Breastfeeding and all that comes with it
Breastfeeding is surrounded by prejudices, pressures and misconceptions.
By Dafina Halili — 12/11/2024
Until last Christmas Eve, the entire concept of breastfeeding felt as foreign to me as Mars. Then Roza, my daughter, was born, and in no time, as if in a sudden fable-like twist, I was plunged into the whole circus of breastfeeding.
Before Roza, my curiosity about breastfeeding didn’t go far. Sure, there were occasional journalistic inquiries into the experiences of women breastfeeding in Kosovo: Is the law granting nursing mothers two hours of work time for breastfeeding until the child turns one — and one hour until the child turns two — truly respected? Do employers provide suitable spaces for nursing mothers to breastfeed or pump comfortably during work hours? And what about public stigma — is breastfeeding in public still seen as a metaphorical act of rebellion?
Then, boom — the experience hit my poor curiosity and limited knowledge head-on. Roza was constantly hungry. Like clockwork, she demanded food every 20 minutes, often on the street or in a cafe, bar, kebab shop, or shopping center. And I fed her in all the places where she was hungry, under all kinds of neon lights, on makeshift sidewalks and amid the constant noise of traffic.
To my surprise, there was no judgment. People didn’t seem concerned and were polite enough to refrain from staring. Breastfeeding didn’t provoke cause a stir in a country where women’s public actions are disciplined, their bodies frequently policed and victim-blaming the norm endorsed by the University of Prishtina prorector, while the police refuse to register domestic violence complaints because you haven’t dressed according to a non-existent dress code. Maybe everyone was simply caught up in their own chaos. Maybe they just didn’t care. Or maybe a woman’s body is more respected when it’s in service to someone else, especially a baby.
And so, I embarked on breastfeeding with my naive vision of the process. I thought it would be simple —- hold the baby close to the breast, she latches on and that’s it. But the reality was as different as night and day. I found myself trapped in a strange new routine; once always on the go, I was now confined to the sofa, responding to the endless demands of a baby who seemed to feed constantly but never, ever, got full.
Breastfeeding, though ancient, remains a process surrounded by misunderstandings.
It wasn’t just the breastfeeding that felt endless. There was also an unceasing stream of ideas, thoughts, theories, opinions, dreams and what-not from others about how it should be done. It became a sort of competitive sport. A strict jury measured my milk’s quality in real time, as if it were fruit from the garden. Organic or not? Does it meet the standards set by the self-appointed committee?
Camps were divided. My mother pioneered the conclusion that my milk was of poor quality and insisted that the solution was to supplement with baby formula. We did, because the alternative was a child who always seemed hungry.
Then there was the other camp — the nurses during visits to public health facilities. They were harsh, sharp as judges, yet accurate. Each visit arrived packaged with a lecture, almost an order to “exclusively breastfeed.” You couldn’t fool their eyes; they were like laser scanners penetrating through my winter sweater: “Why are you using formula? Your breasts are full!” The pressure felt like an Olympic competition.
The system, in all its bureaucratic glory, fails to recognize the importance of a father’s involvement during one of life’s most significant moments, not even as an option.
They shared the same views as the nurses at the private hospital where I chose to deliver, despite the cost draining our savings. I made this choice partly because the public hospital doesn’t allow fathers in the delivery room. The system, in all its bureaucratic glory, fails to recognize the importance of a father’s involvement during one of life’s most significant moments, not even as an option. It offers fathers just two days of parental leave, no more than a weekend, sending the same old message to society —- caring for babies is women’s work.
There I was, lying down after the cesarean section, still under the effects of sedatives and barely able to move. The nurses swarmed around me like they were in a relay race. They would come, tell me how to hold Roza, how to latch her for breastfeeding and then vanish within a minute, as if by magic. They moved quickly, while I, stuck in bed, drugged and utterly confused, tried to understand. It felt like a rehearsed routine, they repeated mantras like, “You should only breastfeed!” Then, they would give her a bottle of formula, apparently missing the contradiction between their words and actions, not bothering to explain whether Roza was getting enough milk.
Just when it seemed like I was getting used to it, a devastating pain hit, almost turning into mastitis. Do you think giving birth hurts? Try mastitis — or even just its prelude. My chest burned and the fever raged through my body like a battlefield. My friends came to my aid, recognizing the symptoms right away and warning me about what to do and what to avoid, ultimately protecting me from the nightmare of full-blown mastitis, the enemy of anyone who breastfeeds.
Mastitis is caused by a clogged milk duct that blocks circulation and prevents the breasts from fully draining. As a result, the breasts swell, like balloons ready to burst. It was proof that no matter how hard Roza tried, she couldn’t empty the milk supply. Once again, I wondered how something as seemingly simple as feeding a child could turn into a never-ending lesson in patience, resilience and, yes, irony.
Determined to master this ancient art, I entered the strange world of breastfeeding advice — a field full of contradictions and disagreements. One camp swears that garlic and Russian tea are the holy grail for boosting milk supply, like some mystical elixir. The other camp? They’d dismiss you for even considering this option. Oats, meat, barley and fenugreek are the solution, they’d say. But good luck finding fenugreek at your local store!
In the meantime, Roza remained insatiable. I started hearing my mother’s voice again, whispering about the “poor quality” of my milk.
The decision to breastfeed or use formula should be a personal choice for women everywhere, but is it really?
Late one night, after hours of online research, I finally found the missing piece of the puzzle: a baby like Roza, born weighing less than three kilograms, can have trouble latching properly. Finally, an answer — clear and logical — explaining her insatiable hunger. I threw myself into a new ritual, which now I know by heart: pump the milk, fill the bottle, then return Roza to the breast to preserve that ancient latching reflex. Over and over, without mercy, my body reduced to biology, immersed in this primordial routine. After weeks of trial and error, Roza and I finally found our rhythm. It wasn’t magic; it was a mess. But we were making it.
Maybe my mess was, at least, a kind of privileged chaos — a space where I could make mistakes, fail and change the rules to suit my needs. The decision to breastfeed or use formula should be a personal choice for women everywhere, but is it really?
When I spoke with several women from different parts of Kosovo who are or have been breastfeeding mothers — especially those living in extended families or with unsupportive partners — I learned how many of them were completely deprived of this choice. They were weighed down by the fear that their community would label them as “bad mothers” if they dared to deny the “sacred” act of breastfeeding.
A woman in her mid-thirties, who had not been able to breastfeed, told me that even after several years had passed, she still carried the weight of shame. Another woman, in her late twenties, said she would not have chosen to breastfeed herself, as the process requires privacy and rest — luxuries she doesn’t have in a multi-member household.
A woman in her late 30s shared that when she had her third child, she simply told others she had no milk to avoid questions. Her experience with her first two children had been almost traumatic: she was constantly sleepless, exhausted, without time to recover from childbirth and malnourished, as the burden of housework always fell on her.
My friend Donika and I often discuss the entrenched culture surrounding slogans such as “breastmilk is best.” Similar campaigns have been developed over the past 30 years by respected health organizations, which recommend exclusive breastfeeding for the first six months of life, citing health benefits for both babies and mothers.
If medical authorities, like a vigilante monster, preach breastfeeding exclusively, doesn’t that just promote stigma against those who choose otherwise?
It may be inspirational for some, but in reality, it’s a stick lashing mothers’ bodies. If medical authorities, like a vigilante monster, preach breastfeeding exclusively, doesn’t that just promote stigma against those who choose otherwise? We, women, are forced to accept an ideal that leaves no room for context, let alone our own mental health or comfort, which are ignored by the incessant demand to “do what’s best for the baby.”
Of course, many women enjoy breastfeeding — I had a good experience, too — but for many others, the long sleepless nights, the anxiety that slowly sets in after childbirth and postnatal depression weigh heavily on their well-being. When campaigns ignore these experiences, they remind me of the early 20th century, when large corporations marketed expensive baby formula as superior to breast milk, creating stress for low-income parents who couldn’t access clean drinking water.
It’s an odd departure from something so primordial, so revered by everyone, yet at the same time so misunderstood. Women should have the opportunity to listen — especially to the difficult parts — to make an informed decision before giving birth. And for those who choose to breastfeed, it’s important to understand how it can affect their lives.
Now that I am fully aware how breastfeeding is often taken for granted and rarely discussed in depth, I asked my friend Donika, her colleague Diella and an acquaintance, Tringa, to share their experiences. While extremely valuable, these experiences represent just one part of the vast, complex and layered mosaic of women’s experiences with breastfeeding.
Diella Aliu, 32 years old
Diella started breastfeeding easily, but this only lasted one day. What followed was an anxiety and tear-filled struggle and determination to succeed.
When Ben was brought into my room, he started nursing right away. It felt so natural, and I thought to myself, ‘See, it’s easy.’
However, a common issue, especially in private clinics, is that babies are often given formula right away, leading to the perception that the mother doesn’t have enough milk from the start. This happened to me too. Despite my insistence on breastfeeding — having read that the first milk is sufficient for the baby — Ben slept for hours and didn’t nurse often. As a result, when I tried to breastfeed him, he became frustrated and preferred the bottle because the milk flowed more freely.
I had two seizures in the hospital. I noticed my breasts were getting worse, but I couldn’t understand why. When I tried using the breast pump, nothing came out. They didn’t position Ben correctly on my breast, so he wasn’t latching properly, which damaged my skin. I began to experience pain and bleeding.
At home, I continued breastfeeding Ben throughout the day. He would nurse for hours, but when he was especially hungry, he would cry intensely and refuse to come near me. It was an overwhelming feeling. After giving birth, you go through enormous changes as you adjust to the baby you carried in your belly, and when you cannot soothe them, it feels like failure. As soon as he smelled my breast, he would become agitated.
When we gave him formula, he would vomit, so I started using a pump. I tried to give Ben as much milk as I could produce. During this time, I felt like I was slipping into depression, as I cried often. Those few days felt endlessly long.
A turning point came when we took Ben for his first vaccination. While we were there, some of the midwives provided valuable information about breastfeeding. They led us to a private room and when they examined me, they explained that my milk ducts were blocked. They warned that if I had not come within 42 hours, I might have needed medical attention to avoid developing mastitis. They showed me how to massage my breasts to soften the hard areas, advised using warmth to help the milk flow and demonstrated how to latch Ben properly.
I thought everything was finally resolved. Ben began sleeping more soundly and for a moment, I believed we had found our rhythm. But soon, he started refusing to breastfeed again. We called a midwife to come to our house for additional help. I worried that I had relied on the midwives so much that I did not know how to manage on my own. The midwife explained that Ben might still have latching issues and that my ducts could be blocked again.
I knew it would be a more difficult process, but I didn’t realize I had to check if I had milk, if my breasts were swollen, if they were hard, or if they needed a massage. The way you hold the baby to ensure a good latch and prevent skin damage is also crucial. You have to know how to position the baby properly. I was surprised that this wasn’t discussed enough, even though many mothers go through the same experiences. Maybe it’s something that’s easily forgotten.
Medical staff should receive better training to support mothers during the breastfeeding process, especially first-time mothers. I was given information about mastitis early on and made sure to pay attention to my body. However, later I realized that the information about mastitis isn’t always accurate. While it’s true that you should clear blocked ducts with warm compresses, using warmth alone doesn’t help if your ducts are blocked. It can cause the milk to flow more, leading to further milk accumulation and worsening the situation. Instead, you also need to apply something cold to prevent any damage.
After a month of challenges, the process became much easier and eventually turned into a loving experience for both of us. When I returned to work, I had to pump to maintain our routine and maintain my milk supply. I typically pump twice a day — morning and afternoon — and store the milk in a thermal bag for Ben to use when I’m not home.
What I found most important, aside from the information we receive from medical staff, is that both partners are involved.
When I went back to work, my colleagues supported me. This made me think about mothers who don’t have that support. Short-term work options for breastfeeding mothers are incredibly helpful. For me, it was a relief to leave work early and be close to Ben.
What I found most important, aside from the information from medical staff, is that both partners are involved. The breastfeeding process should not be seen as the mother’s responsibility alone.
At first, babies wake up very often at night to nurse. I was exhausted from the birth, and my partner would wake up with me, pick Ben up and bring him close, or stay with me to keep me company until the nursing session, which often lasted for hours, was over. All of this relieved me greatly, because it’s a burden you carry alone, a process that only you experience.
I don’t even know how to explain what I was feeling. During times I was going through crises and didn’t know how to cope, my partner would calm me down. He’d say, ‘let’s watch videos together, let’s find a lactation consultant who can help us.’ It’s not like I always processed everything that happened right away.
Ben recently turned one. Our routine continues and doesn’t interfere with my life. It’s a special and calming moment for me as well, almost like meditation, because it’s a time when Ben nurses and I get to rest too.”
Donika Gashi, 34 years old
Donika’s experience with breastfeeding in public is similar to mine — mostly positive, with just one unpleasant incident. By the time Vera was born, Donika was already a breastfeeding veteran, but not a supporter of the “breast is best” campaign.
From the beginning, I decided that I wanted a natural birth and planned to breastfeed, while staying open to any unexpected situations that might come up. Psychological preparation during pregnancy and information on breastfeeding helped me navigate this experience successfully. I even attended a very informative one-day training session with Action for Mothers and Children, [a nongovernmental organization focused on maternal and child health].
This does not mean everything will go smoothly — reality is far more complex than what you learn in advance. When I began breastfeeding, I quickly understood how challenging those first days are — you’re exhausted from giving birth and everything feels new and unfamiliar. It seems like all you’re doing is feeding the baby constantly.
The problem started for me in the hospital, where I lacked sufficient breastfeeding support. After I gave birth, I wanted to hold the baby on my chest for skin-to-skin contact, but they only allowed me a minute while they cut the cord before taking the baby away. It’s an incredible feeling when you give birth, and at that moment, you don’t have the clarity to ask for the baby to put close to your chest. Later, they gave the baby formula.
The baby, already fed, no longer wanted to nurse, though he still had the reflex. At one point, the nurses simply grabbed my breast and tried to put it in his mouth. I didn’t understand what was happening and just let them proceed. During the first three days, I fed him formula. When they saw he was still hungry, they continued to feed him with a bottle. Later, I called a midwife to the house and she helped me understand the nursing technique. She guided me in positioning the breast and holding the baby correctly.
What I enjoyed was letting Gjin nurse wherever he wanted — whether in the office, at a café, a restaurant, or on the beach. Everywhere. I only had one negative experience at a playground. My son was playing and wanted to nurse, but I was told that it was prohibited there and that there was a separate space for nursing mothers. I was shocked.
When you begin breastfeeding, you quickly realize that everyone around you is fixated on it. The first questions they ask are, “Do you have milk? Do you breastfeed? Do you have enough?” This puts constant pressure on you to judge yourself.
With my second child, Vera, the experience was entirely different. I knew what to expect and didn’t feel the stress of wondering whether I’d know how to breastfeed. This time, I requested skin-to-skin contact. While they completed procedures like suturing and removing the placenta, I held Vera on my chest for half an hour, and she began to nurse right away. I had the confidence to stand firm by my decision.
When you begin breastfeeding, you quickly realize that everyone around you is fixated on it. The first questions they ask are, ‘Do you have milk? Do you breastfeed? Do you have enough?’ This puts constant pressure on you to judge yourself. If the baby cries or fusses, you start to worry you don’t have enough milk; when the baby is calm but you don’t feel it latching, it also feels like you may not have enough. You end up feeling judged and guilty, which reveals how little awareness there is about new mothers’ mental and physical health. Some questions simply shouldn’t be asked of new parents. As a mother, you’re already scrutinizing yourself over everything, especially with your first child, when everything is new.
Paradoxically, while mothers are pressured to breastfeed in the beginning, after a year, they tell you, ‘Enough, stop breastfeeding.’ For any mother who can’t or doesn’t have enough milk, it’s perfectly fine to feed with formula.
Although I believe breastfeeding is the best food for a baby, I also think it should be a positive experience for both the mother and the baby. With Vera, I was much more relaxed. If I hadn’t been able to breastfeed, I would have considered formula or a combination of foods without feeling like a failure as a parent.
The decision to breastfeed lies with the mother, or even the child when the child signals that they no longer want to breastfeed. As stressful as it can be, it’s important to ignore the pressure and do what feels right. There should be no stigma attached to a woman who chooses not to breastfeed or who decides to continue for a longer period. This is true as long as the mother feels good and is not breastfeeding out of necessity or simply because she feels she has to.
Breastfeeding and work are on another level. For me, it was possible because I had a large pump and somewhere to pump at the office. However, these expenses — pumps, bags, formulas — are unaffordable for most, and the state should subsidize the VAT on these essentials.
Women’s emancipation isn’t fully achieved just by offering two free hours for breastfeeding in labor law. The partner should also have access to parental leave, as parenting is a shared responsibility between both parents, not just the mother.”
Tringa Huruglica, 33 years old
Tringa had gone through a series of long battles with scoliosis, and for her, something like childbirth and breastfeeding seemed unthinkable. Despite everything, her experience turned out to be different from what she had heard from others or had read herself.
I had surgery for scoliosis, resulting in 17 screws and two rods in my spine. The surgery was necessary and performed 10 years ago. Since then, I’ve always been afraid of pregnancy, worried about how the process would unfold and whether I would make it to the end.
I chose natural birth because I knew the recovery and breastfeeding process would be faster. Initially, I decided to give birth in a private hospital, believing it would be safer for my health given everything I had been through. However, I later decided to give birth at the University Clinical Center of Kosovo (UCCK), as they favor natural births. I had heard many stories of private hospitals often inducing cesarean deliveries, even when there was no clear medical need for it.
If I had given birth by cesarean section, I wouldn’t have been able to use epidural anesthesia [an injection of a local anesthetic into the spine] but would have had to rely on general anesthesia. I didn’t want to miss out on the experience of giving birth without feeling anything. I didn’t want to sleep, wake up and find that the baby wasn’t next to me. I wanted to experience the moment, see the birth come to life and be fully aware of everything happening.
During my pregnancy, I walked a lot, read, practiced yoga, meditated and prepared every day for breastfeeding. I devoted a lot of time and attention to preparing for this process, doing all the recommended massages. I focused on eating well and in the end, I had a very quick delivery.
Ultimately, breastfeeding should be a journey that the mother herself feels is right for her.
I read a lot about this process and was fortunate that my mother, a nurse who has worked in breastfeeding support since before the war, was always there for me. During the war, she even traveled to different parts of Kosovo to help women during and after childbirth. With her in my life, I was always well informed.
I’ve noticed that, despite being informed about recommended practices, hospitals don’t always follow them. For example, the importance of skin-to-skin contact isn’t always practiced. I asked for it, but they didn’t allow me. They only gave me my baby to breastfeed after dressing it. Meanwhile, in the UCCK, they don’t use formula, at least not in my experience. However, in private hospitals, when I visited some women I knew who gave birth there, I noticed that the midwives fed the babies formula without asking. I’m not against using formula when necessary, but I believe hospitals should not make it the first option without giving breastfeeding a chance.
Of course, even in the UCCK, where there were 10 women in one room, the midwives couldn’t provide enough support. I felt somewhat reassured by the knowledge I had gained during pregnancy, including what I mentioned earlier, but also the training with Action for Mothers and Children. About 10 women attended the training, where we learned the importance of skin-to-skin contact and how it helps the baby instinctively find the breast. Sometimes, a training session provides the basic information and then you can research further on your own.
Breastfeeding has been easy for me from the beginning, and I feel lucky because I know not all experiences are like that.
Breastfeeding has been easy for me from the beginning, and I feel lucky because I know not all experiences are like that. I’ve seen women who find it difficult, while I spent the first few weeks resting with the baby, skin-to-skin, to create maximum closeness and ensure a strong bond.
I’m fortunate to work from home and have flexible hours. This is very important because it allows me to always be by Oz’s side and raise him according to my principles and the way I see fit, doing things the way I want.
The fact that my partner could work from home was very important. For the first two months, while I was still not fully recovered, he was the one who changed the baby’s diapers. He would get up at night, change the diaper, bring the baby to me and move him from one breast to the other. During the day, when I needed a break, he would pick him up and take care of him. He also handled the housework whenever I felt tired. Additionally, we both made sure to have time for ourselves, as this is important for both parents.
Preparation for breastfeeding should start during pregnancy so that, when you give birth, you know what to expect. I’ve had friends who struggled with breastfeeding with their first child but succeeded with their second, while others found the process difficult and didn’t want to try again. Ultimately, it should be a journey that the mother herself feels is right for her.”
Photos and feature Image: Majlinda Hoxha / K2.0
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