the great D-MERge

As I was contemplating writing this blog, I was trying to come up with a witty title.  I honesty thought I had made up a cool word, but the word "demerge" is, in fact, a real word that means to separate a company from another with which it was previously merged.  Oddly enough, this word fits quite well with the subject of this blog.

Some of you may have noticed that I spelled "dermege" wrong in my title.  You probably have also guessed that it was done on purpose.  You, my friend, are one smart cookie.  You see, while demerge may be a business term, I am using it to describe the current relationship between Jenna and myself; more specifically, our breast feeding relationship.  And this choice to "demerge" has been heavily influenced by something called D-MER.  What is D-MER, you ask? Let me start from the beginning.

When my son was born I was more than determined to breast feed exclusively.  My thought then and still today is that breast feeding is the normal and healthy choice for a mom and baby, and that formula was only an option if there were some serious issues happening that were beyond my control.  Luckily, I was blessed with an abundant supply and after the initial few weeks of pain, I thought things would be smooth sailing. And in one sense they were.  My son was thriving, my supply was great... but something still felt off.  Something that was hard to describe or understand. Every time I nursed my son, I felt... well, weird.  I got this intense homesick feeling. It was like I was extremely sad for no reason.  Often times I would find myself crying when I nursed him but I wasn't sure why.   I would also get very nauseous, to the point that in the beginning I thought I was actually going to get sick.  This happened every time I nursed.

At first, I thought it was postpartum depression.  I figured my hormones from birth were still out of wack, so maybe those feelings were tied to that. After a few months, though, I began to wonder what was going on with me.  I had read numerous times that breast feeding was such a wonderful experience.  That our body releases hormones during the process that gives us those warm, fuzzy feelings... that it was one of the closest, most inmate times a mother and baby could have.  But it felt the opposite for me.  I felt sad, upset, nauseous... no warm fuzzies for this mama.  So I finally reached out to an online breast feeding group.  I felt almost silly when I was describing it and I thought for sure they'd tell me I was crazy, so I was shocked when a few ladies told me to look up D-MER, because it seemed to describe what I was feeling.

So I looked up this site and after reading it, I just sat there, amazed.  It was like someone had described EXACTLY what I felt, more specifically, the "despondency" category of D-MER.  This is a little piece from that website describing what I felt:

"Despondency D-MER
This is the most common experience on the spectrum. The words and phrases most commonly used are the mother having:
A sensation of a pit/hollowness or sinking in the stomach
Sadness
An urge to 'get away'
General negative emotions
Feelings of being hopeless
Feelings of being apprehensive"

For me, add nausea to that and it basically describes how I felt.  I was relieved to know that I wasn't crazy, that it wasn't PPD and it would eventually subside, which it did.  I wouldn't say it went entirely away (especially the nausea part) but it did subside greatly.  By 16 months, the age in which my son weaned, it was hardly an issue.

When my daughter was born, I was praying I wouldn't experience D-MER again, but at least I was a little prepared. Unfortunately, though, it came back in full force.  The feeling was much more intense than with my son. I cried almost every time we nursed.  I couldn't help but think of horribly depressing things, like what if I died, or my husband died or one of my children died. I began dreading every nursing, especially the evening/night ones.  Those were the worst.  I was alone, in the dark, and they usually lasted the longest, which meant multiple letdowns, and as a result, multiple intense feelings of sadness.  I've always been a huge advocate of breast feeding, so I hate to admit that at this point in my life, I pretty much hated breast feeding.  I wanted to give up and use formula or donated milk badly.  But those negative feelings towards breast feeding weren't always there - it only happened while I nursed my daughter.  Sometimes after an intense nursing session, I'd look back only a few minutes later and think I was so silly for thinking those things.  It's like a Jekyll and Hyde experience.

As time went on, and the feelings weren't really subsiding like they did with my son, I began to realize that if I wanted to continue breast feeding, I needed to make some changes.  I realized several important factors that made a nursing session more manageable:

1) Nursing around others.
While the negative feelings were still there, I have found that if I am surround by people, I am distracted in a good way and I focus less on those negative feelings.  On occasion I have had people ask me if I was ok because of the look on my face while I nurse, but for the most part I could nurse around others and they would have no idea what was going on inside my head.

2) Eating.
I get nausea while nursing, but I noticed the intensity of the nausea was tied to how full or hungry I was.  If I ate a large meal, then nursed, I felt awful.  If I was super hungry and nursed, I felt awful.  So making sure I had a little to eat and doing my best to not nurse after a full meal helped greatly.

3) Distractions.
My phone has been a life saver.  The distractions an IPhone can provide are basically limitless.  So distracting myself with Facebook, Instagram or whatever game I am currently addicted to has really helped.  The more distracted I am, the less intense the feelings are.

4) Intentional positive thinking.
I began to realize that while the negative feelings I had were intense and automatic, I could still choose to think about positive things.  So I began to intentionally think about good things, and often times talk out loud to my daughter.  I would pray for her, tell her how much I loved her, talk about my favorite parts of the day or things I looked forward to in the future.  I would force myself to reminisce about good times, like family vacations in Iowa, my wedding, the births of my children.  I would sing praise songs. Anything to keep me focused on something positive.

5) Sleep.
D-MER aside, my emotional well being is directly tied to the amount of sleep I get.  I notice than when I have been consistently sleep deprived, my ability to cope with stress decreases immensely.  Throw the negative feelings of D-MER in with an extremely sleep deprived mama, and you're looking at a guaranteed intense nursing session.  While I couldn't always control the amount of sleep I got (thanks to a baby who needed to nurse every 2-3 hours for the first 10-12 months of her life), I could remind myself that I am especially tired, and that my distractions and positive thinking needed to be even more intentional.

After the first few months, I was doing as much of the above as possible to make my nursing sessions as bearable as possible.  I had remembered with my son that the 5-6 month mark is when things began to subside.  So I kept telling myself that I just needed to make it to 6 months and things would get better.  When month 6 rolled around and not much had changed, I began to get a little worried.  Even though I was doing my best to cope with D-MER, it wasn't easy.  I began to feel hopeless.  It was hard for me to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

When the 12 month mark hit, 2 things were clear: my daughter was nowhere near ready to wean on her own and my D-MER, while slightly less intense, was not going away like it did with my son.  I felt like I was stuck.  I started to resent my breast feeding relationship with my daughter while feeling extremely guilty about the resentment.  Every nursing session I had was a struggle.  I was tired of trying so hard to make things work.  Around 13 months I decided to start the weaning process.  It has not been easy or fun.  Even now as I write this tears are streaming down my face because this hasn't been an easy decision.  I feel horrible for taking something away from my daughter that she loves so much.  The guilt I feel is overwhelming at times, but I feel like it needs to be done.  I'm tired of the emotional struggles of breastfeeding.

My daughter turned 15 months a few days ago, and she is almost fully weaned.  This weekend I will be away from her and I'm guessing the weaning process will be done by Sunday.  I feel relieved and grief ridden at the same time.  It's been a long and extremely emotional journey.  It is likely my last breast feeding journey, which also saddens me.

I guess the point in writing this was partly to help people understand what I'm going through, but mostly for me to try to process this whole experience.  I'm still struggling with knowing if I am making the right decision.  It's been weighing on my heart and I needed to share it.  Nothing about this process has been easy.  Ideally I would have let my daughter wean on her own terms.  I wish I could just ignore the feelings I get when we nurse, but I can't and  tired of them.

Before I end, I would like to note that never once did I feel negative feelings toward my kids while nursing, nor did I have negative feelings toward myself or thoughts of self harm, suicide or harming my children.  If that had been the case, I would have sought professional help and would strongly encourage anyone who does feel those feelings to so the same.

Thank you for taking the time to read about my breast feeding journey and thank you to so many of you who have been a support along the way.

And dear, sweet daughter.  I love you so much. I'm sorry I'm taking away something you love so dearly, but mama needs a break.  I'm not upset with you - you've done everything perfectly.  I'm still here for you.  My hugs, kisses and cuddles for you will never run out.  I love you, little birdie, and nothing will ever change that.

Love,
Mama Frenchy

The moment it all began.  So bittersweet.