Jamie Oliver, I branded myself a failure because of pro-breastfeeding propaganda. Think before you speak

In the week that Jamie Oliver clumsily stuck his oar into the great breastfeeding debate, no doubt igniting yet another round of self-righteous mud-slinging, there is something I’d like to get off my chest. Not every woman can breastfeed; breast is not best for everyone; and women should not feel press-ganged into doing something that does not come naturally to every mother.

I’m one of those women. Like all expectant mothers, I had the “breast is best” mantra relentlessly drilled into me from Day One. Baby clinic walls are papered with posters of contented-looking mothers happily breastfeeding their contented-looking infants, accompanied by lists of illnesses and allergies your baby could succumb to if you don’t allow them to suckle. Like most first-time mothers, I bought into it.

However, in a routine, post-due-date check-up at 41 weeks and 3 days, I was told I had severe sudden onset pre-eclampsia. They induced labour. It ended with the dreaded forceps delivery and heavy blood loss, leading to severe anaemia.

Subsequent attempts to coax milk out of my knackered body were in vain.

I hadn’t been expecting this – nobody had prepared me for it, and I was so brainwashed by pro-breastfeeding propaganda and the pressure to breastfeed that I was quickly overwhelmed by strong feelings of guilt.

On the third night of my five-night stay in hospital, I was moved up to the postnatal ward. I will never forget the midwife who bounced my hungry and screaming newborn son under her arm like a rugby ball and said flatly: “This is motherhood. This is what it’s like. Get used to it.”

After leaving hospital, I battled with breastfeeding for two weeks. This might not sound like a long time but when you’re exhausted from anaemia, on top of the usual new-parent sleep deprivation, and in huge amounts of pain to boot, it feels like an eternity.

I tried everything that was suggested to me by midwives and health visitors to try and get the milk flowing, but it was plain to see that my son was not getting what he needed from me. So I branded myself a failure and put him on the bottle. He was instantly much happier and the wave of relief I felt that it was all over was enormous.

Three years later, I had my second son. The birth could not have been more different; fast labour, no pain relief other than gas and air, and home the same day. Surely I was going to be able to breastfeed this time.

Not so. Once again I tried and failed to get sufficient amounts of milk to come out of what increasingly seemed to be two useless, barren lumps of flesh.

No healthcare professional pointed out to me that, for some women, breastfeeding just doesn’t work out. What I wouldn’t have given for some kindly reassurance that I’d tried my best but my body just wasn’t up to the job.

Once again, I battled away for two weeks and admitted defeat, feeling like a huge failure.

I’m not denying the well-documented health benefits of breastfeeding. What I object to is the indoctrination by fear, and unrealistic pressure piled on women to do something that does not come naturally to everyone.

For women who find they can’t produce enough milk, their baby simply won’t latch on, or they just don’t fancy the idea of breastfeeding, there should be no shame in reaching for the formula box.

The thing that always seems to be lacking when it comes to discussions about breastfeeding is compassion for new mothers and realistic advice that would cushion the blow for those who find they can’t breastfeed.

Instead, we get celebrity male chefs telling us “it’s easy”. Perhaps it would be more helpful if they stuck to cooking.