Trigger Warning: Child Loss, Pregnancy Loss
It’s undeniable that the world is filled with mothers, whether they openly express it or not. I see motherhood in the compassionate lunch staff at my old school, the toddler who carries a baby doll everywhere, and the college student gently rocking a newborn in a nursery.
I recognize the essence of motherhood in the young woman anxiously peering at a pregnancy test, desperately hoping for a second line. And for those who desperately wish to carry a healthy pregnancy to term, only to face heartbreak again and again—yes, the spirit of motherhood shines through even in those dark moments.
Since childhood, I’ve felt a profound yearning to be a mother. By a grace I never expected, I now hold that title. However, my path to motherhood has been laden with immense sorrow.
Death and I are acquainted intimately. I have endured the loss of a pregnancy and experienced the heart-wrenching pain of burying my four-month-old daughter. I know the heavy burden these losses place on one’s heart.
In the wake of my daughter’s passing, it felt as if the world moved on while I stood still in my grief, watching others expand their families while mine had diminished. That sorrow brought intrusive thoughts, feelings I often hesitate to share.
I understand how difficult it can be to muster genuine happiness for a friend’s pregnancy announcement while your own heart breaks. It’s a struggle to balance that fake smile with the underlying pain. I’ve felt that irrational anger, the kind that can be suffocating and palpable. I haven’t forgotten how isolating that road can be.
Motherhood isn’t defined solely by the children we hold but by the love we carry in our hearts. Mothers surround us, in various forms—some with arms full of kids, some yearning for more, and others longing for just one.
This longing creates an ache that is both deeply human and unwelcome. Our nurseries, whether decorated or simply envisioned, were never meant to echo with silence. They leave behind a void, an unfulfilled desire that fills our souls with a love we can’t express.
Sometimes, it’s messy and raw, and we can’t always muster a simple “congratulations.” Occasionally, it unleashes a cry of despair: “Why is she pregnant and not me?” That question may echo month after month, accompanied by resentment toward those who seem to obtain the one thing we yearn for the most.
Your feelings are absolutely valid and deserve to be felt. In the realm of unfulfilled family dreams, there are no “at leasts.” There is only waiting, despair, and loneliness. I want to validate your struggle a million times over.
If no one else tells you this, remember: Pain is pain is pain, and it holds no hierarchy. Acknowledge your loss, regardless of what others say. It matters, and it’s okay to feel anger. It’s perfectly acceptable to avoid gender reveals and baby showers. Those who truly care about you will understand, and those who don’t never really valued you the way you deserve.
I won’t sugarcoat your pain with clichés; we both know they don’t help. For now, allow yourself to grieve, but also try not to let that grief become your permanent residence. It’s a place to visit, not a home.
Even if your struggles remain unseen by the world, I see you.