I had to breastfeed other people's babies at Gloriavale

After giving birth to her first child, Honour, in the Christian community of Gloriavale, Rosanna Overcomer had to feed other people's babies. In an extract from her new book, she remembers the toll it took, and how her husband, Elijah, tried to help her.

By the time Honour was six weeks old, she was a happy baby, putting on weight and sleeping for most of the night. And as soon as people found out about this, I was brought other babies to feed. Since I had a very good milk supply, I knew I should give to those who had less. That was biblical and unselfish. On the other hand, I wanted to choose to give; not just be taken from.

One mother would wake me up in the middle of the night, hand me her baby, then leave. Or I’d be given a baby at lunchtime, when parents got a half-hour break from work to spend with their children. The father was often in the room, watching me feed his child, which I hated. But of course I did nothing and said nothing.

Soon, I’d lost the 10 kilograms I’d put on in pregnancy, plus another five. I constantly felt starving and thirsty. Elijah made me milkshakes every night, getting one of his sisters to procure locked-up ingredients like brewer’s yeast or molasses to fortify them. Somehow, he even got hold of ice cream to make the milkshakes more palatable.

Then, when Honour was not quite four months old, my milk supply suddenly disappeared. Elijah’s milkshakes no longer helped. I started taking fenu-greek, blessed thistle and fennel. Nothing worked. Honour was now constantly hungry.

I knew what it was like to be made to feed other people’s babies – I was not about to ask anyone to feed mine. But both formula and bottle-feeding were strictly forbidden. Mum sometimes managed to smuggle in formula for me, since, as one of the few women in the community who could drive, she was often rostered on town trips. But it wasn’t nearly enough. To feed my daughter we had to resort to more clandestine methods.

Every day the men brought 20-litre buckets of separated fresh milk up to the kitchen from the vat in the dairy. I would get up even earlier than usual, pasteurise a small pot of milk and mix it with boiled water, enough for a few days. Then I’d quickly cool the mixture in a tub of cold water, pour it into glass jars and hide them on the top shelf in the glass-doored chiller, behind the pickles, bottled fruit and sauces.

For when Honour was hungry, I needed to figure out how to get the milk into a bottle without being seen, then heat it and feed it to her. Baby blankets and bags became even more necessary. Mum had an electric jug in her room, so I could boil water there to warm the bottle. Elijah’s parents’ room was close to the baby room, so I’d sneak in there with Honour. Anna, a friend who was having similar troubles, often used to join me while we fed our babies.

Eventually, people connected the dots and someone complained to Hopeful, who showed up in the baby room and preached a little sermon. Under no circumstances should anyone be feeding their babies a bottle, he declared. The whole reason we had breasts was to feed our babies. Gloria, his first wife, had never used a bottle with any of their 16 children! We were being soft by not using our bodies in God’s intended ways and selfish for not sharing our milk with other mothers who needed it.

By this time, I was struggling to keep food down. One morning, I fainted. I had fainted quite a few times while I was pregnant with Honour, which is why it occurred to me to take a pregnancy test. It was a shock to find out I was going to have a second child only a year after my first. I’d thought I couldn’t get pregnant till I’d had a period or weaned my baby.

When I told people why I couldn’t feed their babies anymore, the news was not taken kindly. Some women accused me of secretly using Elijah’s mum (who’d had another baby herself only a year prior) as a wet nurse at night so I could get pregnant again more quickly.

Usually, I hated people thinking ill of me. I tried to do everything exceptionally well so I couldn’t be judged or criticised. This time, I almost didn’t care. I was feeding one baby, growing another and working very long hours. There was no way Hopeful or anyone else was going to tell me how to keep my baby alive.

Extracted from Beyond the Gates of Gloriavale by Rosanna Overcomer, published by Allen and Unwin Aotearoa New Zealand, RRP $37.99. Out 27 October.