Grief in Breastfeeding: A Journey Few Speak Of

Breastfeeding is often framed in light: a radiant connection, a nourishing act, a bonding experience.

And sometimes it is.

But often, it is also woven with grief.

Grief at the beginning.

Grief in the middle.

Grief at the end.

Whether you breastfed for years, weeks, days, or not at all—if you’re grieving, this space is for you. You are seen here.

Journal Prompt:

What did you hope breastfeeding would feel like? What were you afraid it might be?

Breastfeeding After Loss: When Grief Comes First

For many, the journey into breastfeeding begins in the shadow of previous grief.

The baby that didn’t stay.

The birth that didn’t go to plan.

The early postpartum that felt like drowning.

For me, it was all of these. The loss of a baby before my son was born shaped everything that followed—including how fiercely I clung to breastfeeding. Not just because I wanted to, but because I needed to reclaim trust in my body. I needed something to go right. Something to be mine.

And in the long nights and the early feeds, it was.

For so many mothers, especially those who have experienced loss or birth trauma, breastfeeding is not just nourishment. It’s redemption. It’s healing. It’s a thread back to self.

But even then, it doesn’t come without ache.

Journal Prompt:

What has your body been through to bring your baby here? What do you still carry?

The Grief of Breastfeeding Not Going to Plan

Some mothers grieve not breastfeeding at all. Others grieve the version they imagined and didn’t get.

I’ve worked with mothers who had to stop breastfeeding prematurely due to medical reasons—because of cancer treatment, or to begin IVF. Others who planned to breastfeed exclusively but were faced with complications that made that impossible. Mums who pumped exclusively for months, grieving the closeness of nursing. Mums who combo fed with a heavy heart, longing for what might have been.

And then there are those for whom breastfeeding did happen—but only through blood, sweat, tears, cracked nipples, and unrelenting struggle.

They grieve too.

They grieve the ease they were promised. The soft, romanticised image of a baby latched peacefully to their breast that never quite came to be.

Grief doesn’t require an ending.

It sometimes begins right in the middle.

And it deserves space.

Journal Prompt:

What expectations did you have for breastfeeding? What do you mourn from the early days?

If you are here, holding any of this kind of grief, you are not alone.

I created a free 95 page guide, How to Breastfeed, to support mothers who are struggling in those early days—whether due to latch issues, low supply, tongue tie, or anything in between. It’s comprehensive, compassionate, and rooted in the belief that your journey is yours.

Click the link above to download it free today.

And if you’re navigating the ache of returning to work while breastfeeding—navigating pumping, separation, and shifts in your rhythm—I’ve created a separate guide just for you. Use the code GIFT at checkout to receive it for free.

The Grief of Stopping—Whether You Chose To or Not

Then comes the grief no one warns us about:

The grief of stopping.

Sometimes it’s planned. Sometimes it isn’t.

Sometimes it’s a relief. Sometimes it’s heartbreak.

Often, it’s both.

Whether you weaned intentionally, gradually, suddenly, or through force of circumstance—stopping breastfeeding is an ending. And endings are sacred.

They deserve to be marked.

I’ve heard from countless mothers who didn’t expect the depth of emotion that came when their breastfeeding journey ended—insomnia, hot flushes, mood swings, tears they couldn’t place. This is weaning depression. And it’s real.

I’ve also worked with mothers who felt guilt—not because they stopped, but because they wanted to. Because it wasn’t working. Because they had reached their edge. Because their mental health was fraying. And still, they wondered if they were enough.

To every mother feeling this: You were. You are. You always will be.

Journal Prompt:

What would you say to the version of yourself who decided to stop? What would she need to hear?

If you’re in this space—navigating the guilt of stopping—I’ve written a blog post that may bring you comfort. Click here to read my post, 'How to Let Go of Breastfeeding Guilt: Navigating the End of Your Journey with Love.'

If you are in the throes of weaning sadness, or think you may be experiencing weaning blues, my article on Weaning Blues offers guidance, support, and solidarity.

You do not have to navigate this alone.

You Deserve to Be Held

There is no right way to breastfeed.

There is no perfect length of time.

There is no badge for enduring pain.

There is no shame in stopping.

There is only your story.

And your story deserves to be heard.

This is why I do what I do.

To hold space for the grief no one warned us about.

To honour the endings as much as the beginnings.

To remind you that whatever your journey looked like—it matters.

You matter.

Journal Prompt:

What part of your breastfeeding story still needs witnessing? How can you honour it today?

With love and gentleness,

Danielle

❤️