Everyone asks you what your breastfeeding plan is before you have a baby. Are you going to nurse? For how long? Are you planning to pump? What’s your goal?
Here’s the truth: I didn’t have a plan. Not with my first baby, not with my second, not with my third, and definitely not with my fourth.
I didn’t set goals or timelines, and I didn’t read up on breastfeeding strategies. I just figured—if it works, great. If not, I’ll figure it out.
And it did. It worked for me. More than that: I loved breastfeeding. Not every second, and definitely not the pumping, the sleepless nights or the mastitis. But I relished the connection, the closeness, the quiet: all of which I still miss. I still crave the oxytocin release: that warm, grounded feeling that cuts through the exhaustion and noise of early motherhood.
Going into breastfeeding without big expectations made all the difference for me. It helped me stay steady. It gave me space to be present. It let the experience unfold instead of forcing it to look a certain way. That mindset didn’t just shape how I fed my babies, it shaped how I felt in those early months of becoming their mom. And it still shapes how I show up for my kids, who are now 14, 11, 8 and 5.
No Plan, No Pressure
I tend to approach most things with low expectations. Not in a negative way: more like, let’s see how this goes. I’ve learned that the less pressure I put on myself, the better I handle things. That mindset has worked for me in a lot of areas of my life, but especially in motherhood.
When it came to breastfeeding, I wasn’t chasing a goal or timeline. I didn’t conduct thorough research or read all the books. I left room for it to go either way—and when it actually worked, I felt so grateful.
All four of my kids latched easily. I know that’s not typical, and I don’t take that for granted for a second. I also want to be clear: I’m not sharing my process as some kind of secret or solution. This is just what worked for me. It wasn’t about strategy or getting something “right.” It was a mix of being open, staying present, and letting breastfeeding become whatever it was meant to be for us. I also had the privilege of time—of not needing to rush back to an office at 12 weeks—and that made a difference. It gave me space to navigate challenges without the pressure of a hard stop, and I recognize how rare and impactful that kind of time can be.
The Comparison Trap
Even with my low-pressure mindset, I wasn’t immune to doubt. Especially in those early days with my firstborn, I found myself wondering if I should be doing more. I’d hear a comment or question in the weekly baby group I attended, and I’d suddenly feel behind—like I was winging something everyone else had carefully mapped out. Should I be pumping more? Tracking feeds? Timing sessions the way other moms seemed to? That comparison trap sneaks in so easily, even when you think you’re grounded.
But every time I started to question myself, I came back to this: It’s working. My baby was fed. I wasn’t overwhelmed. I wasn’t dreading it. I didn’t feel disconnected. That had to count for something. And it did.
Trusting myself—trusting that I didn’t have to match anyone else’s process—became a quiet, steady strength.
It Wasn’t All Easy
Even though breastfeeding came easily at first, that didn’t mean it was always easy. I pumped when I needed to—usually so my husband and I could each get a little time away—but I never loved it. It felt mechanical, disconnected, like something I had to get through rather than something I wanted to do. Still, it gave us flexibility and, at times, freedom. So I did it.
With my last two babies, I got mastitis—more often than I want to remember. I had clots and fevers and moments where I genuinely considered quitting. I remember being on all fours over my baby trying to nurse, hoping gravity would help relieve a clogged duct.
That open mindset I went in with didn’t make those hard parts disappear—but it did keep me from falling apart.
I didn’t blame myself. I didn’t feel like I was failing. I just thought, this too will pass, and kept going. It wasn’t about powering through—it was about trusting that the hard moments didn’t mean I was doing something wrong.
Letting Go Was the Hardest Part
I breastfed my first three babies for 11 months, one year, and 14 months. I can’t remember why I stopped each time—maybe because I was ready, maybe because they were. But I always remember it feeling like the right time.
Then I had my fourth. I knew I was done having kids—so I knew it would be my last time breastfeeding. I went for two and a half years with him, holding on longer than I ever thought I would because I didn’t feel ready to close that chapter.
I remember calling my OB-GYN during yet another round of mastitis and hearing her gently ask, “Are you sure you don’t want to just wean?” She wasn’t wrong to ask. My body hurt, but I wasn’t ready to let go of something that I loved so much.
We eventually stopped, slowly and naturally. And even though I finally felt ready when it happened, it still felt like a loss. Not dramatic or devastating—but tender. Like closing a door softly, knowing you won’t open it again.
I didn’t want to breastfeed forever, but I also didn’t want it to end—because letting go of something that gave me so much wasn’t as easy as I expected.
What Stays With Me
I don’t miss breastfeeding in a way that makes me want to do it again—but I do miss what it gave me.
It was one of the few parts of early motherhood where I felt fully present in my body. Not overwhelmed. Not pulled in a million directions. Just there—in the moment, connected. I didn’t realize how grounding that presence was until it was gone.
And even now, two and a half years since my breastfeeding journey came to an endI still feel the ripple of that experience. I see it in how I parent and in how I connect with others. That open approach I brought to breastfeeding—that willingness to just see how it goes—still shapes how I show up as their mom.
