My Breastfeeding Journey: Why I Do What I Do

When I was pregnant with my eldest son in 1996, I was overjoyed and
full of excitement. Like many first-time mothers, I read everything I
could about pregnancy and baby care.

Breastfeeding both fascinated and frightened me. I had heard countless
stories about painful engorgement, cracked nipples, and the dreaded
“not enough milk.” Still, I read up on breastfeeding and attended the
prenatal classes available at the time. After a one-hour breastfeeding talk,
I walked away confident. I truly believed I would breastfeed my baby for
two full years.

Then my son was born.

When the nurse placed my newborn in my arms and we attempted our
first feed, I remember thinking, This is it.

Instead, my first thought was, Ouch. This hurts.

I was shocked. No one had told me breastfeeding could hurt.

“Of course it hurts. What did you expect?” the nurse replied.

Trusting her words, I tried to endure the pain. I lasted five minutes before switching sides. The pain did not ease. My baby became frustrated, then began crying. I tried to guide my already sore nipple back into his mouth.

That was when the nurse said something that would change everything.

“Aiyo… you don’t have enough milk. That’s why he cannot suck. See, he’s hungry. Better give him a bottle.”

A bottle? What about my breast?

I was told that giving a little formula would take the edge off his hunger so he could “learn to suck better” later. Unable to bear his cries, I agreed. I was ushered out of the nursery while my baby was given 90 ml of formula behind a glass wall.

From that point on, every breastfeeding attempt felt like a failure. My nipples were in excruciating pain. My baby was either too sleepy or too frustrated. After each attempt, he was given a bottle. I felt helpless and ashamed, convinced that my body was letting my baby down.

By day three, my breasts became painfully engorged. They were hard, swollen, and throbbing. I was advised to pump to relieve the pressure. When I did, I was horrified to see blood mixed with milk.

That was my breaking point.

Between the pain, the tears, the hot towels, cabbage leaves, and a rented breast pump, I barely survived those early days. My baby was fed formula. By the end of the first week, I was pumping every three hours after unsuccessful latches, producing barely half an ounce combined.

“I really don’t have enough milk,” I told myself.

Eventually, I returned the pump and accepted what I believed to be the truth: formula was just as good.

But it wasn’t.

At one month old, my son became constipated and developed severe rashes. We endured months of colic, relentless crying, and exhaustion. He survived, thank God, but the experience left a deep mark on me.

Years later, I had my second baby in San Francisco. By then, I had already decided not to breastfeed. I believed I was simply “one of those women” who could not produce enough milk.

To my surprise, I was told the hospital was a breastfeeding-friendly hospital. Bottles were not an option. With the guidance of a skilled lactation consultant, I successfully breastfed my daughter. It was not effortless, but it was possible. Once I learned proper latch and positioning, the pain eased and my confidence grew.

Still, old insecurities lingered. Formula samples arrived at my home even before delivery. I gave in occasionally, thinking it would not matter. It did. My milk supply dipped, and fear returned. I breastfed her for just over five months, supplemented daily with formula.

By my third child, everything changed.

I had educated myself deeply through volunteering at a breastfeeding clinic. I understood supply, latch, and the importance of confidence and consistency. Failure was no longer an option.

I exclusively breastfed my third baby for almost a year, until I became pregnant again. My fourth baby was also exclusively breastfed and eventually weaned himself at one year old.

Looking back, the difference was undeniable.

Among my four children, my first struggled the most with health issues. My partially breastfed child showed better immunity. My exclusively breastfed children thrived.

Breastfeeding is not just about milk. It is about knowledge, support, and belief in a mother’s body.

That is why today, I make it my mission to educate and empower parents with truth, not fear or hearsay. I have lived through the confusion, the pain, the doubt, and the transformation. I have walked this journey four times, each with its own lessons.

If my experience can spare even one mother from believing she is “not enough,” then it is worth sharing.

My hope is that through education and guidance, more babies will be added to that precious group of children who are nourished confidently and lovingly with their mother’s milk.