Boobs, bottles, bank accounts
Okay, I feel like a fraud writing this.
Breastfeeding wasn’t a part of my journey. I tried, but it never worked out. And not for lack of effort. I actually used ChatGPT to create a schedule for me to follow to increase my supply (comment if you want it, it was actually very good regardless). There were tears (many), teas ($$$ ones), cabbage bras (DM for a photo), pumps (plural), nipple creams, those flower-looking reusable pads so I wouldn’t leak through my shirt, cookies that cost more than my shampoo. I mean… I did give it my best shot.
But it didn’t work out. And I felt so much guilt. Not just from the things people said, but from the things they assumed. Like my neighbor who casually said, “Isn’t breastfeeding just insane?” and I was like, “Nope, no idea, actually. Wouldn’t know. Didn’t happen for me” while shamefully backing into the elevator.
Now that I have a little distance from the experience, I’ve been able to zoom out and take a deeper look. Not with bitterness, but with curiosity and compassion. This post isn’t about trashing breastfeeding. Formula and breastfeeding are both great. Truly. (I mean I was fed unpasteurized goat’s milk from a farm outside Cape Town, so who am I to judge?)
But as a psychologist who sits with moms every day, I can tell you: the emotional toll of breastfeeding is very real. Whether it’s a first-time mom crying in session because she can’t bring herself to stop, or a second-time mom feeling torn because she fed her first but doesn’t have the bandwidth to do it again with her second, or someone navigating D-MER (yes, that’s real and brutal), or dealing with anxiety around attachment and weaning—it runs the full spectrum. If I wrote it all out, we’d be here for 45 minutes.
So with my spare time, I went down a research rabbit hole and started digging into the real cost of breastfeeding. Because yes, formula is expensive—but for the two weeks I breastfed, so was that.
Turns out… nothing is free.
Let’s Talk Numbers (and Nipple Cream)
Breastfeeding is often framed as “natural” and “free.” But research from Yale says otherwise. In fact, it shows that breastfeeding in the US for one year can cost anywhere from $7,940 to $10,585. (And that's not including the 4 sessions you have in the lactation consultant’s office.) By comparison, a year’s worth of formula is estimated between $760 and $2,280+, depending on the brand.
So what are we spending money on?
Food. You need an extra 330–500 calories a day. Not just any calories. Moms who breastfeed require nutrient-dense, good-quality calories. One mom from the UK in an online chat said she spent £40 extra a week on food and supplements alone.
Gear. Pumps (electric and hand), parts, storage bags, nursing bras, leak pads, pillows, nipple shields, sunflower lecithin, cooler bags, and for some extra freezers. None of this is covered by nature.
Support. Lactation consultants, tongue/lip tie revisions, cranial osteopathy, mastitis meds, formula “backups,” and the emotional support needed to even ask for help in the first place.
Time. The Yale study actually tried to put a dollar amount on this: multiply the federal minimum wage by the average 3–4+ hours a day women spend breastfeeding/pumping, and you get close to $10,000/year in unpaid labor. Oh, and breastfeeding clocks in at 1,800 hours a year—aka a full-time job.
But The Emotional Cost? That’s the Real Zinger
Beyond the stuff and the receipts, it’s the feelings that hit hardest, and the cost I am most acutely aware of because of my work.
Guilt. For stopping. For wanting to stop. For not enjoying it. For not doing it for as long with the next kid. For not having time to spend working/hanging out etc.
Shame. For supplementing. For secretly liking formula. For feeling relieved when weaning. For not making as much as that one mom on Instagram (ugh).
Anxiety. About milk supply, latch, bonding, how much your baby is actually getting, whether stopping will make your baby love you less (it won’t).
D-MER. That drop in dopamine some women get when their milk lets down. It’s not discussed enough, and it can feel dark and isolating.
Exhaustion. Not just from the night feeds, but the mental and physical gymnastics of feeding on demand while trying to have one coherent thought.
So… What’s the Point Here?
If you’re reading this and you're overwhelmed, let me just say: it makes total sense. Breastfeeding is not free. Not in time, not in money, not in emotional bandwidth. It is labor. It is a lifestyle queen. And yes, it can be beautiful and magical and powerful and bonding. But it can also be draining and demoralizing and deeply, deeply difficult.
And if it’s not working for you? That doesn’t mean you’re not working. It just means this particular version of feeding your child might not be the best one for you in this moment. And that’s okay. You’re still a good mom. A great one, actually.
Whether you’re nursing, pumping, combo-feeding, formula-feeding, or pouring goat’s milk from a questionable farm, your baby needs you. Present, healthy, sane-ish you.
Nothing is free. But your peace? That’s priceless.