Motherhood, Loss and Growth: Finding Balance Between Love, Grief and Change

Sadness at Time Lost

Today I’ve had an afternoon with my little people.

Mixed into that time I’ve had to leave one to spend time with the other and experienced a huge wave of sadness for all the time “missed” doing the things I love with my eldest…

You see, mothering with two is interesting. There always seems to be a feeling of missing out, of loss—but also of gaining more. Mothering two doubles the love and halves the time.

I work with mums from pregnancy through to post-partum—some of them are first-time mothers, and others are second or third (no fourth-time mummies have crossed my path yet!).

But one thing that is present for us all is a grief—a loss of what was before.

Honouring Different Kinds of Loss

I write this piece at the end of Baby Loss Awareness Week, and the losses I explore here are, of course, not comparable to the loss and grief experienced during the loss of a baby—a loss of a life.

But I do see value in expressing this element of motherhood. Many women I work with who have experienced previous loss express how guilty they feel for not loving every minute—for wishing to go back to some part of their life before.

They feel guilty for not having the headspace to connect with or think of the baby (or babies) they didn’t get to mother forever.

And so I think there is a need to express that grieving your old life before children—or before your current youngest—is completely normal and an important part of evolving as a mother… as a woman.

It doesn’t make you any less grateful for the baby in your arms, or any less worthy of feeling the sadness and pain in your loss.

What I Missed After My First Baby

I’ll start with sharing just two things I missed after birthing my first baby.

I missed my partner. I missed the evenings with him—preparing a delicious meal, eating at the table together, watching TV. Our usual routine of massaging each other’s necks and shoulders (a skill I learnt at university and a way we still connect, even now 15 years on).

I also missed my job—not so much the work, but the routine, the people, the normal conversation… the feeling of achievement. Without it, I was completely lost.

And now, on reflection, I see the need to let go—the growing that came out of that transition from maiden to mother.

My husband and I have gotten to know each other in so many more ways now—our understanding of each other’s needs. I freely talk to him about my periods; he shares what’s going on in his head. But it took years, and a whole lot of isolation away from each other in the early days and years.

As for my job and the loss of structure—I can honestly say I could not go back to that way of life now. Working more than not working, the stress, the constant need to do more… my brain couldn’t do it.

The pressure would break me.

Our house is often a mess. I choose doing something fun over cleaning and sorting. I choose eating cakes we’ve made in front of the TV over sitting at the table. I choose the beach—and all the sand that goes with it—over a clean car.

And it’s all ok. In fact, it’s more than ok—it’s beautiful. But the old me couldn’t have done any of the things on this list. She didn’t think her brain would allow chaos—she feared it.

So whilst I lost, I also gained.

Navigating Change with Baby Number Two

With baby number two, I lost my time alone with baby number one. William and I used to do everything together. I was his anchor and his preferred person for any adventure or daily task.

We have navigated what feels like a two-year transitional period.

Bedtime—a really special and lengthy process in our house with bath, play, and lots of stories (and often snacks)—has taken a huge overhaul.

Initially, I still put William to bed whilst feeding Beatrice, and gradually Ben had to take over William’s bedtime as Beatrice became more engaged (and then disruptive) to her big brother’s need to sleep.

I still miss putting him to bed. But I also gained another lifelong special relationship through breastfeeding Beatrice to sleep—something I still do now. The connections made at bedtime run deep. And the balance we have, for now, works.

Rediscovering Joy Outdoors

One of my biggest losses has been time outdoors in nature with just William.

As a breastfeeding mother, it was hard to leave Beatrice for periods of time to do things with William. But also, I didn’t really want to. I didn’t ever leave William, so it felt wrong—or odd—to leave Beatrice.

So we most often do things as a three. But that has made a trip to the beach a little trickier—until recently.

The practicalities of getting two wet and sandy children off the beach, dry and into the car, have felt a little too much to manage. And until Beatrice was steady on her feet, a practical impossibility.

Today, as we made our way down onto the expanse of sand, my little boy beamed. His body was sparkling from the inside out. He jumped up and down, he ran, he yipped, he shone.

And I felt the tears prickle, because I knew he’d missed this—as much as me. But until recently, I just couldn’t make it happen.

And for that, I was truly sorry. Sorry for him, for me—and sorry to Beatrice for feeling those things.

What We Gained

As we played, I saw what we had all gained.

William—independence and trust, both in himself and in other adults.

Me—clarity on the worthiness of mothering, and the importance of looking after myself before them, even just sometimes. (Beatrice has brought a sense of girl power back into my world, and I love her for it.)

And Beatrice—she has a brother and a mother who share a fantastic bond, and who together show her our favourite things and teach her about the world.

She doesn’t get the one-on-one time her elder sibling had… but she also doesn’t need it. She’s different.

So yes, we have all lost something, and we have all grown and gained too. It’s part of the mothering journey. It’s part of being a family.

Sadness and happiness can coexist in the same space.

Never was that more true than in my first year as a mother. I was so sad, so upset at what was gone—but so amazed at what was growing in front of me.

You Are Not Alone

So if you occasionally—or even daily—feel a sense of loss and grief in motherhood, you are not alone.

If you have a baby after loss (a rainbow baby), it is normal to miss things from your life before the baby in your arms came along. Nothing makes sense. Everything is a learning.

I see you. You are not alone. You are simply feeling.

And if motherhood helps you to do only one thing—it is to feel deeply.

If this blog post has touched a part of you then I would love to hear from you. For me connection to you is the greatist part of my work. If you have the time and the energy do say hi.