The Measure is Love (Rachel Emens

Before I had my Gracie girl, people would ask me, “Are you going to breastfeed?” And I always answered, “Yes, I’m going to try… but if I can’t, it will be fine.” I meant that. Or at least, I thought I did. I was so excited about breastfeeding that I stocked up on hundreds of storage bags, already imagining a freezer full of milk. In my mind, I was an oversupplier before I ever even began. HA!

Fast forward to now, and I’m lucky if I produce 3 oz a day. A day. 

And the disappointment… it has been so real. The bags I dreamed of filling are still sitting in my cabinet, probably gathering dust. There were days I wanted to give up, but even calling it “quitting” made my heart sink. Quitting felt like failure—and I knew this wasn’t that. This was late-night tears. This was long talks with my husband, him reminding me over and over that I was doing everything I could for her. This was sharing my heart with friends, asking questions, trying everything. This was effort. This was love. So no… I wasn’t failing.

I asked God to make my supply overflow like a flood. I promised Him I would be grateful.

But this is what He gave me. And He knew what He was doing, even when I didn’t.

Every time I thought about stopping, a heaviness settled on my chest. Giving her formula while I pumped beside her made my skin crawl with guilt. I felt so small. And then I would watch other moms struggle and tell them how incredible they were, how they were doing everything right. I handed them the grace I refused to give myself.

Three months in, I learned I had DMER. DMER is a Dysphoric Milk Ejection Reflex, a sudden wave of sadness, dread, or anxiety right as the milk lets down. A real, physical response. Not imagined. Not “in my head.” Not postpartum depression. Just something my body was doing that I couldn’t control.

I wasn’t a failure then. I’m not a failure now. I fight the lies with truth most days… and on the days I can’t, I talk with my husband, and he reminds me how great I am.

But here’s the part I had missed: God wasn’t disappointed in me. He wasn’t surprised by any of this. He knew Gracie would be safe in my arms. He knew I would love her fiercely, protect her fiercely, do everything in my power for her. Low supply didn’t make me less. It didn’t mean I wasn’t enough. It didn’t diminish one ounce of the mother He created me to be.

Milk was never the measure. Love was.

And I am so thankful that God reminded me: I was more than enough for Him—and He chose me to be her mama.