My Breastfeeding Journey. The Beautiful, Messy, Sacred Parts

If you have found this in the quiet hours of the night while your baby feeds beside you, I want you to hear this first.

You are not alone.

Across three and a half years of breastfeeding my daughters, I have learned that no two feeding journeys ever look the same. What began as one story unfolded into two very different beginnings, each shaped by learning, healing, and the quiet strength that motherhood asks of us.

This is not a story about doing it perfectly.
It is simply a story about showing up with love.

My first daughter taught me persistence

My first breastfeeding journey began with me buzzing the midwife for almost every feed in hospital. When I was discharged, I left with a nipple shield in hand, something I had never even heard of before that moment.

I remember thinking, this must just be what feeding looks like now.

Each feed felt like work. Adjusting, learning, trying again. It was not effortless. It was slow, steady persistence.

And then came the gentle support that changed everything.

My angel mother in law, a lactation consultant, asked if I wanted to try feeding without the shield. I did not think it was possible. But with her encouragement, patience, and small tweaks, we slowly found our way off it.

What followed became a journey of ease, connection, and those sweet little mid feed smiles that make time feel soft.

My second daughter’s beginning looked very different

My second daughter arrived after a scheduled caesarean and a postpartum haemorrhage.

I did not meet her until twelve hours after birth. I missed those first skin to skin moments. Her dad gave her first feeds with formula while I lay recovering.

And I will be honest. I felt like I had failed her.

Those early days were filled with healing, separation, and learning how to hold both gratitude and grief at the same time.

We worked hard to establish breastfeeding. Each feed was a dance of finger feeding, hand expressing, and walking back and forth to the special care nursery. We were discharged with a nipple shield again. Supplementing. Trying. Learning together.

It felt like we were working harder than ever for something that was supposed to feel natural.

The day everything shifted

Then one day, rushing to my eldest’s dance class, I realised I had forgotten the nipple shield.

My stomach dropped.

But we had no choice except to try.

And she latched. Perfectly. Like she had known how all along.

From that day forward, she fed beautifully at the breast.

It was not a dramatic moment. Just a quiet turning point that reminded me how much trust lives inside our babies and inside ourselves.

The moment my perspective on formula changed

For a long time, I carried guilt quietly.

But somewhere along the way, something softened inside me.

Formula is not failure.
It is love in powdered form for so many babies and families.

It nourishes. It sustains. It saves. And in that moment, it gave my baby what I could not.

That experience shifted my inner dialogue completely. Feeding stopped being a measure of worth and became simply another way to care for my child.

Two Years in and still learning

Two Years into our journey, we are still going strong.

Feeding her has been a privilege, just as it was with her sister. It has been laced with moments of joy and challenge, including bottle refusal from both of my girls despite every trick in the book.

The never far away feeling is real. The closeness. The constant need.

And still, there is something deeply sacred about those quiet feeds where the world slows down.

What breastfeeding has taught me about motherhood

Breastfeeding has been one of the most honest reflections of my motherhood.

It taught me patience when things did not unfold as I expected.
It taught me to trust my intuition when doubt felt loud.
It taught me that feeding is never one size fits all.

Breastmilk, formula, donor milk, tube feeding. All of it is nourishment. All of it is love.

Support changed everything for me. The right words. The right people. The right village.

If you are feeding your baby right now

Maybe you are reading this in the glow of a night light, wondering if you are doing enough.

Maybe feeding feels peaceful.
Maybe it feels heavy tonight.
Maybe it looks nothing like you imagined.

Wherever you are, I want you to know this gently.

You are a good mother.

Your baby does not need perfection. They need you. Your presence. Your warmth. Your steady love in the quiet hours when the world feels small.

There is no single right way to feed a baby. There is only care.

Above all, I feel grateful

Grateful to have fed my babies.
Grateful for the support that held me when I doubted myself.
And grateful for the many ways babies are nourished in this world.

Because feeding, in all its forms, is brave.
It is tender.
And it is worthy of celebration.

If you found your way here searching for reassurance in early motherhood, I hope this story feels like a quiet hand on your shoulder.

You are not alone.