Breastfeeding my baby made me feel intense rage. Learning there was a name for it helped me feel less alone.

I had finally gotten the hang of breastfeeding: My milk had come in, I had a solid supply, and my baby was latching well.

On paper, everything seemed to be going smoothly.

But during nursing sessions, I wrestled with a nagging agitation I hadn’t been prepared for.

Sometimes, during the final feed of the day, it bordered on rage. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” I texted my husband one afternoon while he was at work. “I feel like my skin is crawling.

I want to run through a wall.” Though those feelings went away as soon as the nursing session was over, they kept returning during feeds more often than not.

When I brought this up to my doctor during a postpartum checkup, she seemed puzzled.

Eventually, Googling “breastfeeding rage” led me to accounts of “breastfeeding aversion” that sounded startlingly familiar.

One 2023 survey of more than 5,500 Australian women found that about one in five respondents had experienced this.

Finding a name for what I was feeling was validating — it helped me to stop questioning my love for my baby, or spiraling into shame every time I watched the clock, desperate for a feed to end.

But it also left me wondering: Why hadn’t I heard of this before?

After I learned a little more about breastfeeding aversion, I experimented with a few different strategies to help me cope with the negative sensations and emotions that kept coming up.

Distracting myself — say, with a podcast, a show, or soothing nature sounds for those middle-of-the-night feeds — definitely helped.

I also suspected that overstimulation might be part of the issue, so when distraction didn’t work, I’d try nursing in a quiet room without a lot of sensory input.

But on occasions where I just didn’t feel up to muscling my way through the discomfort, I gave myself permission to take breaks.

That meant handing the baby off to my husband for bottle-feeding while I pumped.

About three months into my nursing journey, the agitation became so overwhelming at times that I had the urge to abruptly yank my baby off my breast.

Breastfeeding was supposed to be a positive experience for us.

But now, I wondered if “pushing through” the distress might actually do the opposite, breeding tension and resentment rather than bonding.

The decision to stop nursing was a complicated one — and one that came with a gnawing guilt.

I knew so many moms who were eager to breastfeed, but struggled with supply and latching issues, so I felt I didn’t have a “good enough” reason to stop.

Within days of switching to pumping, though, a dark cloud lifted.

For some reason, pumping didn’t induce the same emotions and bodily sensations that breastfeeding did.

More importantly, I no longer dreaded feeding my son.

My only regret now is that I didn’t make the transition sooner.

The idea that motherhood meant making sacrifices had cemented into my brain before my son was even born.

I was so concerned about his needs that I hadn’t given much thought to mine.

Funny enough, the closeness I expected with nursing didn’t come until I stopped.

One quiet afternoon at home, as I cradled him in my lap and fed him a bottle, he wrapped his tiny fingers around mine.

I finally felt the connection I had longed for.