In the depths of postpartum struggles, I found myself facing a daunting challenge — my milk supply was dwindling.
Three months into my breastfeeding journey with my second daughter, I started pumping to build a freezer stash in preparation for my eventual return to work. Instead, my pumping output dimished as my body felt increasingly exhausted and sore.
Desperate for answers, I frantically searched the internet for solutions.
Could my daughter be going through a growth spurt? Had the stress of becoming a second time parent taken its toll on my supply? Was this the “3-month breastfeeding crisis” that many Reddit moms claimed was inevitable?
Similar to my struggle with infertility a few years earlier, I didn’t know what was happening with my body or how to fix it.
One night, after I hadn’t been able to pump much milk, I finally collapsed on the floor, glaring at my breast pump while sobbing with disappointment.
The CDC recommends exclusive breastfeeding for the first six months of an infant’s life, though many women don’t make it this long due to issues out of their control. For the record, I wholeheartedly believe mothers shouldn’t be judged for how they choose to feed their babies.
I’d made it through a full year of nursing with my first daughter and had hoped to do the same with my second baby. But here I was at barely three months postpartum, looking for a can of baby formula and resigning myself to the fact that supplementation would soon be inevitable.
As a last ditch effort, I made an appointment with a lactation consultant for the next morning (thanks to my employer for providing this benefit through Cleo!).
She took one look at my pumping setup and audibly gasped.
"Please turn it off! It's not supposed to hurt!" she exclaimed through the pixelated screen.
That was the moment I realized something wasn't right.
Pregnancy and childbirth are profound experiences, marked by physical strain and discomfort that demand resilience.
Yet women are conditioned and sometimes even pressured to endure unspeakable pain, almost as a rite of passage to becoming mothers.
During the birth of my first daughter, I made it through eight hours of active labor without an epidural to prove to myself that I could tolerate a natural birth.
Throughout my second pregnancy, my nausea was debilitating. I threw up every time I brushed my teeth, opened the dishwasher, or walked by the garbage. But I avoided taking medication for fear of harming my baby.
Postpartum brought its own set of challenges — abdominal pain, pelvic floor issues, and the inevitable nipple bleeding in the early days of breastfeeding.
Like most moms, I powered through these hurdles, reassuring myself that they were temporary and expected. The second time around, I boasted to friends and family that I’d had a relatively “easy” birth and physical recovery.
At my six-week postpartum checkup, I was deemed physically healed, ready to resume exercise. Even the postpartum depression screening gave me the green light (little did I know, the unexpected onset of my postpartum depression would soon follow).
Life seemed to be gradually returning to normal. However, the weeks following that visit were far from easy.
Breastfeeding six to eight times a day without proper support took a toll on my shoulders and back.
The strain of constantly lifting a baby and a toddler left my wrists in constant pain.
Daily walks in the park in my old sneakers, a routine to soothe my restless infant, resulted in throbbing foot pain.
It was amidst this sea of challenges that the pivotal moment arrived — the declining milk supply.
Consulting the lactation specialist opened my eyes to a glaring issue: I had been using the wrong flange size throughout my entire first and now second pumping journey.
For those unfamiliar with breast pumps, the flange is a funnel-shaped piece that fits over the nipple and areola to collect breast milk during pumping.
When I purchased my breast pump through insurance, I received two standard flange sizes (24mm and 28mm) and automatically used the smaller one. I had no idea how to find the right size, and nobody told me that there were other sizes available.
My lactation consultant explained that, like me, most women inadvertently use a flange that is too big. Doing so can block milk ducts, reducing the amount of milk that is pumped and potentially causing mastitis.
It’s also incredibly painful.
What I had dismissed as an unexplainable mystery turned out to be a misunderstanding that cost me much unnecessary discomfort.
This realization marked a turning point.
First, I rectified the flange size issue, instantly feeling relief. Luckily, my milk supply rebounded to prior levels over the next few days.
I used nursing pillows during feeding sessions and even indulged in a few postpartum massages to ease my sore back and shoulders.
With the help of an orthopedic physician, I tackled what turned out to be "mommy's wrist" head-on, incorporating ibuprofen, wrist braces, and strengthening exercises into my routine.
And those worn-out sneakers? They were swiftly replaced, with the newfound knowledge that shoes too have their limitations.
In parallel with my physical healing, the cloud of postpartum depression, which had once held me captive in a state of despair, slowly dissipated.
Looking back on this journey, I recognize my tendency to 'mom' with unwavering dedication, often at the expense of my own health.
It's alarming to realize how long I endured these challenges without seeking help, which seemed daunting amidst the demands of caring for a newborn.
I accepted, perhaps too readily, that motherhood necessitates sacrifices, including neglecting personal well-being. Treating the pain as my new status quo, I overlooked the tangible solutions readily available to me, if only I had sought out the right resources.
It took a crisis to jolt me into action, but the results have been immediately gratifying.
I’m continuing to learn the lesson that taking care of my own mental and physical health is not a luxury but a necessity.
To all the new moms out there, here's my two cents: motherhood comes with its challenges, but unnecessary pain shouldn't be one of them.
Namaste,
Tamara
PS - Have you endured unnecessary pain during your motherhood journey? I’d love to hear how you handled it!
I loved reading this, Tamara! I'm a first time mom to a 7 month old and already see how easy it is to cast myself and my needs aside to make sure I'm 'appropriately mom-ing' (whatever that means). I'm slowly trying to do little things that put myself first, even though it's not always easy.