Scandalizing Motherhood: Why are we so ashamed of breastfeeding?
An infant nurses to sleep in a cradle hold.
by Dr. Emily A. Snowden
Breastfeeding, chestfeeding, or nursing is the biological event that occurs when an infant consumes milk produced by the body of a developed individual who has recently gestated a pregnancy to the point of lactation. Filtered from blood, ‘breast milk’ is balanced optimally for each individual infant’s health as it provides the macronutrients (fats, carbohydrates, protein) and micronutrients (vitamins and minerals) in the proper caloric amount. Breastmilk also provides the child with important antibodies that protect them, and can even serve to protect the lactating individual from certain diseases and infections. On top of these physiological benefits, nursing also bonds the individual with the baby and (thanks to the intelligence of the nipple) can communicate with both of their brains to coordinate the release of oxytocin. For most of human history, until technological advancements gave us the blessing of options (i.e., formula, breast pumps, food preservation), nursing was the only stable feeding method and was frontline defense for infanticide, or the death of our youngest humans.
Even though I loaded that paragraph with references and ended it reminding you that it saves babies, I know many of you shuddered as you waded through it (I’m sure the bounce rate on this one will be high). I also know many others sat up a little straighter, felt the power of owning that, and said “That’s right it is!”
Now, I’d like to stop for a moment and acknowledge an important subset of you who may have had a different kind of emotional reaction: those of you who, for whatever reason, could not engage in nursing. To those people, let me hold your hands and tell you how wonderful you are for trying, or even not trying when you couldn’t or when your intuition said “No, it will take too much autonomy or peace from me.” Your discomfort around this subject is deeply valid and is a different phenomenon than the societal discomfort and shame that I highlight from here. Leave if you must to prioritize your peace or stay if you’d like. Either way, know that I am softly holding your grief as I ask us all to make space for it rather than shame.
Now, to both the empowered and the uncomfortable who were able to swallow it and push through, I’m so glad you’re here! Because now that I’ve stunned you with this little exercise, we get to ask:
Why do we have such strong reactions to nursing a young child? More pressingly, why would a deeply complex but natural process that saves human lives make us feel shame, disgust, and/or discomfort? Because of the modern sexualization of breasts? It surely can’t be that simple.
Let’s shine some much-needed light on it as we unpack.
El nacimiento de la vía láctea (Birth of the Milky Way) by Pedro Pablo [Peter Paul] Rubens (1636-37). Retrieved from: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Birth_of_the_Milky_Way
The Necessity of Breastmilk
There are some behaviors that we consider “human” or biological. This means that no matter the culture, religion, time, or space, we see human beings doing some specific things. Eating is an important one, sleeping another. However, among these is a deeply important set of behaviors: creating, birthing, and nursing new humans.
We hear the terrified cries right now about the declining birth rate, signaling that there is some downward trend here that we collectively need to solve. Though this is technically not true, the “baby in the bathwater” echoes the importance of this truth. Someone has to keep creating, birthing, and nursing new humans–they always have and always will, if the human race is to continue.
But while creating, birthing, and nursing an infant are sacred human tasks, they are also daunting–each presenting not only new discomforts but also potential risks to the host. Unfortunately, because we have learned to hide the details of these vital human behaviors in the shadow of societal shame, realities like this become something an overwhelming number of us fail to see and consider.
You see, pregnancy is not just swollen ankles and weird cravings–it is an uncomfortable rearrangement of organs and intense metabolic and hormonal task at minimum. Giving birth is also nothing to downplay. We have evolved in many ways, but the intensity of human birth is a compromise we made so we could walk upright. Even after we create, gestate, and birth babies, they require special care for years. In the first year in particular, this includes increased supervision, custodial care (e.g., diapering), and breastmilk (or a breastmilk alternative, like formula).
For the overwhelming majority of human history, there were no alternatives to breastmilk. This meant that in order for a young child to survive, someone would need to be able to breastfeed them.
While those who have learned a “sanitized” and purposely simplified version of this may say, “Isn’t that the mother’s job?,” we know there are many, many, many reasons now and throughout history that mothers are unable to nurse their own babies. Sure, it has fallen “in and out of fashion,” and both genders have declared their disgust at the after-effects on breasts, which we insist should defy time and gravity regardless. However, beyond any reasons related to vanity, there may be death or great injury in childbirth, adoption, supply issues, food allergies, the presence of dysphoric milk ejection reflex (D-MER) to name a few. But, because an infant’s life once depended on it, someone had to provide a young child with breastmilk to ensure survival.
Images of uncovered breastfeeding taken between the 1840s and 1890s. Retrieved from: https://historycollection.com/treasured-taboo-30-rare-glimpses-victorian-mothers-breastfeeding/
The Business of Breastmilk
Throughout human history, we have had to figure out ways of providing this intensive care to our youngest humans. In “Western” society, these tasks of caring for young children have typically been provided through both unpaid and paid labor by individuals like mothers, nannies, and childcare providers.
However, until artificial infant feeding methods were stabilized, this also meant that milk sharing or the hiring of a wet nurse would be necessary to ensure the child’s safety if the mother was unable to breastfeed. Wet nurses typically nursed on demand and provided direct care to the child for about three years. However, in order to offer this service, wet nurses obviously had to have a relatively recent pregnancy.
Thanks to a pervasive misguided assumption that the wet nurse’s own infant would drain her supply rather than encourage it, this meant that for much of European and US history, wet nurses typically had to have already lost their own infant or put the baby to board at almost certain risk of death to take on the role. Yet, because breastmilk was often their only “commodity,” wet nurses were forced to make this horrifying compromise from “circumstance rather than choice.” Employers and physicians were typically unphased by this horror as the wet nurse’s own baby was supposed to be a shameful reminder of her own “unchastity.” Physicians throughout time have acknowledged this as “a socioeconomic exchange of infant lives.”
Beyond this tragic reality, wet nurses themselves were abused in discourse and practice. I cannot begin to describe the atrocities that have been recorded about the human beings who provided this service, whose tragedies, grief, and human struggles were spoken about as shameful and inconvenient to the employer who was surveilling and controlling them closely. Because wet nurses were typically not literate, they were unable to speak for themselves in the primary sources that detail their suffering.
We can never, ever ignore the fact that this work was done by those who had less sociocultural “currency” due to race, religion, socioeconomic or immigration status. In the Antebellum US South, these horrors were further exacerbated for enslaved wet nurses. In the words of West and Knight (2017), “Wet-nursing is a uniquely gendered kind of exploitation, and under slavery it represented the point at which the exploitation of enslaved women as workers and as reproducers literally intersected” (p. 37).
The role of wet nurse eventually became obsolete in the early 1900s as other feeding options increasingly became available—namely breast pumps, food preservation methods, and infant formula. These technological advancements “disembodied” the wet nurse and removed the requirement of breastmilk production as a prerequisite to work in childcare.
Breastfeeding and Shame
A limestone statue of a woman nursing from Ancient Egypt, ca. 2420–2389 B.C. or later. Retrieved from: https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/543905
It is a relief that many of these horrors disappeared along with the work of wet nursing (though many of them still plague childcare workers like low respectability, low wages, and high surveillance). However, when we contend with the “business of breastmilk” in this way we cannot help but ask: If breastmilk is so natural and so necessary, how could society treat wet nurses this way?
Well, it is important to note that all humans throughout history did not always treat them with such disgust and disdain. However, at a certain point, we as a society embraced this idea that nursing—whether its done by the child’s mother or a wet nurse—is disgusting and shameful because it involves the exchange of bodily fluids. Apparently this humoral exchange reminds us of our humanity—so much so that it causes an unmanageable amount of psychological discomfort that manifests as externalized shame.
What do I mean? I mean the fact that the exchange of fluids between bodies associated with this miraculous human feat makes people in this part of the world feel “grossed out” due to its “animalistic” nature. You see, the host becomes pregnant through the exchange of bodily fluids, grows the child through the exchange of bodily fluids, and then continues to provide nutrients to the child through the exchange of bodily fluid. Thus, this final step is still humoral exchange and needs to be done in the shadows for…the psychological comfort of developed humans?
This is perhaps best illustrated by the fact that wet nurses were historically treated the same as sex workers, who society also shunned (and actually continues to shun and thus endanger) due to, of course, the particularly shameful nature of commodified humoral exchange. Historically speaking, neither were allowed in temples or churches, as both were spoken of as an immoral nuisance. Where they differed, however, was in the fact that wet nurses were typically “not allowed” or discouraged from having intercourse (even with a husband) as it was thought such activities would spoil their milk. This “unchastity,” like any other “immoral” qualities or behaviors, was believed to be transmitted to the child through the breastmilk and potentially cause colic or even death. In these instances, the wet nurse would typically be blamed.
For this reason, wet nurses–who were obviously “loose women” by these standards–were not revered for this life-saving service and horrifying sacrifice, but instead were surveilled closely and talked about as a nuisance.
From “The Rest on the Flight Into Egypt” by Gerard David ca. 1512-15. Retrieved from: https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/436101
As stated above, because the individual had to have been exchanging fluids to offer either service, we see this as a character flaw. However, we cannot deny that sexual intercourse precedes lactation. In the archetypal stylings of Jung, we see the Lover is also the Mother. In Freudian terms, the Madonna is also the “whore.” Or, as the older ways of knowing might put it, Aphrodite is simply irresistible! But, she is a doting and defensive mother, too.
We have shoved all of these women in the shadows and demanded that they held the weight of our shame for these human realities there as they thanklessly and painfully sacrificed so much to save generations of young children.
Now, walk with me one step further—you know Jean-Jacques Rousseau? The culture-shaping Romantic philosopher who gave the world Emile? If you don’t know him, he changed philosophy and pushed the French Revolution forward with his ideas, which were actually founded on the value of a mother’s care in the earliest years, as this could change a child’s life, personality, and intellect, and thus society. He argued that humans were inherently good, took up for Democracy, and declared there should be a world with no kings!
Rousseau had five illegitimate children with his ‘housekeeper,’ who were each immediately sent to foundling homes against their mother’s wishes (or, as he called it, her “groaning”). This fact was made public (likely by Voltaire) and scandalized Rousseau’s work, painting him as a hypocrite.
Rousseau kept no information about the children’s dates of birth or sex, and eventually declared “even if he were reunited with his lost children, the ‘long separation from a child one does not yet know weakens, finally reduces paternal and maternal feelings to nothing, and one will never love the one whom one has sent out to nurse as much as the one whom one has nursed under one’s own eyes.’”
Scandalous and exhausting, isn’t it? I mean, what are we doing? Letting this ridiculous and unnecessary shadow of shame cloud our gratefulness for something so important as saving infant lives and tenderly caring for them? As you can now see, this is far more complex than conversations that reduce the issue to the “indecent” exposure of breasts.
When we take all this information in together, it becomes clear that we are taking the psychological discomfort we feel when we are reminded of our humanity and externalizing it as shame. In doing so, we end up asking the (already overburdened) people who are breastfeeding to hold the weight of that shame in the shadows of society. While this is troublesome in and of itself, it becomes worse when you realize how much societal support breastfeeding requires today.
Nursing Today
Despite this troubling history and general public reaction, both the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) and World Health Organization (WHO) overwhelmingly support breastfeeding and take the strong stance that children should be nursed for up to two years or beyond.
Skeptical? We have good data on this! Nursing reduces the risk of:
and
These are the benefits we know of–and we continue to be amazed by breastmilk as we learn how the body intuitively tailors it to the child’s needs. Particularly when we supplement with Vitamin D and iron, we really see no “down side.”
Yet, we are consistently seeing participation in nursing decline. The Center for Disease Control’s (CDC) 2025 Breastfeeding Report Card states: “The rates of any breastfeeding and exclusive breastfeeding steadily decline from month to month. This finding indicates that breastfeeding mothers may need stronger support systems to reach their breastfeeding goals.”
What can we do?
Caring for young children requires a network of support. We evolved to rely on each other in many ways, yet modern caregivers are often isolated in this work and criticized for how they show up to it, despite showing up without the support they need.
I hope that if you came into this article thinking you serve no role in this if you are not personally breastfeeding, you can now see that we all have a responsibility in society to provide support to both those who are taking on this important human task and those who cannot.
As always, let’s talk about a few tangible ways we can do this:
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Breastfeeding is an intense physical task for a person to take on, and the time spent on this task is comparable to a full-time job.
Additionally, there are physical realities that are truly hard to navigate: establishing a latch, the pain of letdowns, maintaining supply and navigating engorgement, intake of proper nutrients, staying hydrated, and more. These are things that are taken on while also experiencing hormonal changes, healing from childbirth, getting to know your new baby, and experiencing sleep deprivation.
Then, when you have to navigate these realities in the context of a work environment or even just a social setting, they become even more daunting.
It is truly hard work to breastfeed and it is even harder work to pump. When we say we need paid parental leave, more safe spaces for nursing and pumping, and general societal understanding and support for breastfeeding, this is why. It doesn’t happen in a vacuum—it happens in the society we share.
If you cannot get past the learned shame, particularly that which is associated with this form of humoral exchange, you can contribute your silence and lack of judgement. Breastfeeding is hard enough as it is.
We also cannot be overly critical of individuals who are not able to breastfeed or who decide not to. All caregivers must figure out which compromises to make, and again, if you can’t contribute meaningful support to these individuals, contribute your silence instead.
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As stated above, nursing is truly hard work and those who make it happen need a network of support.
We forget that becoming a parent is a process that starts in pregnancy—it does not happen overnight when the child is birthed. This is part of the reason why prenatal development is pivotal, and the individual who is taking on the enormously important task of carrying a child needs meaningful, individualized support throughout the entirety of the process (as they choose). Their intuition is valuable, particularly if we encourage it and listen to them as they unpack those insights. However, they also need help navigating the reality they are living as the process unfolds, which means having the information available to make decisions that are best for them, their family, and their child.
It is for this reason that in ECE we are increasingly pushing our “ages served” into prenatal rather than “zero.” We need to include these individuals who offer prenatal support in our Mixed Delivery Systems as we build and tend to them. This includes our consideration and communication with individuals like doulas, midwives, and lactation consultants.
Now, I want to take a minute here to make an important distinction between these roles: Midwives have medical training and are focused on the monitoring and delivery of the developing infant. Lactation consultants are focused on supporting breastfeeding dyads as they establish and maintain the breastfeeding relationship after delivery.
However, doulas are the only ones who are completely focused on the developing parents. Though frequently confused with midwives or spoken of as unimportant because they are not medical professionals, doulas (prenatal and postpartum) serve an important role in the network of support we can provide to new parents. Studies have shown that:
“…doula guidance in perinatal care was associated with positive delivery outcomes including reduced cesarean sections, premature deliveries, and length of labor. Moreover, the emotional support provided by doulas was seen to reduce anxiety and stress. Doula support, specifically in low-income women, was shown to improve breastfeeding success, with quicker lactogenesis and continued breastfeeding weeks after childbirth. Doulas can be a great resource for birthing mothers, and consideration should be given to using them more, as they may have a positive impact on the well-being of the mother and child.”
Doulas are an important piece of the puzzle and need to be accessible to all who want support from them. In ECE, we need to take the results on doula effectiveness seriously and include them in our conversations and ECE systems building. See “The Effect of Doulas on Maternal and Birth Outcomes: A Scoping Review” (https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC10292163/) for more information.
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Now, for the most personal thing you can do—when you are in a situation where a young child is being nursed around you (or someone is pumping breastmilk), remember that no one is asking you to lock in visually and engage. I have sat with many women as they nursed and sat with many people as I have nursed, and it really is not hard for us to do together.
I’m sure many of you say, “Why can’t you just use one of those covers they have?” To those people (who have likely never used one), I say because while some people like them, those covers can present other challenges for the nursing dyad (for example, can’t see the baby, baby gets overheated under the cover, cover slips when relatching). So, while they work for some, we have to remember that they are not always the easy solution we think they are.
Think about it—you could probably scarf down a couple of meals quickly behind a curtain (or maybe you would understandably say, “Get this cloth off my face, I’m eating!”). However, if you were asked to eat every meal behind a curtain because your fulfillment of this biological need was a shameful reminder of human sexuality and mortality, society might need to figure something else out.
All this to say, if you are around someone nursing a young child with or without a cover, no one is making you stare at the child feeding. They do this all the time–it is second nature. It’s not a big deal! You don’t need to forcefully look away or ignore them either, staring up at the ceiling or down at the floor. Honestly, just stop overthinking it and look at the caregiver’s face as you talk to them like you normally would. Sure, they might get interrupted or have to switch sides and latch again. However, you don’t have to do anything except be patient. If you see a nipple in this process, you’ll be okay—even if that nipple looks different than what society has told you it’s “supposed to.”
At the end of the day, if you are around a person nursing a young child and find yourself asking them to consider you more than the brand new human who is being fed (yes, that includes toddlers), that is something you need to reflect on–not necessarily something they need to act on, especially with everything they have on their plate. Furthermore, if you cannot view human bodies (including breasts and nipples) without sexualizing them, that is a projection of your inner world on the outer and is thus a very personal issue that you need to deal with. It is not something to burden a new mother and her child with. I don’t care if people giggled when Joey on Friends said otherwise.
Bringing It Together
A caregiver goes “skin to skin” while nursing an infant.
Creating, birthing, and nursing new humans is a miraculous and mysterious process. There is a lot of risk involved for the human making it happen, but also great rewards to us all. When we witness this miracle in our families as well as in our broader communities, our humanity is impossible to ignore. This miraculous process deserves our reverence. However, we can’t forget that we don’t need to fully “understand” human realities like this to revere them. Better yet, we don’t need to control them to revere them.
The work of caring for young children is awe-inspiring, but it is hard. Breastfeeding—a necessary consideration and important piece of the puzzle—is no different. When you come across other human beings who are in the midst of this deeply human process of bringing the next generation into the world and caring for them—we can never forget that we must be soft with them and meet them wherever they are. They are tired, but they are strong. They are accomplishing the impossible. They not only need more of our communal support, but also to carry less of our shame.
When you are in the presence of nursing (or a decision not to nurse), be a kind human and respect it. If anything, show your support with silence and patience. You must not forget—you’re able to offer that service; the nursing child is still learning.
