Breastfeeding: What they don't tell you about it

Hello valuable mommies!

A mother tenderly cradles her baby, nursing them with quiet devotion. At first glance, it seems like the very embodiment of serenity—a timeless image of pure, unconditional love. Few scenes evoke such deep emotional warmth, often portrayed as the pinnacle of maternal connection.

But behind this peaceful picture lies a more complex and often challenging reality. For many mothers, breastfeeding is not effortless or idyllic—it can be a journey marked by pain, frustration, and self-doubt.

In this post, we will try to explore that lesser-seen side, giving voice to the struggles that are too often left out of the conversation.

From the moment you announce you're pregnant—especially with your first—everyone around you suddenly becomes a parenting expert. Friends, relatives, even strangers at the supermarket will start offering their two cents about the joys and challenges of motherhood. But strangely enough, in my case at least, no one ever warned me just how tough breastfeeding could be.

After giving birth to my first son, I was surrounded by kind, supportive nurses who kept reassuring me with the same line: “Breastfeeding is a natural process. Just give your body time—it will come. Your body is made for this.” And honestly, I believed them. I still do, in a way. Yes, our bodies are built to nurture our babies. But for some of us, that “natural process” feels anything but easy.

I wanted so badly to make it work. I really did. I gave it my all. And sure, the milk eventually started to come in more steadily. But alongside it came cracked, bleeding nipples, constant pain, and those infamous milk lumps that began forming just a few days postpartum—and only got worse. “Oh, it’s probably early mastitis,” the nurses would say gently over the phone as I cried. “Warm showers, firm massage, and keep going—you’re giving your baby the best gift.”

And I kept going. I kept pushing through the pain, because despite it all, I felt so full of love and purpose feeding my tiny son. But then… three months passed. And he still couldn’t sleep for more than 30 minutes to an hour at a time. Even though I was nursing non-stop—literally spending my entire day (and night) glued to the couch or bed with him latched on—it just wasn’t working the way it was supposed to. I’d followed every tip, every technique. Still, something felt off.

According to our pediatrician, the reason my baby couldn’t sleep for more than an hour at a time—even after all those marathon breastfeeding sessions—was simple: he was still hungry. As hard as that was to hear, it finally made sense. He gently suggested supplementing with formula along with breastfeeding. And, to be honest, it helped. My baby started to seem more content, and slowly began sleeping for longer stretches. He was finally getting the amount of food he needed.

Still, I didn’t want to give up breastfeeding. Even though the exhaustion was piling up, even though the sleepless nights were blending into foggy days, I kept pushing through. But when the pain in my breast became unbearable and I ran a fever for an entire week, I finally booked an appointment with a mastologist.

I’ll never forget the look on his face—or the tone of his voice—when he examined me. “You have an abscess from blocked milk ducts,” he said. “We need to operate immediately to drain the infection. If we wait, it could become life-threatening. And unfortunately… under these conditions, breastfeeding can’t continue. The milk ducts are too narrow. This will just keep happening.”

The next day, I was in surgery. And honestly, it wasn’t the procedure itself that hurt the most (though, fair warning—anesthesia doesn’t fully numb abscesses, so it wasn’t exactly a walk in the park). It wasn’t even the long recovery, with an open incision that had to be left to heal over two months as my milk dried up. What truly broke my heart was having to stop breastfeeding altogether. It felt like a personal failure—even though deep down I knew it wasn’t.

I had just been so conditioned to believe breastfeeding was "natural," therefore it should be easy. And when it wasn’t, I blamed myself.

Now, I know better. And I want to say this—loudly—for any other mom out there who struggled or had to stop earlier than they hoped, whether due to medical issues, mental health, or the need to return to work: It is okay.

Please don’t beat yourself up. You are not any less of a mother because breastfeeding didn’t go as planned. You brought a beautiful human into the world. Your love, care, and presence are what matter most. Honor your body—it gave life. Listen to it. Protect it. And hold your baby close, because that bond? That’s the real magic. The rest will work itself out.

Love, Katerina

Note: All pictures in this post are AI-generated.