19. The Grief I Didn't Expect to Find in Motherhood

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about grief. Not the kind we typically associate with death or major loss, but the quieter grief that can accompany motherhood. 

As my children have gotten older, I've found myself looking back on different seasons of parenting with a perspective I simply didn't have while I was living them.

If I’m being honest? Sometimes, I don't remember the milestones as much as I remember the exhaustion, overwhelm, anxiety, and all that I was carrying at the time.

In today’s episode, I'm sharing some of the reflections that have surfaced as I've revisited those early years of motherhood. I also explore the questions many of us ask ourselves, like “What if I had gotten support sooner? What if I had known more? What if I had understood myself better?”

If you've ever looked back on a season of motherhood and wished you had known then what you know now, this one is for YOU. My hope is that this reminds you that it's never too late to do your healing work. Your struggles do not define your worth as a parent, and as always, you deserve compassion, too!

Episode Recap:

• The quiet grief that often accompanies motherhood
• Looking back at early parenting seasons with compassion
• The support, knowledge & understanding I wish I had sooner
• Accountability, self-compassion + healing as a parent
• Why children need connection, not perfection
• How motherhood reveals the work we need to do within ourselves
• Learning to extend grace to the version of ourselves who was simply surviving

**Disclaimer: The content shared in this podcast is for educational and informational purposes only, and is not a substitute for therapy or mental health care. If you’re struggling or need support, please reach out to a licensed mental health professional in your area, because you don’t have to go through it alone.

Links/Resources:

• Follow on Instagram @tztherapy
• Check out my website

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:00

Hi friends, welcome to Reproductively Speaking. I'm Karen Spiker, and every week we will explore the intersection of parenthood, purpose, and mental well-being for honest stories, expert insights, and practical tools for everyday life. Grab your coffee, take a deep breath, and let's get into today's episode. Hi everyone, welcome back to Reproductively Speaking. I'm your host, Taryn Zweiger. Lately, I've been thinking a lot about grief. And not the kind of grief we typically talk about when someone dies or when we experience a major loss, but the quieter grief that seems to accompany motherhood in a lot of ways that I never expected. As my children have gotten older, I find myself looking back on different seasons of motherhood with sort of like this perspective I simply didn't have while I was living them. Because I think, as many of us know, like when you're in it, especially in those early years, you really don't always realize how much you're caring because we're in survival mode and we're just getting through the day. We're making lunches and changing diapers, navigating toddler tantrums, trying to keep people alive and somehow attempting to take care of yourself along the way. And there isn't always time to step back and recognize just how hard things are in the moment. But now, years later, I can look back and see a lot of things differently. I look at photos of myself during certain seasons, and I don't always remember that cute outfit that I was wearing or even the family milestone that we were celebrating. Oftentimes I remember how exhausted I was. I remember the anxiety or overwhelm I was feeling. I remember my relationship status at the time and what I was navigating in my marriage or with friendships. I remember wondering why motherhood felt so much harder than everyone else around me made it seem to be. And I remember feeling guilty that I wasn't always enjoying every moment the way that people told me that I should be. And I also remember something that felt almost impossible to admit at the time, and I feel more confident saying it now. But man, I was so tired of being needed. And I still experience that many times now, um, because I'm still mothering, right? In the in the midst of mothering. And I I don't feel tired of being needed because I don't love my children, or because I wanted to be somewhere else, but just because motherhood felt and still feels oftentimes relentless in a way that I just wasn't prepared for. Someone is always needing something and a snack and diaper change or uh they're butt wiped in the bathroom, a ride, a hug, a decision, an answer. And while there's so much beauty and this idea of being needed, there are seasons and definitely were seasons where I felt like there was nothing left of me when everyone else got their piece. And I think part of my grief now comes from recognizing how little space I had to simply be a person. And I'm not saying that I have more of that space now, but it definitely feels like more than when my kids were really little. And I didn't have that space to simply just be me, right? So not a mother, not a wife, not a therapist, not when someone's safe space, just me. And I don't think that I fully understood how much I was craving that until many years later. And if I'm being honest, sometimes my first reaction to this is sadness. And not because I failed and not because I wasn't a good mom, but because I can now see how much I was struggling. And I wish that someone would have helped me sooner. I wish I had known more. I wish I had understood postpartum mental health better. I wish that someone had told me that rage could be anxiety or overstimulation due to an undiagnosed neurodivergence. I wish that someone had told me that feeling disconnected from myself didn't mean that I was broken. And I also wish that someone would have told me or warned me that becoming a mom was going to stir up parts of me that I didn't even realize existed. And sometimes I laugh at the irony of where life has taken me. You know, today I spend my days talking to individuals, women, couples, families about postborn depression, anxiety, intrusive thoughts, burnout, identity loss, relationship struggles, and just all of the things, right, that I wish that someone had talked to me about when I was in these very new stages of becoming a mother. And there are so many moments when I'm sitting across from a client and I find myself thinking, like, where was this conversation when I needed it? Or it might be a conversation that I need even in that present day, because again, I'm still navigating all of this, this motherhood journey alongside many of my clients, even if I'm, you know, years ahead or in a different season. I find myself thinking, like, where was the person explaining that motherhood could both feel beautiful and devastating? And where was that person normalizing those intrusive thoughts that I was experiencing? Where was that person who could um talk with me openly without judgment about rage and resentment and overstimulation, um, identity loss and grief, all of these that come along with becoming a parent? Where was the person helping mothers understand that struggling doesn't mean that you're failing? Um, and if I'm being honest, uh sometimes that realization that I didn't always have those people brings sort of like another layer of grief. Because I can't help but wonder how different some of those early years might have felt had I had access to the knowledge and the support that I now provide to others. And it also reminds me of something important that my struggles are part of what brought me here. The experiences that once made me feel broken are now some of the experiences that help me to connect with the women who sit across from me every day in my office. And the things oftentimes that I wish someone had taught me are becoming the things that I feel called to learn more about and educate myself and educate others about. And while I wish that the younger version of me had more support, I can also see how her story became part of my purpose. And sometimes I even find myself wandering into the dangerous territory of what if? What if I had gotten support sooner? What if I had started my own therapy earlier? What if I understood anything about my individual unique nervous system? What if I recognized signs of burnout before I became completely exhausted and depleted? What if I had known how much my own childhood experiences would show up once I became a parent? Would things have felt different? Would I have suffered less? Would I be a more present and patient parent? Would I have enjoyed these years more? The truth is, I don't know. And that's also where some of the grief lives because there are no answers. There's no way to go back and reparent our babies with the wisdom and experience that we have now. And there's no opportunity to redo those years. And sometimes that realization hurts. But I've also realized that grief and compassion can exist together because when I look back at those versions of myself, I don't want to judge them anymore. I don't want to criticize myself for what I didn't know. I don't want to hold them accountable for not having access to information. Um, instead, I just want to sit beside her and I want to tell her that she's doing better than she thinks she is. And I want to tell her that she doesn't have to carry all of this alone. And I want to tell her that struggling doesn't make her a bad mom. At the same time, I think it's important to acknowledge that having compassion for ourselves is not the same thing as excusing ourselves. Because there are moments from my own motherhood journey, especially in those early years, that I wish I had handled differently. Times when my anxiety and overwhelm and resentment and burnout, or my own unresolved wounds influence how I showed up. And during these times when my struggles impacted the people around me. And while I can understand why I was struggling, that doesn't erase the impact that these moments may have had on others. And I've learned that two things can be true at the same time. And I can recognize that I was doing the best that I could with the knowledge, support, and resources I had at the time. And I can also acknowledge that my best may have still caused hurt. And I think that's really where accountability comes in. Not shame, not self-punishment, not carrying this guilt forever, just accountability, the willingness to look honestly at our actions and make repairs when possible, learn from them and continue growing. And I think that's one of the greatest gifts that we can give our children, um, and that I want to give my own children, not this illusion of perfection, but a model of what it looks like to take responsibility and apologize and keep evolving. And maybe that's what healing really is: not working to try and change the past, not fixing the past, but just sort of finally extending compassion to this version of ourselves that we deserved all along. And I think one of the challenges of parenting today is that we just know so much. And I know I've talked about this in previous issues, but man, we just know about attachment theory and we know about trauma and we know about nervous system and we know about cycle breaking and repair and generational patterns and emotional regulation. And again, I'm a therapist, so I know all of this knowledge is valuable, but I also acknowledge that it can feel incredibly overwhelming because suddenly so many of us, including myself, feel responsible for healing everything. So not only are we trying to raise healthy children, but we're also trying to heal our own childhood wounds or process our own trauma, learn to regulate our own individual nervous systems, work on improving communication skills or relate, strengthen relationships, build or maintain our careers, manage households, and somehow, miraculously, do all of this while functioning on very minimal sleep and less support than a lot of the previous generations often had. And it's a lot. And I think that's where so many mothers get stuck because we hear messages about healing and self-awareness, therapy. We got to break the generational cycles. And we do genuinely want to do those things. But many of us are trying to do that work while actively being needed by everyone around us. And we're trying to understand ourselves while also helping our children understand themselves and their emotions and their behaviors. And we're trying to regulate our own nervous systems while also trying to co-regulate somebody else's nervous system. And we're trying to heal these old wounds while doing the most mundane things like respond to a billion emails, pay for school lunches, figure out what the hell we're making for dinner, manage the entire household, carry an entire mental load of our family. And sometimes it isn't that we don't want to do the work, it's just that there's this small, minimal, if any, margin left over after everyone else has taken what they needed from us. And I think that's something that many mothers feel guilty admitting. And sometimes I think mothers carry this impossible expectation that they need to be fully healed before they can be good parents. But the longer I do this work, both professionally and personally, the more convinced I become that our children do not need us to be perfectly healed parents. They need us to be present. They need us to be reflective. They need us to uh admit and acknowledge when we make mistakes and then make repairs. They need parents who are willing to grow and learn and just try to do better because the goal is never about perfection. It should always be about connection. And the goal should always be about relationship because relationships include misunderstandings. They include mistakes and they include moments when we lose our patience or we don't respond the way we wish we had, but they also include apologies and reconnection and repair. And I think that so many of us are carrying guilt for not being the parent that we wish we had been in every single moment. But again, parenting is not supposed to be a Broadway performance. It's not about perfection. It's always about this relationship between these two imperfect humans, me and my three sweet children, or my husband, or whoever. And we're all just learning alongside together. And maybe that's why I feel so passionate about encouraging people to do their own healing work. Not because I believe that anybody can become fully healed before becoming a parent, but because I think knowing yourself matters. Understanding your triggers matter. Understanding your origin wounds matter. Understanding the patterns in your life, the patterns in your behaviors, all of that matters because the better we know ourselves, the more freedom that we will have in how we respond to our children. If you're listening to this and you're thinking, well, it's too late because I'm already in the thick of motherhood, right? So I can't, I I can't possibly, you know, turn back time and do all of that. I want you to know something. It's not too late. In fact, for many of us, uh, if not all of us, right, I think motherhood is what sort of reveals the work that we need to do and the work that needs to be done. Because many of us didn't know what needed healing until after our kids arrived. And many of us didn't even recognize our wounds or patterns until we sort of saw them reflected back to us. Isn't that such a fun thing to see in our kids? And many of us didn't realize how much support we actually needed until we became completely overwhelmed and brought out. Motherhood doesn't create these wounds. Uh, it sort of just uh puts a giant spotlight on them and illuminates them for us. And while that can be really difficult and painful, I think it can also be incredibly transformative. So if you're carrying grief today, you know, grief of the mother that you were, grief for the support that you didn't have, or grief for the things that you didn't know. Um, grief for the years that felt harder than maybe you thought they needed to be. I just want to encourage you to make room for that grief. We don't have to dismiss it and you don't have to talk yourself out of it. You don't have to immediately find the silver lining or, oh, but I should be thankful, right? Like you just simply can acknowledge that the grief is there and you can honor the version of yourself who was just trying so hard. And we can also recognize like how much you were caring. And maybe all of that is why I feel so emotional when I look back. Not because I wish I could erase those years, not because I wish that I could have been a different mother, but because I finally understand what that version of me was carrying. And I understand her in a way that I couldn't then. And I understand why she was exhausted and why she felt lost, why she felt overwhelmed and why she felt like she was constantly trying to keep her head above water. And while there is grief in that realization, there's also this tremendous amount of compassion because that version of me was learning and she was surviving, and she was becoming just like all of us are. The mother I was years ago doesn't need my judgment. She needs my compassion. And honestly, so does the version of me that's still parenting today. So I hope that today's episode resonated for you. I hope that it's exactly what you needed to hear wherever you are in your mothering journey, parenting journey. And as always, I always appreciate you guys sharing episodes with others, leaving reviews, uh, tune in into all future episodes. So I hope you guys all have a great rest of your week, and we'll see you next time. Hey, thanks for being here and spending some time with me on Reproductively Speaking. I hope today's conversation left you feeling a little more seen, supported, and maybe even inspired. If it did, share this episode with a friend who might need it. And don't forget to subscribe or leave a review. It truly makes a difference. Until next time, take care of your mind, your relationships, and yourself. You got this.