I Thought Breast-Feeding Would Come Naturally. So Why Did I Struggle?

The Dream vs. The Delivery Room

I'd had this vision of what breastfeeding would be like before my daughter was born. I imagined those calm, cinematic moments I'd encountered in documentaries and baby books — my newborn peacefully ensconced in my arms, his eyes closed, sucking with animal instinct while I gazed in maternal rapture. I figured it would come of its own accord. That the intelligence of my body, wise and ancestral, would already know what to do. And because breastfeeding is so often referred to as "natural," I took that to mean simple.

But that was not the case with me. Not even close.

She wouldn't latch at the hospital. There were nurses, standing over me, kneading my breast like it was something to be replicated under a microscope, attempting to instruct an already tired and incredibly awkward individual to contort my body into positions that felt unbearably foreign. My baby cried. I cried. It hurt. Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually. I was going to decry the amount I'd fabricated in my head, but I was too embarrassed to do so. Nobody speaks of the mourning that can come with breast-feeding not working out as you'd planned for. I already felt like I was letting her down — on day one.

Why 'Natural' Does Not Mean 'Easy'

Breastfeeding is painted as this kind of inherent, almost like mysterious thing about connection. And, yes, it is, also, the right one for some moms straight out the gate. But for many — particularly first-time moms — it can be a steep, sometimes painful learning curve. It's the idea that it "should just work," which adds yet another layer of pressure to mothers as if warriorship were somehow wrong with us if we are struggling. Well, I just want to be clear: It doesn't.

Our abuelas and tias and sisters may not have always had the language, but they held this truth in their palms — in the bottles they filled when breast-feeding was not enough, in the herbs they boiled for cracked nipples, in the silent ways they kept their children fed and loved and safe. Breastfeeding is natural, yes. But it's also a skill. It is one you and your baby have to figure out together, usually through trial, error and an ocean of grace.

Real mother, real fight: What I learned from Reddit

One night, late, cabbage leaves stuffed in my bra, crying, for some reason I fell into a Reddit rabbit hole. A thread titled:

"Why didn't anyone warn me how hard breastfeeding is?"

Thousands of comments peppered that post. Mothers of all sorts, revealing their souls — about bloody nipples, poor latches, tongue-tie, the horror of not making enough, the humiliation that wells up when you want nothing more than to give up.

One mom wrote:

"I thought it would be easy. It's as if my body just betrayed me," she said.

Another replied:

"Same. I switched to formula and I cried for a week. But my baby's happy now. And I'm healing."

When I read those responses, it was like joining a circle of women I did not know, but somehow felt known by. For the first time in years, I didn't feel broken. Just human.

What Worked For Me (That Nobody Ever Told Me)

I would like to tell you what worked for me — and I don't mean the stuff I learned from the book, the principles of pedagogy, but rather, the soul-keeping wisdom and occasionally tilted pivots that seemed to make a crucial difference.

Culture Grey; New Grace

In my culture, motherhood is layered — a product of ritual, a product of resilience. The women in my family didn't rely on lactation apps or feeding schedules, but they had gumption. They adapted. They handed down their knowledge in recipes and remedies, in talks while hanging laundry, in prayers murmured above bassinets.

So when breastfeeding didn't go as I imagined it would, I used their strength. I recalled that my great-grandmother fed her babies goat milk, because that was what she could find. That my mom pumped for weeks before switching to formula and never turned back.

These are the tales we inherit in our DNA. And in this moment, we can be the matchmaker between ancient wisdom and contemporary choices. There's beauty in that.

The Mama Who's Fighting The Good Fight

I have a 7-year-old son and have been married for two years.

If you can't bear the thought of one more latch attempt, if your baby's wailing every time they try to nurse, if you burst into tears every time you do try – then cut yourself the biggest goddamned break, because trust me, I understand:

• You are not less.
• You are not failing.
• You are not alone.

Motherhood is not the same for everyone. And there is no medal for beating yourself to a pulp, until you are drained in soul as well as body. The "best" feeding odyssey is one that honors your baby's needs as well as your own limits.

Whether you are a 2 years old, 2 week old, or just the 2 you are a beautiful, capable and nurturing mother.

In Comunidad, Always

From one messy, complicated, still-learning-mama heart to mine — and yours — there is room for all of us here. You don't have to love everything about how you feed your baby, I just hope you feel proud. I hope you feel supported. And I hope you'll never, ever feel small about doing what works.

Because you are the ones who sanctify this. Not the method. You.

Abrazos fuertes,
Marisol 💛