The first thing that hit me when my baby latched onto me was a raw, searing pain in one of my most delicate, sensitive regions, as a hot little mouth tore away hungrily at my flesh.

For many new mums, breastfeeding is brutal, animalistic, and stressful — worlds away from the angelic, sanguine depictions in hospital brochures of beaming, bashful mums with their cherubic babes swathed in pure bliss.

“Breast is best”, they say, but no one prepares new mums and their not-so-lovely-anymore lady lumps for the painful slog breastfeeding is. When I started nursing my son, I didn’t think I would last a month. But 21 months and nearly 10 episodes of mastitis and blocked ducts later, breastfeeding has become an integral part of our relationship.

Along the way, here are five things it taught me about being a new parent:

1. You lose yourself

The hardest transition to make when I became a new parent was losing my sense of self and independence. All of my desires and dreams took a backseat when I released the Kraken, and my son arrived, kicking and screaming into the world.

Breastfeeding exacerbated my identity crisis. With my newborn nursing every one to two hours and even into the dead of night, we were virtually joined at the boob. I was trapped.

Severely sleep deprived and with no time to myself (does pooping on the potty count as me-time?), I felt like I had lost all agency and rights to my own body, which had transformed into a watering hole for a cranky, needy little man.

Female empowerment be damned, there are no breaks and no substitutes for the breastfeeding mother.

I’d become a carer, provider and food source, and deeply grieved the loss of the free-spirited person I had been.

2. Love hurts

When I became a mother, my eyes were opened to the myriad of ways the female body is designed to take a beating — and live.

Childbirth is painful, but what comes next is more like protracted, sadomasochistic torture.

Driven by a primal will to survive, a baby’s latch has a ferocity that can blister virgin skin, and crack and bloody unsuspecting nipples.

And don’t get me started on clogged ducts and mastitis, which can make your breast friends red, hot, swollen, and very angry, like they are staging a mutiny.

I never knew true physical pain until I had my ducts unclogged by a massage therapist, whose kneading and squeezing of my inflamed nipples had me writhing and crying big girl tears on the bed.

3. Keep the faith

Breastfeeding takes time and effort to establish. In the early days to weeks, milk supply takes time to kick in, and many mums give up on breastfeeding exclusively then as they are convinced that they have “no milk”.

One week postpartum, my confinement nanny advised me to pump out my milk so she would know “exactly how much I was producing”. She eyed my boobs over the rhythmic grunting of the pump and commented in Mandarin: “So big boobs; why so little milk?”.

Her words plunged me into a personal hell of self doubt and maternal shame fueled by postpartum blues. I spent the next month gorging myself on lactation cookies and teas, power pumping every chance I got, trying to push my body to the limit until it was “enough” for my baby. I felt like a failure every time my nanny declared my supply too low and topped up my baby’s feed with formula milk.

My mother-in-law suggested that I should bottle-feed my son instead so we would know he was drinking enough milk. “I brought your husband up on formula milk and look how tall and healthy he is!” she would say.

Seeing the emotional turmoil I was in, my own mother begged me to stop breastfeeding.

Over time, I learnt to tune out naysayers and to do what I felt was right for my baby. I saw lactation consultants to correct my latch, and continued breastfeeding my son religiously around the clock. With time, I was able to drop the formula feeds.

Not knowing exactly how much my baby was drinking did unnerve me at first, but I learnt to look at the signs (such as the number of wet diapers per day and weight gain). Most importantly, I began trusting in my body’s ability to provide adequately for my little one.

4. Your presence is best

When I was on maternity leave, I read “Being There: Why Prioritizing Motherhood in the First Three Years Matters” by Erica Komisar and it resonated with me. To make my son and breastfeeding my priorities for the next few years, I made adjustments to my work and lifestyle.

When I returned to my job, I worked out a flexi-work arrangement with my boss so that I could come to the office early, leave at lunch and work from home in the evenings. I requested to be taken off the roster for work junkets for at least two years.

My son has a strong preference for me at bedtime, so I have had to turn down dinner engagements with friends and become something akin to a social pariah in the process.

Rare date nights with my hubby — when my parents are able to look after our son — also entail us driving out for an hour or two, then rushing home in time to put the little one to bed.

There are times when I resent my world revolving around my son, but I know he will soon grow up and out of my orbit. For now, I am convinced that my presence gives him the emotional security he needs to grow into an independent, confident kid. The innumerable nights I held him in my embrace as he smiled and suckled to sleep are so precious to me (yes, even when the little monster bites).

It takes sacrifice, and no, not all mothers have the luxury of a job or an understanding boss who allows flexi work arrangements. But it is worthwhile relooking schedules to eke out some extra time to be around more often during our children’s formative years.

5. You are sufficient and adequate

I do question if the whole ordeal breastfeeding put me through was worth it. I am a firm believer in “fed is best” — it doesn’t matter if you breast or formula-feed your baby, as long as he/she is well fed and happy.

I count sticking it out with breastfeeding a personal victory. It unveiled an inner strength and tenacity I never knew I had, even in my emotionally vulnerable postpartum moments.

I felt entrapped, but at the same time empowered by my ability to feed and nourish my baby with my body for the first six months of his life and after.

Even now, during my toddler’s worst meltdowns, offering my breast is the one thing that calms him down almost instantly.

The Indian guru Osho once said, “The moment a child is born, the mother is also born.” I see breastfeeding as an initiation and baptism of fire, which (ironically) helps to ease women into their new role as mother and kick start the bonding process with their babies.

I know even more challenges abound in the years to come. But 21 months in, still severely sleep deprived and awaiting that elusive STTN (sleep through the night) milestone, I feel that breastfeeding has given me the confidence to tackle anything, if I just grit my teeth and smile through the pain.