Immense love and inescapable grief

The grief in motherhood

The unexpected undercurrent to motherhood, for me, has been grief. Alongside the joy, between the insurmountable love I never thought possible — has been an inescapable grief. It has been a headspin of epic proportions. To long for a not so distant life that grows fainter with every sleepless night yet find sincere solace in the tiny hands that call me home. Like most of motherhood, this comes with the badgering guilt you tell all your mum friends to ignore and leave at the door. The same guilt you allow to creep in over and over again. How can so much coexist? And why did no one tell me how much it would hurt?

Context is always important and the top line is — my parents experienced a lot of loss. A child before me, another four between my brother and I. Miscarriage wasn’t an unfamiliar word in my household but one that gained meaning with age. My mother had me at 35, so I always grew up wanting the same. My parents struggled, so I thought I would too.

After a boozy weekend, complete with a girls trip out to Tillingham Wines (see clueless me below) and my first Covid shot, I offhandedly took an early pregnancy test. A random £3 test that lived at the back of our bathroom cupboard, likely teetering toward its expiration. I forgot I had taken it and carried on with my day only to see a positive test in the bathroom hours later. At 29, one Monday afternoon in June, in my first home with my still partner — my world that was already evaporating, started tearing at the seams.

Our tickets home had been booked for a few weeks. Despite this, I had no desire to leave. I can still close my eyes and trace the steps from my front door to the Thames. I try not to because each time I do, my home feels a little less like one. Falling pregnant made this decision more bearable but it was one more seismic life change compounding onto another. One grief compounding onto another.

None of this felt fair to our tiny *are you even there yet* baby. And so the guilt swells and gnaws at you. How can I be grieving when this is what we both want? Yes, sooner than expected. Yes, by accident but grateful. The latter, particularly sharper because on the precipice of your thirties — all of the sudden it feels like everyone is trying to, deciding not to or having children. When you accidentally fall pregnant at an age where congratulations are immediate rather than hesitant, your own timing pales against society’s.

Now two kids on, neither one planned but eternally grateful for them both — the grief in motherhood has softened but remains. I often wonder, had I fallen pregnant at a better time, how different would things be? Long after London, settled in a home, a career, even trying to fall pregnant — would the grief have been so sharp to begin with? Probably not, but my world wouldn’t be my world without my girl in it.

You gain an entire new world, new identity, new perspective and appreciation when you become a parent. With every gain, comes a loss. Your body, freedom, sleep, privacy, intimacy, quiet. I miss the old me, my old life, the ability to sleep through the night and think 7.30am is early. But I’m proud of the person I am and have grace for the mother I’ve become.

I think all of life is love and loss. Ebbing and flowing. It makes sense motherhood would be the same. I grieve the person I once was, the life I had, the lives I could’ve lived. And in that same grief, I cherish my brilliant girl and spectacular boy. I cherish making our respective parents grandparents and seeing their world illuminate through our children. I recognise my struggles in the one’s they surely faced, and feel closer than ever to my mum. I cherish my partner, myself and the family we’ve grown. Like flowers need both rain and sun, this expanding beyond ourselves, feels strengthened by love and grief alike.