Another Mother’s Day has come and gone. A day filled with brunches, flowers, and handmade gifts from little ones. A day of moms with their children, children with their moms. A day filled with love and happiness, right? For many, yes. But for some, it is a day that is dreaded. A day that is etched with grief, a reminder of broken hearts, empty nurseries, and empty arms.
It’s okay to not be okay. I have found that we rush through grief, that we try to pull ourselves together and press our feelings down deep so we don’t have to feel anything. But let me say it again – It’s okay to not be okay.
So I write this…
- To the mom whose belly is empty but her heart is growing while navigating through the rough waters of adoption
- To the mom whose pregnancy ended abruptly through miscarriage
- To the mom who delivered her precious baby and immediately had to say goodbye
- To the mom who is not able to hold her child or children for other reasons
- To the daughter who lost her mother
I write this to simply say — I grieve with you. I stand with you. I cry with you.
All because I have been there before, watching my dreams of motherhood continue to slip through my fingers like grains of sand. And there are no words to speak that will lessen that pain. But may I offer to you that each day there are small measures of hope that will start to glue the brokenness of your heart back. It may be in the hug from a friend, a walk on the beach, a gentle touch from your partner.
I’ve had days spent secretly crying my tears as quickly as possible, wiping them away, and putting a game face on to get through the day. The energy it took to fake my way through those days were exhausting.
But then the next day came. A new day. A new day where small glimmers of hope appeared. Sometimes I didn’t want to see those glimmers. And that was okay. It’s okay to not be okay. But when I wanted to see them, it was like breathing in fresh air after feeling like I had been drowning. And that air — that glimmer — was so very beautiful.
I find so much healing by the ocean. I would often grab my journal and coffee and run to the beach. And just sit. I felt the air in each breathe and the sounds of the waves flooded my heart. And in those moments, whether brief or long, there were small pieces of my soul that started to heal.
Friend, we all grieve differently. Whatever YOU choose to do, I pray that it brings healing. I pray glimmers of hope fill your days. Catch them. Grab onto them.
This hope — these glimmers — don’t take the pain away completely. Because in the places of our hearts where loss has taken up residence, the love that grew there is even greater still — and that love will never dissipate. But hope…it reminds us that someday, in some small moment, we can once again notice the brightness of each day.
But until then…it’s okay to not be okay. And I stand here silently with my arm around you.