The Grief No One Talks About: When Breastfeeding Ends (Or Never Began)
- Danielle Facey
- Apr 2
- 4 min read
Updated: Jul 1
Breastfeeding is often framed as a radiant connection. It’s seen as a nourishing act, a sacred rite, a profound bond between mother and child.
And sometimes, it is.
But sometimes, perhaps more often than we let on,
breastfeeding is threaded with grief.
Grief at the beginning, in the middle, and 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 not broken. You are not alone.
You are seen here.
Journal Prompts:
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 begins in the shadow of sorrow.
Maybe it’s the baby that didn’t stay.
Maybe it’s the birth that felt like rupture instead of release.
Maybe it’s the postpartum haze that almost swallowed you whole.
For me, it was all of these.
The baby I lost before my son shaped everything that came after.
It made me cling to breastfeeding with ferocity.
I needed something to go right.
I needed to trust my body again.
I needed something that was mine.
In those early feeds, skin to skin, breath to breath, I found a flicker of that trust again.
For mothers carrying loss or trauma, breastfeeding can feel like redemption.
Not just nourishment, but healing.
A reclamation. A lifeline. A balm.
And still, it aches.
Because even something sacred can hurt.
Journal Prompts:
What has your body endured to bring your baby here?
What tender parts of you are still healing?
The Grief of Breastfeeding Not Going to Plan
Some mothers grieve the fact that they couldn’t breastfeed at all.
Others grieve the version they imagined, the one with soft lighting and quiet latching, not the one with bleeding nipples and tears at 3 a.m.
I’ve supported mothers who stopped because of cancer treatment or IVF.
Mothers who pumped exclusively for months and mourned the closeness they never felt.
Mothers who combo fed and carried guilt like a second diaper bag.
And then there are those who did breastfeed, but it wasn’t what they were promised.
They fought tooth and nail to make it work.
They still grieve the ease they never knew.
Grief doesn’t always arrive at the end.
Sometimes it pulls up a chair right in the middle and stays awhile.
Journal Prompts:
What expectations did you carry into breastfeeding?
What felt beautiful? What felt like loss?
If this is you, if you’re holding any part of this story, I want you to know:
You’re not imagining it.
You’re not too sensitive.
You’re not alone.
I created a free 95-page guide, How to Breastfeed, to hold your hand through the messy, uncertain early days. Whether you’re facing latch issues, supply worries, tongue tie, cluster feeding or exhaustion, this is for you. You can download it here.
Returning to work while breastfeeding? I’ve got you there too. Download my Back to Work & Breastfeeding guide for free. Because practical support matters as much as emotional validation.
The Grief of Stopping, Whether You Chose To or Not
No one really warns us.
Sometimes you decide to stop.
Sometimes life decides for you.
Sometimes it feels like freedom.
Other times, like heartbreak.
Often, it’s both.
Whether you weaned intentionally, gradually, suddenly or under circumstances beyond your control, stopping breastfeeding is an ending. And endings deserve recognition. They are sacred.
I’ve heard from countless mothers about the unexpected depth of emotion that came after their final feed. The insomnia. The mood swings. The unexplained tears.
This is often called weaning depression. And it’s very real.
Some mothers feel guilt, not because they stopped, but because they wanted to.
Because it wasn’t working.
Because their mental health was slipping.
Because they needed space.
And still, they wondered if they were enough.
To every mother in that place:
You were. You are. You always will be.
Journal Prompts:
What would you say to the version of yourself who decided to stop?
What would she need to hear?
If you’re navigating this stage, I’ve written a blog post that may comfort you:
And if weaning sadness has caught you off guard, my piece on Weaning Blues offers insight, support and companionship through that transition.
You don’t have to go through it alone.
You Deserve to Be Held
There is no right way to breastfeed.
No perfect timeline.
No badge for pain.
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 honour the unseen grief.
To hold the endings as gently as the beginnings.
To remind you that no matter how your journey unfolded, it mattered.
You matter.
Journal Prompts:
What part of your breastfeeding story still needs witnessing?
How can you honour it today?
With love and gentleness,
Danielle
❤️
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