Peer support; shining a light on the 4am darkness
4am is strange, isn’t it? It’s too early to be morning, but it’s not really nighttime still either. As a breastfeeding parent it felt to me like a liminal space between one day ending and another starting; my baby and I held in the predawn darkness through yet another feed. Sometimes it felt cruel to be awake at such an hour, while my husband slept beside me and the street lay in darkness through the gaps in the curtains, instead of the usually constant glow of light that comes with living in a town. It could be so lonely that I would be afraid for a moment, that 4am would last forever, and my baby and I would never escape its sleep deprived isolation. The other problem with 4am was the way my brain would choose that precise hour to dwell on all of the ways I might possibly be failing my baby. Shouldn’t he be sleeping at this hour? I’d wonder, heading down a deep rabbit hole in my mind which ultimately lead to the conclusion that I was starving my (perfectly healthy) nursling. I didn’t have very many Mum friends at this point of my parenting journey, and while smartphones were very much the norm 10 years ago, it wasn’t yet socially acceptable to message even other parents in the middle of the night. So instead, I whiled away those long hours, lost in my own head.
One night I was startled out of one of these hazes by the sound of cats fighting in the street outside. Worried that my own moggy might be involved I went to the window to look, just in time to see two unknown cats dart off in different directions, puffed up tails vanishing into the dark. Pausing for a moment to take in just how very dark the road was, I noticed a soft light coming from a house several doors up. Was this another new parent, like me? I liked to think it was. I would occasionally peek out to have a look from that night on – especially on the lonely, fearful nights. Whenever I saw the warm glow from that other house, it would tangibly wash away the isolation and darkness that had crept into my body. Someone else was awake so, I wasn’t alone. I never did find out why that light was on – of course, it could even have been automated in an empty house - a deterrent for burglars. It didn’t matter, though. I felt connected to something bigger – to a network of people awake in this liminal space between days. That light reminded me I was not the only person up. I was not the only person feeding a baby. I would imagine all the lit-up rooms in all the streets across all the towns across the whole World, and it would give me a sense of belonging and community, even though it was just me, standing at my window, alone.
Breastfeeding can be full of fearful 4am moments. The sudden dark, all-encompassing anxiety that says you’re not making enough milk, that you should be sleep training, that your baby should be feeding less often or more often, or sleeping longer, or growing faster or slower. The sudden terror that you’re doing something dangerously wrong, and nothing will ever be right again. And it often feels as though you’re alone with your worries – looking out into darkness on a moonless night. The thing is though, all over the world there are other breastfeeding parents having the same thoughts and worries, and when you start to look, you can find these people – a whole community of others like you, with their lights on, as it were, in an otherwise inky night.
Peer to peer support for breastfeeding can be one of the most helpful things you access as a new mum. It’s like putting all those lit up windows together in one street and being brave enough to knock on their doors! People often think that a peer support group is somewhere you only go if you’re having latching troubles, but it’s so much more than that. It’s a community of local breastfeeding families, all with fears and experiences, all being shared openly in a safe space. This is the place you realise your worries are not unique, and this is the place you hear from mums who HAD the same worries and overcame them. Peer support group is somewhere to make new friends – the other 4am people. The people who understand, who are living the same experience as you.
When I found my local group, and the other tired mums, it was like I’d uncovered a secret community of likeminded, understanding people, and it was an experience which began to change the way I parented, and ultimately led to a career change that I could have never imagined. Peer support changes lives. I used to see brand new mums come in with their newborns, and for week after week they would share their innermost fears, their tears, and their successes as they grew into this new and strange role of “parent.” It was a privilege to witness, particularly when these mums went on to train as peer supporters, breastfeeding counsellors, or IBCLCs. Or when they came back two years later with a new baby, and a sense of quiet confidence that wasn’t there with their first little one.
During the covid lockdowns, I really mourned the lack of peer to peer support groups, and how their closure caused so many more parents to feel alone and afraid. During those long months it felt as if the entire world had been plunged into the darkness of isolation, particularly for new parents. Online support groups and social media stepped up to try and fill the gap, but you can’t quite recreate the same sort of supportive space over Zoom or a Facebook Group. We’re sociable creatures, by our evolution. (And I say that as a huge introvert, who is very happy alone for days at a time.) We rely on others to keep us grounded, to keep the 4am fears at bay. There is something unique about the flow of conversation in a face to face group, that picks up on our personal concerns, examines them, cleans off the murkiness, and returns them to us lighter, brighter, and less frightening. There’s the cup of tea, the biscuit, the gentle hand on your shoulder, the hug, or the invitation to join some of the others for lunch after group finishes. There's the ebb and flow of other people’s conversations washing over you as you half listen to the peer supporter talking about how X is normal, or Y often happens at this age. We were robbed of so much during Covid, and it saddens me that community based breastfeeding support had to be one of the losses.
Seeing the return of in person support as the world returns so something that feels “normal” again, has been wonderful. During the pandemic a lot of my virtual consultations with mums were heavy – their anxiety seeping through the computer screen into my office. As parent-to-parent groups returned, the panicked consultations eased off. It’s a lot harder to feel isolated, afraid, and alone when you know that you’ll be sitting in a real room with real people, all having similar experiences in just a few days' time. As a lactation consultant, my role was never to be a constant source of support, but to troubleshoot and to then introduce my clients to the wider (free) breastfeeding support available in their community. I couldn’t do that for 2 years, and I watched as families faltered, fumbling in that oppressive darkness, while we all tried our best to offer the support and care that just wasn’t able to be good enough. But now, as groups become well established again, I see the shift in my clients. I see their fears melt in the bright, loving light of group. I see them undertake their own training, and I see the loneliness and fear of 4am disappear as families message each other to see who’s awake, having middle of the night WhatsApp groups, and the promise of coffee and cake tomorrow.
Breastfeeding can be lonely in our modern world. The experiences are often different to formula feeding and can take some time to get used to. But if you know where to look, you can find that softly glowing light of connection in an otherwise dark night. We don’t need to go through the ups and downs of lactation alone – there are people out there – often on our own doorstep – who can and want to offer help, support, community, and friendship. Reach out to them if you’re struggling in any way... it might be the best thing you ever do.