Trigger Warning: Child loss, pregnancy loss
Whether you’re a parent or not, it seems there are more mothers in the world than society acknowledges. I see the essence of motherhood in the nurturing lunch lady from my high school days, in the preschooler who adores her baby dolls, and in the college student rocking a newborn to sleep in a church nursery.
I recognize the spirit of a mother in the young woman staring intensely at a pregnancy test, willing that second line to appear. And I see it in the woman yearning to carry a healthy pregnancy to term, facing the heartbreak of loss time and time again. Yes, even in those darkest moments, the light of motherhood shines through.
Since childhood, I’ve always felt that motherly instinct deep within me. By an undeserved grace, I’ve also become a mother in the conventional sense. But my journey has not been without its profound sorrows.
Death and I are well acquainted. I’ve faced the heartbreak of losing a pregnancy and the devastating burial of my four-month-old daughter. I know the weight of such loss, and I understand how it can transform a person.
After my daughter’s passing, it seemed as if the world around me was moving forward, expanding their families while I was left grappling with grief. My heart felt heavy, diminished by the loss of one. This pain gave rise to intrusive thoughts and emotions that I often feel ashamed to admit.
I know the struggle of pretending to be happy for others while masking my own heartache at yet another pregnancy announcement. It’s a difficult balance—genuinely wanting the best for friends while simultaneously feeling a deep sorrow for myself. I’ve felt that pure, seething anger that, although it may seem irrational, is undeniably real and overwhelming. I see you, too, navigating that challenging path.
To me, motherhood is not defined solely by the children you can hold but by the love you carry in your heart. Mothers are everywhere, whether or not the world acknowledges them—some with arms full of children, some yearning for more, and some simply wishing for one.
This empty ache is both natural and unwelcome. The nurseries we envisioned, whether beautifully decorated or carefully planned in our minds, were never meant to echo with silence. They create a void, a longing that remains unfulfilled, leaving our souls aching with a love that has nowhere to go. This love often transforms into grief, a more manageable emotion for the body to handle.
It’s messy and raw; sometimes it’s impossible to muster a smile or even say “congratulations.” Instead, it might scream, “Why her and not me?!”—and that scream can echo every month. It may even turn into resentment towards someone who “accidentally” received the one blessing you yearn for most. These feelings, no matter how irrational they may seem, are valid and should be acknowledged.
When it comes to the struggle of building or expanding a family, there are no “at leasts.” There’s only the weight of waiting, despair, and loneliness. I want to validate your pain a million times over.
If no one else says it, I will: pain is pain, and it doesn’t come with a measuring stick. Acknowledge your loss, even if others minimize it. Trust me, it’s real. It’s okay to feel angry and to avoid baby showers or gender reveals. True friends will understand, and those who don’t likely never valued you as they should.
I won’t sugarcoat your hardships with empty platitudes; we both know those never help anyone. So for now, allow yourself to grieve as long as you need to. But remember from someone who understands: grief is a place to visit, not to take up residence.
Even if your struggles are invisible to everyone else, I see you.
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