No. 13: I'm Grateful for My Son and Still Mourning the Life I had Before Motherhood

When Gratitude Holds Grief

Lately, I’ve been feeling both full and hollow.

So grateful it aches.

So tired it hurts.

Motherhood has remade me in ways I never expected.

It has softened me, stretched me, and shown me what love looks like in its rawest form.

But it has also taken things from me—

quiet mornings, slow hours, the unbroken thought of simply being me.

And some days, when the house is finally still,

I find myself missing her—

the woman I was before all of this.

Not because I want to go back,

but because I want to remember that she existed too.

Motherhood as Expansion and Loss

They don’t tell you that joy can coexist with mourning.

That you can love your child so deeply

and still long for the space you once had to breathe.

They don’t tell you how easily your identity can scatter—

pieces of yourself left behind between naps and dishes,

emails and bedtime routines.

And when you finally stop moving,

the silence brings a truth you can barely name:

you miss yourself.

Not instead of your child.

But alongside your love for them.

The Weight of Expectation

There’s a quiet pressure in motherhood.

To carry it all.

To make it look easy.

To smile through the exhaustion

and call it gratitude.

But gratitude doesn’t erase depletion.

And love doesn’t mean never needing space.

Sometimes, I want to step back—

just to breathe,

to remember who I am beyond the hands that need me.

And the guilt that follows

is heavier than any chore.

Because if I stop,

who keeps it all together?

The Body as Witness

My body knows the difference.

When I’m running on obligation,

it feels tight and brittle—

shoulders tense, heart racing, breath shallow.

When I slow down, even for a moment—

to hold my son close without rushing,

to sit with my coffee before anyone calls my name—

I feel something softer.

Presence.

Gratitude without performance.

Grief without shame.

A Quiet Reframe

Maybe it isn’t about choosing one feeling over the other.

Maybe it’s about letting both exist.

Gratitude and grief.

Joy and loss.

Love and longing.

Motherhood holds them all.

And maybe that’s the point—

to learn that wholeness isn’t neat or singular.

It’s layered.

Messy.

Alive.

A Reminder for You

If you feel both grateful and heavy,

both full and empty,

you’re not broken.

You’re simply human.

You can love your child

and still miss your own company.

You can hold both the ache and the wonder.

You can honor who you’ve become

without forgetting who you were.

This month, I’m learning to let both truths breathe.

To let gratitude sit beside grief.

To see them not as opposites—

but as proof that I am still growing.

Still here.

Still whole.

—Steph