The birth of my first child was a momentous occasion, as it is for all new parents—nearly ten months of pregnancy followed by a strenuous labor, which had all come to fruition once I held my daughter, Charlie, in my arms. Going into labor wasn’t frightening to me at all, as it can be for some; the predictability of labor calmed my fears. The real fear for me was caring for such a new, fragile human being. Once Charlie entered this world, I experienced a whirlwind of emotions. So many questions were left unanswered: How do I know when she’s hungry or full? How do I know that she’s eating enough? Is she happy? Am I doing everything I can to provide for her? Will I be a good mother? Becoming a new parent is uncharted territory, but my husband and I were as ready as humanly possible. After about a day in the hospital, we were discharged. Charlie’s care was solely up to my husband and myself. I felt confident that we had breastfeeding under control, and we were so excited to bring our new bundle home for the first time.

Our first couple days home went well then Charlie had her first doctor’s appointment; I expected this appointment to go great. That just wasn’t the case; her pediatrician said that Charlie hadn’t put on any weight since she left the hospital. The pediatrician was worried, but assured me that once my milk came in, Charlie’s weight would shoot right back up. We set up an appointment for about a week away and took our sweet baby home. Within the next two days, my milk came in! I was overjoyed knowing that my baby would be getting the sustenance that she needed to thrive. Charlie was breastfeeding what felt like constantly, and it was tough, but I was so happy that I was providing for her. At Charlie’s follow-up doctor appointment, her pediatrician said that Charlie’s weight still wasn’t catching up. She recommended that we give her some formula right then and there. We were incredibly hesitant to give any formula to Charlie. I had a plan, and feeding my daughter formula was NOT in the plan. I wanted to exclusively breastfeed, but I was scared that my daughter was hungry. We agreed to the formula and Charlie guzzled down the whole bottle. Giving her formula was the right decision, but it couldn’t have felt more wrong. This was the beginning of the end of breastfeeding for us.

We scheduled yet another follow-up appointment for a few days away and left the doctors. On the drive home, my emotions really kicked in. I felt horrible. I felt like a bad mother. Why couldn’t I nourish my daughter? Why couldn’t she get enough from me? I called the hospital I gave birth at to see what kind of help they offer new breastfeeding mothers. They had a breastfeeding support group that met the next day which was run by a lactation consultant. Perfect—just what we needed! I thought this would solve everything. Everybody in the support group was beyond helpful and supportive, but that wasn’t the problem; it was me.

While at the support group, I was able to weigh Charlie before and after a feeding to make sure that she was getting enough milk. From over an hour of suckling, she didn’t even consume an ounce of milk! What was going on? We were both doing everything right: good latch, suckling well, plenty of time was spent feeding her, but she still wasn’t getting enough milk. I felt hopeless. This is not what I had planned. I had planned to breastfeed my daughter and never expected it to be this difficult. I set up a one-on-one appointment with a lactation consultant to see what I could improve on. She said I was doing everything right and that maybe I should “power pump” to up my supply. So, I did. I would pump for 20 minutes on each side and then breastfeed my daughter and then pump again. I was so sore and so tired…would this ever get easier?

After countless appointments with Charlie’s pediatrician, my doctor, lactation consultant after lactation consultant, and breastfeeding support groups, nothing was changing but me. I was becoming increasingly sad, distant, and irritable. At this point, I felt worthless. The one thing I so desperately wanted to do was impossible for me to achieve. This was my lowest point. But there was one last glimmer of hope. I researched other ways to boost my supply and found some supplements that might help and got them immediately; there was still no improvement in my supply. All of my continued efforts to breastfeed my daughter were slowly replaced by frequent formula supplements. My feelings of joy and happiness were slowly replaced by feelings of despair and loneliness. I felt so isolated, so hopeless, so useless, until a good friend reached out to me and said, “It doesn’t matter what your daughter eats, Maggie. What matters is that you’re sane and happy. That is the most important thing for your daughter.” This brought tears to my eyes. I needed someone to reassure me that it’s okay to feed my child formula and that I was not a failure. I tried so hard to breastfeed, harder than most, and I knew it was time to throw in the towel.

At two months old, my daughter was officially formula fed and, let me tell you, it felt so good. I didn’t worry constantly if she was receiving enough food. I wasn’t worried about lactation consultants, power pumping, or support groups. I was exclusively focused on caring for my daughter, which was a breath of fresh air. It felt like the weight of the world was lifted off my shoulders. I had been so preoccupied with breastfeeding that I was missing out on this incredible person who I created.

It wasn’t until months had passed by that I realized that I had experienced postpartum depression. Doctors warned me about it. Friends and family realized it, and yet, I had no idea that I was depressed. My physical inability to breastfeed my daughter caused me to become depressed. Although I still wish I could have breastfed my daughter, I am extremely grateful that I chose to switch to formula because suffering through another day of feeling worthless would have been extremely detrimental to my daughter, myself, and my husband.

It was so easy for me to think that I was in that journey alone. My husband, friends, and family had no idea what I was struggling with, and they didn’t know how to help. I was closed off from the world and emotionally shut down. I felt overwhelmed by feelings of disappointment, which was intensified by my postpartum depression. It felt like I was living in a bottomless pit with no way out. I felt isolated. But, I wasn’t alone. There are thousands of women all over the world who suffer supply issues. This was my saving grace, my silver lining, my salvation from depression. Learning that I wasn’t alone in that journey was a lifeline to me. Reaching out to this community of mothers, where we all shared this inability to breastfeed, taught me one important thing: fed is best. No matter whether your baby is exclusively breastfed, bottle fed, or a mixture of the two, as long as your baby is happy and healthy, that’s all that matters. Postpartum depression is a sneaky beast. Some mothers, like myself, may not even know that they’re experiencing postpartum depression until a significant amount of time has passed. I want you to know that not only is there help available in many outlets, like friends, family, your doctor, the baby’s pediatrician, and even internet chat groups, but that there are plenty of other mothers who have experienced or are currently experiencing the same thing. We are not alone.

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