Sources of our Becoming
Letters on breastfeeding

Our thoughts are not born in isolation. They are shaped by the stories we hear, the norms we inherit, and the silences we are taught to accept. In the realm of infant feeding, few topics are as emotionally charged and socially complex as breastfeeding. The way we think about it — as natural, as optional, as burdensome, as empowering — is deeply influenced by cultural narratives, medical discourse, marketing strategies, and generational beliefs. Breastfeeding activism challenges us to examine these sources critically. It asks: Who benefits from the way we think about breastfeeding? Whose voices are amplified, and whose are dismissed? By tracing the origins of our thoughts, we begin to reclaim them — and in doing so, we create space for informed, compassionate, and justice-driven conversations about infant nourishment and maternal autonomy. 


These letters are written by An Eerdekens, neonatologist and IBCLC lactation consultant, Melanie Miller, IBCLC lactation consultant, and Inge van Nistelrooij, care ethicist. They are an invitation to the reader: to walk alongside us, to discuss, to reflect, and to deepen. It is a call to plant seeds — seeds that highlight the significance of this ingenious piece of biology within our society. Breastfeeding is not merely about feeding a child; it is about the emergence of relationality, a defining trait of our humanity. It touches upon ecology, philosophy, women’s rights, and human rights. Through this exploration, we hope to shed light on its broader meaning and impact.

We wish the reader an enriching journey through these reflections, and we look forward to your response.




Email: gloedacademy@gmail.com

[continued]
29th of October, 2025
Letter by Mel

 .... that I came upon a food recycling bin in my designated trash and recycling area. I actually – audibly - gasped in delight and immediately messaged my husband a picture (he was just as thrilled).

Let me explain a little bit. All over the city, every neighborhood has a series of bins for the disposal of trash and recycling. Our designated area is just across the street from our building. But prior to today, our area, and the others on the closest surrounding streets, only had trash and recycling bins. We have been walking several blocks away to dispose of our food waste, and quite happily – how great that we can recycle food waste that generates gas for the city’s power grid! – but we have been hoping we’d get one of “our own.” Well, last week, new bins appeared on the adjacent streets. And we celebrated with high fives and a text announcement to our daughter (who kindly entertains our enthusiasm for food recycling). But today, on my walk to yoga, I saw the new bin in our designated trash area! And, I felt real joy. I really did. Because outside of the convenience of having a bin closer to us, outside of the fact that recycling food waste is super cool in many ways, this moment reminds me that in the ordinary movements of life, in the literal taking out of the trash, there is awe, and gratitude, and joy. And it’s even better when it’s shared.

And though I will likely pause at sending this on to you - a letter partly about the joy of food recycling - I know enough about this new phase of my life to send it anyway. That the noticing of the seemingly small ordinary things is where moments of real wonder often live. (I could write a second letter all about riding the bus here, the kindness and feeling of community to be found). I was moving much too fast to notice these things with any real attention before. And now, having the space and the time and the privilege to slow down, I want very much to keep seeing what’s right in front of me.  

And this, I think, is what I wish I could articulate to colleagues in my past and to those for whom I did my best to care. When we are moving so fast, what do we miss in those first moments with a newborn? I have always felt that the beginnings of the breastfeeding relationship offer us the quiet opportunity for attunement. A baby’s tiny, exquisite cues require a kind of listening and attention that we are not used to attending to in adult life. They are ordinary moments: an arm extended, a head turn, a fist to the mouth. But they are purposeful and powerful, instinctual human movements that when enacted in relationship with their parent’s body are a display of wonder like nothing else. Witnessing these moments within the circle of a new family is a unique kind of joy.  

Inge, you write to us about the notion of coherence – the space when we meet ourselves fully, connected and safe and at ease; these moments, in the company of music or art or literature that, as you say, “give me back to myself.”  You call them magical, indescribable, and true. Reading about your incredibly moving interaction between you and the woman holding her baby throughout your talk at the Carework Network conference, and all that was witnessed and realized and shared between you both, I feel that magic alongside you, in what Liora Bresler might describe as a ‘tri-directional” relationship. To witness a moment of coherence in another is an experience of wonder that is hard to fully articulate. It is a felt moment, something that lands in the body, something unforgettable, something that has the power to give us back to ourselves, something perhaps like “flow.”

In spaces of care, this shared experience of wonder wholly captured my attention. Within those moments of quiet attention and care of a new family, I could not imagine anything more powerful than witnessing the awe of the parents of a baby crawling to the breast. The stunned gasps, the giant smiles, shared laughter, and tangible joy at witnessing their baby move and reach and latch and suckle. There’s really nothing like it. The breadth of human emotion is available, and it is stunning. It is magical. For a long time, I have wondered: if, as new parents, more of us were cared for in a way that potentiated quiet attunement, if more of us in bedside care experienced this moment of cohesion with our patients, would the questions about the value of breastfeeding persist? If these moments were protected, if we could witness these ordinary but magical moments as care givers regularly, would it sustain us in systems of care that wear us down?

Thinking of you both with love,

Mel







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Sources of our Thoughts - Letters on the Golden Hour