I’m Rachel New, a broadcaster, writer and workshop facilitator. I’ve been running creative and therapeutic writing workshops for breastfeeding mothers, as part of The Holding Time Project, since 2021.
In April this year I began a six-week workshop series with mums and their babies in Halton, Cheshire. These workshops are a joy to deliver and the women who take part are so courageous in exploring the difficulties in birth, breastfeeding, societal pressure and, often, the lack of support they experience. The work they produce is powerful and moving, and only possible because of the support they give each other and the safe space this project offers them. As you’ll discover in this blog post, the issues women face are complex and often similar.
And while there is deep joy in being a mother and nurturing their babies, that alone doesn’t heal the hurts of not being listened to, and struggling to find support in this life changing period. Using a creative tool like writing to explore their experiences is a great step on the path to feeling more confident and heard. I’m delighted to be able to share some of their work here.
Sophie wrote a beautiful poem about those sometimes precarious first months of breastfeeding.
A Flower
A flower in January
The bud has begun its journey, and so have we.
You are a few hours old and you lie on me.
We’re trying to get the hang of our breastfeeding journey, just like the bud is preparing to bloom.
We both are alone in the walls of a hospital room.
The rain pours hard on the window outside as I try to latch you once more.
It’s slightly tricky to get this right whilst I’m emotional and sore.
But as we sit here together, I can’t wait to see how our feeding journey will go.
The flower will be fine, as long as it doesn’t snow.
A flower in February.
What do you know,
The snow has come hard and the flower can’t grow.
We’re out again, in the freezing cold, this time seeing another professional who might be able to help us.
Tongue tie, allergies, latching and weight is all that I now discuss.
Baby, you cry all day and you’re so upset
This has been my hardest journey yet.
The bud isn’t receiving the care it needs to survive,
Would it be better to change to formula to see you thrive?
A flower in March
Ok Doctor, I say, I guess you’re right, dairy free formula might be the solution to this fight.
The flower may never flourish after all, but I suppose I can always buy Synthetic.
So why do I sit in this GP’s office feeling so pathetic?
I want the flower to bloom, I really do, but baby, I want to do what’s best for you.
I’ll listen to the professionals, but deep down I question if this is the right thing to do.
I want to see you thrive, but I want the petals to show too.
I want our journey to flourish and bloom into a beautiful flower.
So maybe I need to listen to my instincts, and use a mother’s power.
A flower in April.
I decided to keep tending to the flower by giving it what it needs.
It is the flower which receives water, sun and care which succeeds.
So I gave this journey all I had, I met lactation consultants and feed you round the clock to keep you happy and fed.
No, thanks, I don’t want to snip his tongue tie again, I think I will just keep trying naturally instead.
And yes, thank you for the special prescription formula, very kind.
But I’m afraid that it won’t be needed, as I have made up my mind.
The stem is finally growing and shows no signs of slowing.
I am all my baby needs.
A flower in May.
At last, the petals are starting to bloom – what a beautiful sight.
You’re gaining so much weight, you’re happy and healthy and I think we have won this fight.
I love to breastfeed you, it’s extremely special to me.
This is what we were made to do, that I can guarantee.
I am your mummy and I give you all that you need,
and sometimes mummies have to trust their own gut in order to succeed.
So baby, let’s keep watering the flower, let’s give it life and sun.
Because I am your mummy and you are my baby’ and together we are one.
The themes Sophie explores, conflicting advice, a desire to listen to a mother’s instinct. while always putting your baby first, recur in a lot of the work from the Halton Mums. Help and Support is another topic we explore. Those first few days, weeks, months with a new baby can be daunting and lonely, the responsibility overwhelming. Most women say they couldn’t have gone through that without the help of friends, family, the infant feeding team or just their partner, as Jo’s poem details so nicely
Breastfeeding Poem
The start of breastfeeding was far from perfect
The start of breastfeeding I was in ICU
The start of breastfeeding would have been so easy to quit
Supported my by partner
Supported by my midwives
Supported by ICU nurses
I feel so proud of my body, to be able to produce milk
I feel so proud of my baby, for latching so well
I feel so proud of myself for not giving up
Breastfeeding was the only thing I could control
Breastfeeding was the only thing I could do for my baby
Breastfeeding was the only time I could see my baby
Amazed by what my body could do
Amazed by how adaptable babies are
Amazed by our unbreakable bond
We use lots of different techniques in the workshops to help women tell their stories, including repetition to really distill the power and the meaning of something women want to convey, which Jo did so well in that poem. And we see again here from Holly, with her poem At the Beginning.
At The Beginning
At the beginning, they praise you for providing the almighty liquid gold. But when I’m seen feeding my toddler I get asked, aren’t they just too old?
At the beginning, the magical benefits of my milk is shouted from the rooftop, yet you’re two now and the misinformation is rife about how apparently the benefits will stop.
At the beginning, I was embarrassed to show we were co-sleeping to get some sleep. Now I’ll argue that asking a baby to lie alone cold and frightened is just too steep.
At the beginning, you wake constantly and I dreaded when night time would arrive. But I know now you’re not expected to sleep through, as that’s not how you’re programmed to survive.
At the beginning, sleeping together was going to cause you harm. But now you sleep safe and sound in our C position, right underneath my arm.
At the beginning, your growth was slow. It didn’t quite follow the line. But now I’ve learned those growth charts aren’t aimed at these breastfed children of mine.
At the beginning, I was told you’re going to regret answering their every demand. They’re just spoilt too much. Yeah, I’ll ask don’t you share a bed at night? We all need a cwtsh.
At the beginning I’m asked ‘Are they good?’ And I’d reply ‘Yes’ just like I should. But now I say ‘no they just robbed a bank’ as I have no time to explain how that stupid question shows how much babies are misunderstood.
At the beginning it’s scary to whip your boobs out in public, and I cover up every day. But now I tell all you mums to defeat society’s sexualization of breasts and never shy away.
At the beginning you never believed in the weeks to come. Now look at you, a determined, resilient, undefeated, breastfeeding super-mum.
Unsolicited advice is something that comes up often. And sometimes just sharing those stories of feeling judged, or confused with conflicting information in a safe space with other mums is hugely beneficial for women. Although these workshops are pretty baby (and often toddler) heavy, they are not a baby group. These sessions are for women to be at the center of their life again, a chance to reclaim the role of main character after becoming simply someone else’s mum. Identity is something we explore in the workshops, as being a mum, especially a breast feeder, can make you feel like you’ve lost something. Women often feel guilty about these feelings and society can make us feel like we should just be grateful for the beautiful babies we have. But mourning what we’ve lost can be an important part of being truly happy in what we now are. Anna explores this with depth and humour in her poem Three.
Three
Three times I have grown life. Being pregnant I could do, never fully appreciating what my body went through.
Three births followed suit. Not one going to plan, left feeling like a failure, even though I’d given all that I am.
Three breastfeeding journeys, births I couldn’t do, at this I must not fail.
Three feeding stories, each a different struggle for me. Who cares about the mother? The baby is all they want to see.
Three times I felt the overwhelming wave of responsibility grow, must not let my children down, even if I’m feeling low. Must carry on with a mental load no one can see, rarely getting any praise for raising my beautiful three.
A lot more than three times have longed for a hot cup of tea, or simply just going to the toilet on my own to have a wee.
Three children’s needs come before washing my hair. Whilst my friends are drinking Prosecco as I scroll their Insta in despair.
When will they stop classing my shop to Aldi as a treat. Wondering why I have three pairs of mop slippers for my feet.
Three minutes is sometimes all I want on my own. But when I get it, I just look at pictures of them on my phone.
Three times I’ve become a superhuman mum, no longer able to play the beat to my own drum.
I have lost myself, most definitely. But I’ve also found myself in my wonderful three.
Anna and her mop slippers summed up so perfectly what being a mum can feel like. Over the course of the workshops, we use many techniques and writing tools to support women in finding their writing groove and telling their stories. One of the exercises we do is writing something from their baby’s point of view, which women can be confused about at the start. The results, however, always blow me away. And they often unlock something in the women that makes them see their own huge power, rather than the self-doubt, which is so often lurking in the shadows. This is Kayleigh’s amazing poem, or perhaps a rallying cry, Mama, listen to your gut.
Mama, Listen to Your Gut
by Kayleigh
Dear Mama, listen to your gut. I chose you for a reason. My lifetime, not just a season, Mama, you always had strong intuition, pregnancy put you in a different position. And now it’s not your gut you’ve been listening to, it’s everybody else’s input.
Mama, listen to your gut. Remember when I was in your womb, and you heard the word Sofia on repeat? You were convinced I was a girl and Sofia was my name. Then the midwife told you that Sofia was the home birth team name. Your gut knew, enlightenment came. Mama, your body mind and spirit was always connected strong at your core. And now everybody else’s input you listen to more.
Mama, listen to your gut, all those issues of feeding. If you’d have followed your gut, these issues wouldn’t be proceeding. One after the other, feeling defeated going on and on. Often listening to others input, you lost your connection to your gut.
‘He shouldn’t be on your breast that much’. But we were happy, peaceful, joyful content. All feelings are such. You did wonder if I had tongue tie. But you listen to them and let your gut feelings die.
Slow weight gain, ‘give him a dummy, it will sooth his pain’ they said and you listened, pushed aside what your gut was saying inside, and then began the feelings of dread. But Mama, you were right, tongue tie cut and back came sunlight.
Mama, listen to your gut. You questioned the reliability of the weight chart, dropping percentiles, but you knew in your heart, the curve they said I should follow was designed for bottle fed, it left you feeling hollow.
But Mama if you’d have listened to your gut, tuned in somehow, you’d have questioned and known those charts are meant for milk that should only be feed in a baby cow.
Mama, follow your gut. The seed of doubt planted ‘give him a bottle’ they all ranted, and you picked up soy formula, cried all those tears in your car. You didn’t know the feeding journey would be so tough, that you’d be convinced that your boobies weren’t enough, you listened to their input, ignored your gut.
Mama, if you’d have listened to your gut, that rash I got a few weeks ago. ‘He’s an allergy to wheat’ you told them so, ‘wheat comes in through my milk, I’ll go wheat free’ It’s not that, it can’t be. And you listened to them, ignored your gut, stronger and stronger is their input.
Mama, listen to your gut. There’s a pattern here getting stronger and stronger, feeding on your vulnerability and fear. It’s not just your mama bear, society creates this, makes women forget their nature for nurture and care. Somehow society’s convinced women their bodies cannot birth anymore. Women getting induced more and more. Your power taken away, it’s getting worse day by day.
There’s no other transition like it, maiden to mother, just to emphasize a transition like no other. Mama, your world turned upside down and inside out, hormones making you want to scream and shout, postpartum rage and depression, missing the village. What is this world filled with women’s oppression?
Mama, listen to your gut. You’ve had enough of other people’s input. Imagine a world where mums are empowered to use their voice without coercion, where medical professionals, family and friends listen to Mama’s choice.
Mama, tune back into your gut. Forget the advice from other people’s input. It’s why I chose you, Mama. You know what’s best for me. I wish you knew how much I love you, oh do dearly. And the more you follow your gut, use your voice, your story heard, you clear the path for other women to have their story heard. Emotions shared and feeling cared for, held and supported in a world where mothers are left to do it alone. No village in sight. Find your voice, Mama untamed, roaring, paving the way to come back to joy and light.
That poem only came to Kayleigh the morning of our last workshop, and I’m so glad it did, it’s almost a manifesto! Sometimes the women in the workshops are battling extra issues that can make them feel even more isolated. In our first workshop, Jen needed alot of support to keep with the process. She has a rare condition that can affect breastfeeding women. DMer is a little understood hormonal issue, which means at the beginning of each feed, during letdown, she suffers 2 – 3 minutes of unbearable dread and anxiety. She’s currently feeding her third child, and there’s been no let up in the condition. Depsite great support from the whole infant feeding team, she felt so alone. Eventually, with the cohort of women keeping a safe space for her, and through different writing exercises, she managed to write a poem that expressed how it felt to have DMer. This is The Letdown.
The Letdown
The letdown where dopamine drops too fast, don’t worry these feelings won’t last
The letdown that feels like clouds of doom and a head of gloom
The letdown that makes my heart race, and an emptiness that’s difficult to face
The letdown with emotions out of control, I’m difficult to console
The letdown that’s a date with the devil, surviving deserves a medal
The letdown that makes my stomach drop, my mood flop
The letdown that gives me a scare, leaves my soul bare
The letdown that nourished my baby but haunted me
Jen has gone on to share her poems in a group for sufferers of DMer, which has encouraged other women to write their own DMer related poems, and in turn helped women all over the world with this rare condition feel heard and understood. Now that’s the power of creativity right there!
Sometimes it can be really hard to start writing, blank page syndrome is real! And so we use lots of different tools and forms until women find one, or several, that feel like a good fit. One of those is letter writing. The letter can be to anyone who’s been a part of your breastfeeding journey, even to yourself. But Tasha wrote hers to her baby girl.
To My Baby Girl
by Tasha
Our baby journey started when you had been in my tummy for thirty- seven weeks. Mummy had a horrible gut feeling something was going to go wrong, and I needed to make sure you at the best start in life or wherever I was with you or not.
I made sure I had fifty, 1 mil syringes of my magic milk ready for you when you made your arrival. After storing all the good stuff in the freezer for a couple of weeks, the day arrived to welcome you into this world. And I didn’t leave the house without the magic stuff.
With all the overwhelming excitement, we forgot about how long my milk can be stayed out in room temperature. At 15:38. We welcomed you into the family. After 10 minute cuddle with mommy, while I was being stitched up, you were taken away from me. But Daddy stayed by your side the whole time. You needed a little help and were put on a ventilator and feeding tube. They stem prevented me from being able to feed you.
I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t hold you. I worried I was never gonna be able to feed you. I was told we could give you a little milk to rub into your gums. But unfortunately, all my milk I brought with us was now no good. I needed to get you more. But with all the stress and worry, I struggled and I only managed two mils. But this was enough for your first day.
On day two. You were allowed to have milk in your feeding tube. But again, I struggled but I managed three mils, which again was enough for your tiny tummy. On day three, I was able to put you to the breast and you were a dream, and latched on straightaway. Then, while still in NICU, I was feeding you every three hours. I knew from then on you were going to be just fine. And this journey was going to be amazing.
Once we got home. The journey continued. this amazing bond between us is the best feeling ever. Some people have already asked me when will our breastfeeding journey and, and to all of them I say none of your business. My baby girl will tell me when she has had enough, and no one else. This is our journey. I will give you the best til you decide enough is enough. Love you baby girl. love mummy.
Our final poem is from Roberta, whose early breastfeeding days were haunted by warnings of low baby weight and conflicting opinions. This is Breast is Best.
Breast is Best
by Roberta
Are you breastfeeding? Because breast is best.
Oh, lovely because breast is best.
I’ll help you through the journey, because breast is best.
She’s small, but I thought breast was best?
She’s underweight. But I thought breast was best?
We’re concerned, but I thought breast was best?
We need to see you weekly, but I thought breast was best?
We need to make a doctor’s appointment. But I thought breast was best?
You need to see the pediatric dietitian, but I thought breast was best?
We should introduce bottles, but I thought breast was best?
Let’s try high calorie to milk. But I thought breast was back?
We are still concerned. But I thought breast was best?
She’s still small. But I thought breast was back?
Oh, she’s doing well now. So breast is best.
Such a powerful piece of writing to finish this blog on, and it really sums up how challenging a breastfeeding journey can be.
Thanks to all the women who showed up to these workshops, supported each other and shared their stories. And thanks to the Halton Family Hubs for supporting The Holding Time Project.
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