothering Through the Darkness: Women Open Up About the Postpartum Experience features a diverse group of incredible writers (including #ISupportYou co-founder Kim Simon and a forward by Katherine Stone, founder of Postpartum Progress) coming together to battle the stigma and silence associated with postpartum depression. I’m honored to be one of those writers, and my essay – “The Breast of Me” – details how intricately entwined my breastfeeding experience was with my postpartum depression.

As I said on the Contributor Page for the book,

“As soon as I delivered my first child, I felt a cloud pass through me, over me, erasing all happiness and hope. I remember them handing him to me, and thinking, ‘please take him somewhere safe.’ In the weeks that followed, I failed to breastfeed in every which way, and hearing him scream at the sight of me, at my incompetence, my inability to nourish him, reaffirmed what I already thought: I wasn’t fit to be a mother. This piece is about my first important lesson of motherhood: that in some circumstances, what society says is the right way to mother can sometimes be the absolute wrong way…

What I wish people understood about postpartum mental health struggles is that there is no blanket way to understand them or approach them. Sometimes it is hormonal, sometimes it is situational, sometimes it’s a combination of both. And for this reason, it is vitally important that we approach women as individuals. What will help one won’t help another. We need to do a better job of listening, and realizing the impact our media (and more importantly, social media) messaging has on vulnerable moms…

…The most important aspect of my recovery was giving up breastfeeding. It still took medication to truly resolve my depression, but I wouldn’t have been able to heal if I had kept on nursing. I needed the bodily autonomy, the lack of physical pain and dependence… I needed to be important to my son for my brain, and not my body. It may not make sense to most people, but that was what I knew I needed, and it was so hard to have nobody listen or respect that.”


I also want to share that HerStories Project is asking other mothers to step up and join the conversation, through a blog post link-up and social media blitz. My hope is that the FFF community – who include some of the most insightful, honest writers I know, if your FFF Friday essays are any indication – will answer this call and speak your truth. For more info, visit HerStoriesProject.com.

And no matter what, keep talking. Keep sharing. Because there’s always another mother out there, stumbling around in her own darkness, needing to know she’s not the only one to falter; needing other survivors to light her path.



Transformed by Postpartum Depression: A book review

“We need both medicine and mothers to create the future of maternal mental health.” – Walker Karrraa, PhD


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It’s no secret that I’m a survivor of postpartum depression. It’s something I talk about a lot, and it informs everything I do with FFF.  There is an obvious correlation between breastfeeding and postpartum mental health; whether this connection is positive or negative is a highly subjective, personal, individual matter. I see so many blanket statements, based on problematic data collection, and leaps of logic when it comes to this topic. No one ever stops to listen to the mothers who don’t fit their particular thesis. And while the topic of maternal mental health has slowly been gaining proper attention in both the media and research communities, as usual, the most important voices have been ignored: the voices of the mothers who have lived through PPD, and lived to tell the tale.

Thanks to Walker Karraa, PhD, these voices are now being heard. In her new book, Transformed by Postpartum Depression (Praeclarus Press, 2014) she reports on her own analysis and research as well as that of other pioneers/thought leaders in the maternal mental health field. But throughout, she allows the words of her subjects tell the story. And it’s an important story – one that not only highlights Karraa’s thesis, that PPD can be both traumatic and transformative, but also details how we are failing mothers at every turn. This is something that’s been discussed, even here on this blog, but Karraa’s delivery of the information is profoundly moving and startling because it is so specific, personal, and honest.

Using her interviews with 20 different women, all of whom survived moderate to severe PPD, Karraa examines the experience of postpartum depression. But this isn’t some clinical, cold volume that treats its subjects like research – the care and admiration Karraa has for her subjects is clear throughout the text. It’s a unique book; one that I believe will be just as helpful to moms as it is to mental health professionals and academics.

I think the FFF Friday series is powerful for many reasons, but the one that feels most vital to me is this: for every specific, personal story I share, there are hundreds of moms out there who see themselves in the words. These experiences are individual, but also collective, and sharing them helps both the writer (catharsis) and the reader (relief/camaradarie/normalization). Karraa’s book serves this purpose for the postpartum depression community. That would be enough – but she goes a step farther, pondering complex questions about how we approach the pathology of depression, and even analyzing her own reactions to her research. The result is something entirely unique, engaging, and important.

One section that deserves national attention – like, yesterday – is Karraa’s chapter on the failure of care providers to help these women. Her interviewees report harrowing tales of begging for help, only to be cruelly dismissed, ignored, or ridiculed. Nearly all reported a complete lack of forewarning that PPD was even a possibility, in prenatal classes and OB/GYN appointments – even when they had past histories of mental illness. Lactation consultants failed to see what breastfeeding was doing to a mother’s mental health; pediatricians told mothers their suicidal thoughts were “normal”; therapists refused to help or refer to others who could. These mothers were forced to take matters into their own hands, as Karraa describes:

As I analyzed this data, images of the walking wounded came to mind – as if these women were hemorrhaging – in public – and no one noticed… To walk through daily life dying and being ignored by care providers, and invisible to support systems was crazy-making and cruel. There was almost a punitive sense of the experience of care-provider failure – an additional layer of humiliation, indignity, and negligence…women got pragmatic; if their providers were not going to fix the problem, they would do it themselves.”

Of course, this could be viewed as a silver lining, in the American, pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps sort of way. But that is not what Karraa is advocating. It’s inspiring to see how these women overcame adversity, but infuriating that they had to do it alone. I hope that this book will act as the missing link – a close-up on the face of postpartum depression, a healing volume for those who have been through this particular battle, and a call to action for our society to make immediate changes in how we approach postpartum mental health.

FFF Friday: “If I was anymore committed, I wouldn’t be here anymore.”

Today, I read through a Facebook debate about whether the pressure to breastfeed is negatively affecting the mental health of new moms, and then stumbled across a great post on the same topic. Kara’s story, below, pretty much sums up my own argument. As someone who has the honor of being “keeper” of these stories of yours – all of your heartbreaks and frustrations and disappointments – I can’t believe the connection between depression/anxiety and breastfeeding pressure isn’t obvious to everyone. But sadly, it’s not. And until our society starts taking responsibility and changes the way it treats new mothers, this is going to keep happening. This isn’t our faults, as moms, for being too sensitive. It isn’t a matter of not getting enough practical support for breastfeeding. The fault lies in how we are overloaded with overly-dramatic information, taught about ideals, and then thrust into a reality that ignores us, berates us, and belittles us. 

No woman should be feeling worthless or suicidal because of her breasts. For any reason. End of story.

Happy Friday, fearless ones,



Kara’s Story


It’s hard for me to share my story, but I have been following this blog for a couple of months now, and I feel like there might be some healing that comes with getting it out, so here it goes.

I became pregnant with my son baby N at 30 years old, after almost 2 years of my husband and I trying to get pregnant.  Just three months before we found out we were pregnant, I lost my dad to a long battle with cancer, and so my joy of finally becoming pregnant, had a shadow of grief tinged in there at the knowledge that my son would never know his grandpa who would have just loved him to pieces!

My pregnancy was pretty normal for the most part in the beginning.  About half way through it I started spilling sugar in my urine tests so I spent the rest of my pregnancy stressed about Gestational Diabetes (not something I was ever actually diagnosed with, but constantly lectured about at every OB appointment from there on in).  During the first part of my third trimester I also started experiencing constant pain in my upper abdomen that increased and lasted throughout the rest of my pregnancy (thought to be caused from a previous abdominal surgery I had).  This pain was so terrible, that I had to be pulled from work 8 weeks early, which caused a lot of guilt on my part.

My due date came and went, and then another week came and went, and finally we were induced 11 days after my due date.  My son was born on day 12 (he must have been very cozy;).  He was a large baby 9lbs. 4 oz, and perfectly beautiful, healthy and just downright perfect!  Finally all of that pain, and the depression I was feeling throughout my pregnancy (which I’ve battled for years), and all the anxieties would fall away now that I had my perfect little man in my arms.  My husband and I felt like our life was complete.

Throughout my pregnancy I was convinced that I was going to breastfeed.  While I was never anti-formula (in fact I and all my siblings were formula fed, as well as my husband and his brother), I just felt that breast feeding was something I wanted to try.  The fact is I never thought it an option not to try really because it’s the “thing to do.”  I could only think of one friend I had who had chosen not to BF from the start, but every other mom I was surrounded by in my immediate life BF, so I guess it must be best, right?!

Once baby N was finally born, and we attempted out first latch, it was noticed immediately that he was not properly latching.  After about 5 minutes of trying, the lactation consultant told me that I had “flat nipples” and immediately handed me a nipple shield.  There was no further talk about how to eventually wean off the shield, or if I was to use it permanently, just “here you go.”  We saw 3 different lactation consultants in the hospital some were more helpful than others.  One (who was the most helpful in the amount of time she actually spent with us), put us on a schedule of breastfeeding every two hours (at least 15 minutes on each side), then pumping for 10 minutes on each side, then hand expressing as much as would come out.  Needless to say after this routine was completed I got about 10-15 minutes of sleep before I had to start all over again.  To say I was exhausted was an understatement.  On top of that I was in a great deal of pain from actually giving birth to my 9lb, 4oz baby (no c-section), which resulted in a 3rd degree tear and still needing an episiotomy.  Not to mention that pushing for two solid hours left me with hemhorroids the size of baseballs, and so the physical act of even sitting to nurse was extremely painful (all I was ever offered was ibuprofen and some useless numbing spray, b/c hey, I was nursing).

We finally left the hospital and went home.  The first couple of times I nursed baby N at home, it actually seemed to be successful.  He would latch on (with the nipple shield of course) and go to town, and he appeared to be satisfied when he was over (at least I thought so, as he would pass out hard afterwards).  Then around 6 pm the night we came home, he started to refuse to nurse at all.  There was nothing we could do to keep him awake long enough to eat, or get him to latch when he was awake.  By the time we had our pediatrician appointment the next day at 10 am, he had gone 16 hours without eating anything.  Needless to say he was lethargic and we were extremely concerned.

At the doctor’s we were told that baby N had lost 12% of his birth weight.  While he was a big baby, we and the doctor were all very concerned.  In that moment in the pediatrician’s office, I broke down and cried tears of shame and guilt for the fact that my son wasn’t getting what he needed, and of course it was all my fault! Our pediatrician was amazing and quickly said that he wanted us to supplement with formula and reiterated to us that I am not a bad mom and that we would get this worked out.  I want to note that our baby N’s doctor is a big breast feeding proponent, since I keep hearing women saying that we should just ignore the doctor when they suggest supplementing with formula b/c that will be the end of breast feeding.  Now I can say “sorry sister, but starving my kid is not an option, and the doctor has our child’s best interest at heart!”

Fast forward, or this will be your longest post in history!  So for the next couple of weeks we tried breast feeding and supplementing with formula.  This took a few different shapes, sometimes it was nursing with the evil nipple shield, and sometimes it was pumping a bottle and doing it that way.  Eventually we did seek the consult of a lactation specialist who came to our house.  She was extremely nice, non-judmental and gave us some helpful hints and advice.  As a result I continued to try to nurse baby N for another week or so using the nipple shield.

As time went on, each nursing session would get increasingly frustrating for both baby N and I.  As a big baby, and impatient feeder, baby N was not getting milk quick enough once we started nursing (not due to let down, mine was pretty good actually, but due to having to use the shield).  So for almost every nursing session we spent at least the first 5-10 minutes (on each side) with him screaming, kicking, and clawing at my breast.  I was extremely sleep deprived, depressed, and frustrated, and a week later I finally said enough is enough, no more nursing. I had tried to reach out to the lactation consultant we met with to discuss getting my son off the shield, but she insisted my son was tongue-tied, to which his pediatrician examined him and said no he was not.  When I further discussed this with her, the only advice she could give was to go have his tongue clipped, which my husband and I were not feeling comfortable with, especially b/c I knew that if we went down that route, then I could never give up on nursing if it wasn’t working b/c I would feel I had to commit after cutting my sons tongue! I decided that I was going to exclusively pump breast milk and just supplement with formula when I needed to.

Well for anyone who has tried exclusive pumping, you know it is not an easy thing to do.  I would pretty much pump for 20 minutes, feed my son what I pumped, supplement another bottle with formula, then desperately get him to try to fall asleep so that I could start pumping again for his next feeding.  Let’s just say mommy and baby bonding was starting to become non-existent and I was becoming a slave to this machine (which felt like some degrading torture device to me, and has anyone else heard their pump talk to them?  Mine definitely did!).

I knew that I had to return to work after 6 weeks b/c I was pulled so early, a longer maternity leave was not an option for us.  I quickly became despaired as to how I was going to continue this crazy pumping schedule, and work full-time, and actually get to spend any quality time with my son, who was spending a lot more time awake as he got older and really wanted my attention (and I desperately wanted to give it).  I knew at this point that I had started to slip down the path of post-partum depression.  I was not surprised as depression and anxiety are something I’ve struggled with since I was a teenager.

At about week 4 of my sons life, I was walking down the basement stairs with a load of laundry in my hands.  Our stairs are kind of steep and narrow, and I lost my footing briefly and almost tumbled down.  I was able to quickly catch myself on the railing, but the very first thought that popped into my head was “stupid, you should have just let yourself fall.”  That moment was a very big wake up call to me in how bad my depression was getting.  Now don’t get me wrong, I have a great life, a wonderful husband, and I am head over heals in love with my son.  I don’t relish the idea of leaving them, however I was at a point where I personally felt like such a failure as a mom (all because I couldn’t make nursing work or give him only breast milk), that I was starting to convince myself that they would both be much better without me.

It was a terrible time, and I knew that something needed to change or the question wouldn’t any longer be how my son was fed, but who was going to be around to feed him.  I started to realize that my “commitment/dedication” to giving him breast milk had become such an obsession and idol in my life, that I was allowing it to not only defeat me, but cause me to doubt whether or not I was the best mother for my son.  I can say now, when people question my “commitment” to breast feeding, that if I was anymore committed, I wouldn’t be here anymore.  I really connected with the post you shared on here, it was a letter from a husband whose wife had committed suicide due to post-partum depression, and she has also had significant struggles with breastfeeding.  She ultimately laid down on the train tracks and took her own life.  My heart broke reading that story, and yet I could completely understand those feelings.

A week before I returned to work, I wrote my husband a letter pleading with him to allow me to stop breast feeding.  Please don’t get the wrong impression, he was not in any way shaming, forcing, or guilting me into doing it.  Any encouragement he ever gave was because he truly wanted to be supportive of me being successful, and shared that common “breast is best” feeling that I had had as well.  He really is amazing and only wants the best for our family.  Once I shared what I was feeling with him, he immediately told me to stop, and that I was a good mother and we did not need to keep trying to provide breast milk to baby N.  At this point, his formula to breast milk ratio was tipping higher on the formula side anyways, so really it started to feel like a lost cause.

Since the day I decided to stop pumping and just switched baby N to exclusive formula, there has been a huge weight lifted off of my shoulders.  I will not say that I haven’t struggled with the decision.  Like a lot of other women on here, I have gone, and sometimes continue to go through, feelings of shame when I pull out that bottle of formula in front of other people, especially my breast feeding friends (who have all really been nothing but supportive of me).  I hope to eventually get to a place where I truly feel no regrets, shame or guilt over making the best decision I could have for my son (and I truly did do what was best for him, I decided to give him a mom who will hopefully be around long enough to see him grow up and nurture him in ALL of the ways required by a parent, not just what I feed him).

People have asked me if I am going to try to breast feed with my second child (if we are blessed with one), and right now I really don’t know the answer to that.  I’m still too close to the situation (my son is only 13 weeks), to be able to feel positive about trying again.  But I didn’t smash my pump in the yard with a hammer, or throw it in the creek behind our house like I wanted to so many times, just in case I do want to try again.  I do know, that if I decide not to try it, or even if I do, I will be much more confident in my decisions and know that whatever happens I really do truly have my child’s best interests at heart, and no other person on the planet is qualified to tell me what that is!

My true desire is that someday no woman will have to feel so lost and desperate over what she chooses to feed her child.  There are so many aspects to being a parent, and what you feed you kid is such a small one in the grand scheme of things.  At the end of every visit to the pediatrician, baby N’s doctor always says “love him, grow him, keep him safe.”  What words of wisdom!



Share your story: Email me at formulafeeders@gmail.com

Why The World is So Screwed Up About Breastfeeding Research, In Several Paragraphs & A Few Headlines

The headlines:

“Study: Breastfeeding can ward off postpartum depression” (Press TV)

“Breastfeeding mothers less likely to get postnatal depression” (The Independent)

“Breastfeeding ‘helps prevent postnatal depression'” (ITV)

“Breastfeeding could help prevent postnatal depression, says Cambridge researchers” (Cambridge News

“Breastfeeding ‘cuts depression risk’, according to study” (BBC

“Failing to breastfeed may double risk of depression in mothers: study” (Telegraph)

“Mothers who breastfeed are 50% less likely to suffer postnatal depression” (The Independent)

“Mothers who choose not to breastfeed are ‘twice as likely to get postnatal depression because they miss out on mood-boosting hormones released by the process'” (Daily Mail, UK)

“Breastfeeding Keep Mothers Happy and Reduces Postnatal Depression” (International Business Times)

“Breastfeeding moms have lower depression risk” (Health Care Professionals Network)

“Breastfeeding protects mothers from postnatal depression, study finds” (The Australian)


And the reality:

New Evidence on Breastfeeding and Postpartum Depression: The Importance of Understanding Women’s Intentions.

Borra C, Iacovou M, Sevilla A.


This study aimed to identify the causal effect of breastfeeding on postpartum depression (PPD), using data on mothers from a British survey, the Avon Longitudinal Study of Parents and Children. Multivariate linear and logistic regressions were performed to investigate the effects of breastfeeding on mothers’ mental health measured at 8 weeks, 8, 21 and 32 months postpartum. The estimated effect of breastfeeding on PPD differed according to whether women had planned to breastfeed their babies, and by whether they had shown signs of depression during pregnancy. For mothers who were not depressed during pregnancy, the lowest risk of PPD was found among women who had planned to breastfeed, and who had actually breastfed their babies, while the highest risk was found among women who had planned to breastfeed and had not gone on to breastfeed. We conclude that the effect of breastfeeding on maternal depression is extremely heterogeneous, being mediated both by breastfeeding intentions during pregnancy and by mothers’ mental health during pregnancy. Our results underline the importance of providing expert breastfeeding support to women who want to breastfeed; but also, of providing compassionate support for women who had intended to breastfeed, but who find themselves unable to.

In other words, women who wanted to breastfeed and did = low risk of PPD. Women who wanted to breastfeed and couldn’t = high risk of PPD. The researchers stress “providing compassionate support for women who had intended to breastfeed but…found themselves unable to”.

This does not prove that breastfeeding cuts depression risk. It proves that women who had a goal and met it tend to have lower rates of depression. It does not prove that there is a biological reason that breastfeeding may be protective against depression. That may indeed be the case, but then the depression risk would have been similarly high in women who never intended to breastfeed.

Our societal confirmation bias is so damn strong, that we blatantly overlook the finding that suggests something potentially negative about breastfeeding promotion. But here’s something to ponder: while we can’t force insufficient glandular tissue to produce adequate milk, or force women to breastfeed who don’t want to, we CAN ensure that every mother gets support in her feeding journey. We CAN listen to research that suggests the pressure to breastfeed is contributing to feelings of guilt, shame, and judgment – a potent trifecta of emotions for those prone to depression – and do something about it. If we are going to take this one study as “truth”, as so many parenting-related studies are mistakenly interpreted, something good might as well come out of it.

At this point, there is a pretty clear correlation between not breastfeeding and PPD. Instead of using this as ammunition against formula use, we could be asking the tougher questions: Why are women who don’t breastfeed more depressed? If it is something biological, wouldn’t the rates of PPD have been skyrocketing in past generation where breastfeeding was rare? If we stop making breastfeeding seem like the only-best-right choice to raise a happy, healthy child, would it mitigate this risk?

Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Albert_Szent-Gy%C3%B6rgyi#Medical_research

Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Albert_Szent-Gy%C3%B6rgyi#Medical_research

One of my favorite quotes about research comes from the Nobel-prize winning scientist who discovered the importance of vitamin C, Albert Szent-Gyorgyi: “Research is to see what everybody else has seen, and to think what nobody else has thought.” These days, the reverse seems to be true – research is to confirm what everybody else has seen, and everybody has already thought. This needs to change, and it won’t, as long as our society and media turns even the most interesting findings into self-confirming soundbytes.


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