I want to tell you a secret. Something I still haven’t had the courage to say out loud, for fear of sounding like a fraud.
I have spent the last two years advocating for breastfeeding. I’ve worked to raise awareness around breastfeeding beyond infancy, using my voice to help dismantle the taboo and support other parents in their choices. Breastfeeding is my entire personality and identity.
So here’s my secret: right now, I hate breastfeeding.
There it is. It feels disloyal to admit, even in writing. It contradicts everything I’ve shared with others, and feels like a betrayal. Not just to the community I’ve supported, but to myself.
But it’s true.
In the early stages of my journey, I fell in love with breastfeeding. It came relatively easily for me, which I know is a privilege. It became a space of deep connection, of calming love, and immense pride. Nursing felt sacred, a private dance between my daughter and me. It grounded me in my role as a mother.
In the early stages of my journey, I fell in love with breastfeeding.
The Boundaries That Don’t Stick
Fast forward two and a half years, and that once soothing connection now feels suffocating. My daughter still nurses frequently, day and night. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since before I was pregnant. My body no longer feels like my own, every inch of me seems to be in constant demand.
I am tired. I am overwhelmed. I am touched out.
And I’ve tried to set boundaries. Honestly, I have. My daughter knows the words and signs for “boobies,” and we’ve practised asking politely and waiting until I say yes. But toddlers don’t do boundaries perfectly. More often than not, she’ll yank down my top in frustration, and if I say “not right now” or “after we do this,” I’m met with tears and tantrums that leave me overstimulated and emotionally spent.
The Guilt of Wanting to Stop
The emotional toll of these moments is immense. The guilt is complex. I’m supposed to be the one who champions this. I share the research, the emotional benefits, the empowerment. But what happens when the very thing you advocate for becomes the thing that’s depleting you?
There’s a strange silence in the breastfeeding world around this topic. We celebrate starting; we celebrate milestones; but we rarely talk about the resentment that can creep in, or the ambivalence that arises when your needs begin to clash with your child’s. There’s still a taboo around saying, “I want to stop” when your child isn’t ready. There’s shame in admitting, “This isn’t working for me anymore,” especially when you’ve worked so hard to normalise it for others.
There’s still a taboo around saying, “I want to stop” when your child isn’t ready.
Some days, I fantasise about weaning. About the freedom of sleeping through the night, of wearing clothes without planning how I’ll nurse, of not flinching every time small hands reach for my chest. But then I see her little face curled against me, and I remember why I held on so long. The guilt of stopping breastfeeding consumes every inch of me.
And yet, I know this isn’t sustainable. I need to start putting myself back into the equation.
Why We Need to Talk About This
I share this now – not because I have all the answers, but because I want to make space for this conversation. You can be deeply committed to something and still struggle with it. You can love your child endlessly and still feel burnt out by the constant giving. You can be a breastfeeding advocate and still say, “I need a break.”
You can be a breastfeeding advocate and still say, “I need a break.”
Right now, I sit in that torn space between desperately wanting it to end and not quite being ready to say goodbye. The truth is, I don’t know exactly when our journey will come to a close; but I do know this – I will continue to follow my daughter’s lead, while gently learning to honour my own needs, too.
Perhaps the bravest advocacy we can offer isn’t just fighting for breastfeeding rights, it’s fighting for the wholeness of the mother, too.
