I Didn't Want to be an Influencer, I Just Wanted to Keep Breastfeeding

A reflection on where The Breastfeeding Mentor began - and what it’s grown into

I think the story of The Breastfeeding Mentor starts here: me, collapsed on the floor of a Sainsbury’s supermarket car park.

I was bleeding. Lactating. Working 60-hour weeks. Desperate for even ten minutes alone in a toilet cubicle. And nursing my son on demand every single time we were together - including every 45 minutes to two hours overnight.

I don’t even remember what tipped me over that day. Whether it was the hunger, the sleep deprivation, the invisible weight of being everything to everyone while feeling like I was disappearing entirely. Maybe it was all of it. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

What matters is: I couldn’t do it anymore.And not in a gentle, romantic “the whisper becomes a roar,” kind of way. This wasn’t a whisper. It was a shutdown. My body collapsed before I gave myself permission to rest.

That was the moment I knew:The world wasn’t built for mothers.And I didn’t want to be part of a system that expected me to keep showing up like I wasn’t bleeding, like I wasn’t tethered to a pump, like I wasn’t surviving on broken sleep and silent rage.

The Breastfeeding Mentor didn’t begin as a business. It began as a lifeline.A refusal.A reclaiming.A message sent into the dark:“If you're in this too - you're not alone.”

After the collapse, I was signed off work for six months with exhaustion.

And then, one month into that sick leave, the world stopped. Global lockdown. Covid. Everything frozen.

And for the first time in years, I had space - space to feel, to breathe, to ask a different question:What if there’s another way to live?

I had never, not once, considered becoming a blogger or building an online community. That felt like something other people did, not me. I was academic. Serious. Private. I had a master’s in psychology. I’d spent my whole life being,“the responsible one.” Visibility wasn’t the goal - survival was.

But something about lockdown cracked me open.The stillness let ideas rise to the surface that had been buried under the noise.

So I created an Instagram page.

It was called Mother Edition back then. The plan? I thought maybe - one day - I’d design breastfeeding-friendly clothes that women actually wanted to wear. Clothes that didn’t feel like you’d given up your identity at the school gates or on the maternity ward. I imagined building a community who might want to buy them.

That was it. Nothing wild. Nothing strategic. Just a small, quiet seed.

The page grew slowly at first. There was no overnight explosion. No viral post. Just steady showing up - one caption, one story, one mother at a time. By the time I was ready to leave my teaching job, around 15 months later, I didn’t even have 10,000 followers. But what I did have was a quiet knowing:I couldn’t keep splitting myself in two.Teacher by day, exhausted mother by night, and somewhere in between trying to keep a fragile dream alive.

Leaving my last full-time teaching role gave me the space to ask myself: What do I actually care about right now?

And the answer wasn’t clothing. It was breastfeeding.

More specifically, supporting mothers through the complex, raw, beautiful, and often invisible realities of breastfeeding - especially beyond infancy.

I wanted to offer evidence-based, empowering, non-judgmental guidance.I wanted to create the kind of mentorship I had needed myself - not just clinical facts, but emotional context. Not just the “how,” but the “why,” the “when,” and the “what now?”I wanted mothers to feel seen. And when I gave myself fully to that, everything changed.

My following skyrocketed. I started posting about the things no one else seemed to be talking about: nursing through pregnancy, night feeds at age three, rage, resentment, hormones, grief, love, weaning. Women started tagging their friends. Sharing posts. Messaging me with relief and recognition. I wasn’t just speaking into the void anymore - I was in conversation with a global community of mothers, many of whom felt like they were hearing the truth about breastfeeding for the very first time. I also secured my first paid collaboration around that time - just £300.But it meant everything.

I had just left my job. We were living off savings. I’d sold our family car to help fund this leap. That £300 wasn’t just money - it was proof. Proof that this could work. That the work mattered. That it was valuable.

But the transition into full-time self-employment wasn’t simple. Or smooth. Or linear.

There were still months of figuring it out.We juggled finances. I took on student support roles. I found ways to work flexibly, in ways that felt safe and connected to my values. Work that supported students meaningfully - and helped support our small family in return.

I didn’t want to pour myself out again and end up collapsed on another floor. This time, I was trying to build something sustainable.

I worked in margins - between drop-offs and pick-ups, late at night, early in the morning. Not just to grow a business, but to stay available - to the mothers in my DMs who were surviving on empty and searching for something real. They didn’t need more pressure. They needed perspective. They needed presence.

So I gave what I had: lived experience, practical support, honesty, and gentleness.And slowly, it began to grow, not just in numbers, but in depth.

Eventually, my business began to thrive. Not because I chased every trend. But because I learned to work in alignment - with my values, with my family, and with a pace that didn’t burn me out. Now, I run a business that brings in consistent five-figure months. I’ve signed five-figure brand deals. I’ve sold 30-second sponsored reels for £2,500–£4,500 - to some of the biggest names in lactation.

I have a book published with Penguin. I’ve built a trusted platform, a powerful community, and a business I’m proud of. But none of this looks like fast cars or designer goods. To me, success looks like this:

• It means our little boy gets to go to a school where there are only six children in his class. Where the curriculum is alternative and adaptive - where he’s seen and celebrated as he is. Where his teacher has the time and energy to meet him.

• It means supporting our mothers, both of whom gave up so much for us and deserve to receive back.

• It means employing other mothers, women who then pour that income into their own families, into their own communities, into the next generation.

  
  

This is how I define success now. When mothers thrive, we all thrive. That’s what drives me.

Unconditional breastfeeding support? Yes, always. But broader than that: Unconditional support for mothers. In their wholeness, their softness, their power, their rage, their dreams, and their worth. That’s what this is. And that’s why I’ll keep going.

If this spoke to you…

If you’ve ever felt the pull to do things differently - to create something of your own,to work in a way that doesn’t take from your family, but provides for them,to lead with heart and still earn well - I created something just for you. It’s a free guide to building a heart-led business, rooted in freedom, flexibility and integrity. Whether you're at the very beginning or ready to expand,this guide will show you what’s possible and how to take your next right step.

Download the free Heart-Led Business Guide here

With love,

Danielle

❤️