What helps me balance motherhood and my personal life is giving myself permission to be a whole person—not only a mom, and not only someone grieving.
After losing my mother five years ago, then experiencing a miscarriage in July at 37 years old while caring for my one-year-old, balance stopped meaning getting everything right. Grief has a way of showing up in layers. There are days I miss my mom most in the smallest moments: when my child does something new, when I want to ask her a question, or when I wish she could see me become a mother. Then there are days when the loss of a pregnancy feels impossibly heavy alongside the joy and constant needs of the child already in my arms.
I have learned that loving my one-year-old deeply does not erase the baby I lost. And grieving my mother does not make me less present or grateful as a parent. I can hold gratitude, exhaustion, joy, longing, and heartbreak all at once.
The support I wish more moms had is the kind that does not require us to explain, minimize, or “look on the bright side.” I wish every mother had people who could say: You can be thankful and devastated at the same time. You can need rest. You can need help. You can still be a good mother.
For me, support looks like someone dropping off dinner without expecting conversation, my husband taking over bedtime so I can take a walk alone, a friend remembering the date of the loss, and a community that understands miscarriage—and the loss of a parent—are not things you simply “move on” from. They are losses we learn to carry, often while still showing up for everyone else.
Balance is not a perfectly divided schedule. It is having enough compassion, practical help, and space to honor the mother I miss, the baby I lost, and the little one who reminds me every day that love can coexist with grief.
I love you, Mom and Baby.
Mom, please take care of my baby until we meet again.
