A recent article about breastfeeding and guilt really hit a nerve with me. The author supposes that we use mother’s milk in our society as a “bonus” for babies rather than making it sound like it should be mandatory. She says that we do this to save mothers from feeling guilty about choosing not to breastfeed.

I have to ask: what about the mothers who cannot choose to breastfeed? Are they made to feel guilty, too? Because every time I run across an article like this—and there are plenty of them—I certainly do.

My breasts were always the bane of my existence. They were large—so large I had to wear a bra in the second grade, which both boys and girls made fun of. As I got older, friends would envy me—even hate me!—for my breasts, which made me hate my breasts even more.

I never thought I would like my breasts, ever. I always joked about donating them to women who would really use them or want them, or taping them down. I hated the attention they brought me from boys, the jokes, the stares. As I got older, I learned that certain bras could help me hide them a bit, and gladly spent my money on them.

When I got pregnant, I was so excited about breastfeeding my baby. Finally, my boobs had a purpose—and it was such a good purpose! I bought a nursing bra and read all about breastfeeding, and was so happy that I was going to give my baby such incredible nourishment and protection.

When she was born prematurely, I was able to pump a small amount of collostrum, which was good; that meant that she received some strong immunities from her mama. But as the first month of her life went on, she in the incubator, me at the pump, my milk production waned and waned until I made nothing.

When she was finally able to nurse after a nearly two months of being alive, I was nearly out of milk. I cried every day. I tried everything I was told to do—from herbs to beer, pumping to simulated baby-fingers (my own) tapping, trying several pumping machines, anything I could do to make the milk. I even dressed up a hot water bottle and rocked it as if it were a baby as I pumped. No dice.

The lactation specialist I worked with every week told me it could have been a number of things. We were thousands of miles from home and on a tight budget, so we knew I wasn’t getting as much nutrition as I probably should have; but I was definitely drinking plenty of water. I was also under a lot of stress with my unexpected delivery so far from home and so early; my body was also working on healing from several post-birth operations and infections, which required me to tote around a wound vac for several weeks.