The emotional toll of breastfeeding is real—and still overlooked

In a quiet bedroom in Petaling Jaya, a new mother rocks her baby gently under the glow of a nightlight. Her husband sleeps beside her, unaware that she has been up every two hours since midnight. In one arm she cradles a small human being. In the other, she holds back tears. This is not the image often celebrated during World Breastfeeding Week—but it’s the one that plays out in many homes across Malaysia.

Breastfeeding, we’re told, is natural, instinctive, and beautiful. Posters in clinics and hospital hallways show radiant mothers smiling as their babies feed. But behind those photos lies a routine that is often physically painful, emotionally draining, and riddled with guilt. The ritual of breastfeeding is powerful—but only when supported. And for many Malaysian mothers, that support is still patchy, inconsistent, and missing the most important layer: emotional validation.

The science of breastfeeding is clear. Breast milk is nutrient-rich, protective, and tailored perfectly to a baby’s needs. It delivers antibodies, regulates digestion, and promotes cognitive development. But breastfeeding isn’t just a physiological act. It’s a daily system of care that depends on time, privacy, confidence, and emotional resilience. And when any of these are disrupted—by cracked nipples, public shame, family pressure, or insufficient leave—the system starts to fray.

Many Malaysian mothers begin their breastfeeding journey with hope and determination. Hospitals offer brief latching lessons after birth. Some hand out breastfeeding booklets. But once mothers return home, the real challenges begin. The baby won’t latch. Milk supply seems too low. The pain doesn’t go away. Sleep becomes fragmented. The body aches. And when a bottle is introduced out of desperation, the guilt settles in like fog.

This is where the emotional weight begins to build. Breastfeeding isn’t just a choice—it’s perceived as a moral scorecard. In Malaysia, mothers who breastfeed are often praised for being “strong” and “natural.” Those who use formula may hear whispers at family gatherings, or feel unspoken judgment in online parenting groups. Some healthcare professionals, well-meaning but rigid, double down on breast-is-best messaging without acknowledging that some mothers are barely staying afloat. The message is clear: if you stop breastfeeding, you’ve failed your child.

But guilt is not a motivator. It’s an anchor. And when mothers are emotionally depleted, their ability to maintain breastfeeding—let alone enjoy the bond it’s meant to foster—collapses.

Breastfeeding is driven in part by oxytocin, the hormone that promotes bonding and relaxation. In theory, this makes breastfeeding soothing and emotionally connecting. But in reality, hormonal fluctuations, sleep deprivation, and pain can flip the experience into something anxious and overwhelming. A baby that refuses to feed can send a mother spiraling into self-doubt. Engorgement, blocked ducts, or bleeding nipples aren’t just painful—they’re emotionally eroding. These moments often happen alone, in the middle of the night, with no one to reassure her that she’s doing her best.

It’s no surprise, then, that breastfeeding difficulties are closely tied to postpartum depression. A mother who is struggling to breastfeed may feel like she’s failing at the one thing she’s biologically “supposed” to do. And a mother experiencing postpartum depression may find it even harder to summon the energy or consistency that breastfeeding requires. It becomes a loop: the stress of breastfeeding undermines mental health, and poor mental health disrupts breastfeeding.

The National Health and Morbidity Survey 2022 found that 11.2% of Malaysian postpartum women showed signs of depression. But those are only the visible cases. Many more go unrecorded, hidden beneath cultural norms that dismiss emotional pain as just “baby blues.” In some families, especially in rural or conservative communities, a mother’s distress is interpreted as weakness. Older relatives may scold rather than support. Mothers themselves may internalize this, believing they must endure silently to be seen as strong.

And then, there’s the role of work. Malaysian maternity leave policies typically offer 90 days, a period that sounds generous on paper but barely allows time for the body to heal, much less establish a stable breastfeeding routine. For mothers working in retail, hospitality, or office environments without proper lactation spaces, expressing milk becomes a daily logistical nightmare. Pumps are hidden in bathroom stalls. Milk is stored in personal coolers. Meetings are skipped or taken through clenched teeth. The pressure to perform both at work and as a mother becomes unbearable.

This isn’t just a private problem. It’s a systemic design flaw. The emotional toll of breastfeeding is built into the way we structure motherhood in Malaysia. We celebrate breastfeeding during the first week of August each year—but we don’t extend that celebration into practical, ongoing support. We lack nationwide policies that mandate lactation rooms, protect pumping breaks, or fund peer counseling. Mental health screenings are rarely offered during postpartum checkups, and when they are, few mothers feel comfortable admitting they’re not okay.

And yet, the fix is not complicated. We don’t need every mother to breastfeed perfectly. We need every mother to feel seen, supported, and empowered to make the best decision for her body and her child. That starts with shifting how we talk about breastfeeding—not as a test of motherhood, but as a caregiving ritual that requires a whole village to sustain.

Structured emotional support is one of the most powerful tools we can offer. Organizations like the Malaysian Breastfeeding Peer Counsellor Association provide safe, mother-to-mother spaces where women can talk openly about their struggles. These aren’t clinical environments. They are judgment-free zones where mothers cry, vent, laugh, and learn from each other. Studies show that such peer networks increase breastfeeding success and lower rates of postpartum depression. But they remain underfunded and under-publicized.

Healthcare professionals also play a key role. Beyond teaching technique, they must learn to recognize emotional fatigue. A mother who cries in frustration during a latching session isn’t weak—she’s overwhelmed. A mother who chooses formula isn’t lazy—she may be exhausted or in pain. Empathetic care doesn’t mean abandoning breastfeeding promotion. It means making space for individual stories, without shame or pressure.

The workplace, too, must evolve. Breastfeeding is not just a home activity—it’s a daily system that follows a mother into her job. That system needs privacy, time, and refrigeration. Some companies in Malaysia have begun creating lactation rooms, but adoption is uneven. And even when facilities exist, the culture around using them can be awkward or discouraging. Women may fear being seen as “less committed” to their jobs if they take pumping breaks. True breastfeeding support at work requires not just a room, but a respectful culture, clear HR policies, and leadership that sets the tone.

And then there is the unseen support: the one at home. Partners and family members must move beyond encouragement and into action. That might mean taking over household chores so the mother can rest, waking up for bottle feeds when needed, or simply sitting beside her during a difficult nursing session. Emotional presence is powerful. It says: you don’t have to do this alone.

Because that’s the real message mothers need to hear. Not “breast is best,” not “you must push through,” not “just drink more soup.” But: you are not alone. Your feelings are valid. You’re allowed to find this hard. And whatever feeding choice you make, you are still a good mother.

World Breastfeeding Week gives us an annual spotlight. But spotlight without system change is performative. If we want more mothers to breastfeed—not just longer, but with less emotional damage—we need to redesign the ecosystem around them. That includes hospitals, clinics, homes, workplaces, and online spaces. It includes aunties who stop comparing milk supply, influencers who post less perfection, and HR managers who stop assuming breastfeeding is a private inconvenience.

Because breastfeeding is not just a feeding decision. It’s an emotional, hormonal, and social ritual that affects how a mother sees herself and how she feels supported by the world around her. The weight of that should not fall on her alone.

In every expression of milk, there’s an expression of care. But the care must go both ways. A mother cannot pour from a cup that is always being emptied. She needs rest. She needs affirmation. She needs policies, people, and spaces that are built for her—not just for her baby.

So as this year’s World Breastfeeding Week draws to a close, let’s stop praising breastfeeding in isolation. Let’s start designing for the mother—not just the milk.