They tell us motherhood will be the happiest time of our lives. And in many moments, it is—the sweet weight of your baby curled against your chest, the sudden giggle that makes you laugh too, the rush of love so fierce it takes your breath away.
But in the quiet hours, or sometimes in the middle of the day, a heaviness creeps in. A sadness you can’t quite name. Grief.
Grief for your body, for your freedom, for the closeness you once had with your partner. Grief for the parts of yourself that feel out of reach. And if you grew up with Childhood Emotional Neglect (CEN), this grief can feel even more bewildering. You may hear the voice you learned long ago: “Stop complaining. Be grateful. Don’t feel so much.”
But grief in motherhood is not a sign of weakness or ingratitude. It’s the shadow side of love. To love deeply is to grieve what has been lost along the way.
Grief for the Body That Changed
You notice it when you step out of the shower and catch yourself in the mirror. The softness around your belly that wasn’t there before. The scar or the stretch marks. The heaviness in your breasts. The ache in your back that still hasn’t gone away. Even if you feel strong, your body doesn’t feel fully yours anymore—it belongs to a child who needs, who feeds, who clings.
For mothers with CEN, this can be especially raw. If no one ever taught you to speak kindly to your body, it’s easy to slip into judgment. To feel shame. To wish you could hide. What hurts most is not only the body that has changed, but the absence of loving words you never heard: “You are beautiful. You are enough.”
Journaling prompt:
When I look at my body now, what feelings rise first—shame, pride, sadness, gratitude, longing? Where do those feelings come from: the present moment, my past, or voices I internalized long ago? What would change if I spoke to my body as if it were a dear friend who has carried me through storms?
Grief for Lost Freedom
Before, you could step outside whenever you wanted. Stay up late, sleep in, change plans last minute. Now even a simple walk depends on naps, snacks, weather, tantrums. Your pace is no longer your own—you move at the speed of a toddler stopping to pick up every rock. You can’t leave the house without packing half of it into a bag. And if you’re breastfeeding, even your body is not fully yours to claim.
If you grew up with CEN, the loss of freedom can reopen an old wound. Maybe you already knew what it was like to have no space for yourself, to always bend around others’ needs. Motherhood can make that ache flare again: Will I ever belong fully to myself?
Journaling prompt:
What freedoms do I miss most—and why? Which were about spontaneity, which about independence, and which about feeling fully myself? If I imagine reclaiming even one thread of that freedom, what would it look like, and what stops me from reaching for it now?
Grief for Constant Hypervigilance
Even when your baby finally sleeps, your body doesn’t. Your ears stay tuned for the cry. Your eyes flick toward the monitor. Your chest tightens when the house grows too quiet. Later, it shifts to scanning playgrounds for danger, counting heads at the park, standing half-alert at night for the sound of little feet by your bed. The nervous system never truly rests.
For many with CEN, this feels hauntingly familiar. Perhaps you already grew up watching for slammed doors, sudden silences, moods that changed without warning. Motherhood then feels less like a new chapter and more like a continuation: hypervigilance written into your body, only now amplified by love.
Journaling prompt:
What does my body feel like when it is on high alert—tight chest, shallow breath, restless scanning? When did I first learn to live this way? If I could show my nervous system what safety feels like—through breath, touch, sound, or memory—what would I choose?
Grief for Lost Alone Time
Your mind longs for a quiet room, a steaming cup of tea, a few uninterrupted minutes to think, breathe, or just exist. But the house is never silent. Toys litter the floor, a child calls your name, the to-do list waits, and even a shower feels like a luxury. Reflection, relaxation, and the simple pleasure of being alone are swallowed by the constant demands of caregiving.
For those with CEN, this grief can cut deep. Perhaps you never had space to explore your own thoughts or emotions as a child. Now, motherhood magnifies the absence—you feel a persistent ache for a solitude that once might have healed you.
Journaling prompt:
What moments of silence or solitude do I remember longing for as a child, and which do I long for now? How does my body and mind respond when I finally carve even a few minutes for myself? What small rituals could honor that need today?
Grief for Partnership and Intimacy
You remember when dates were spontaneous, conversations deep, and closeness came naturally. Now, intimacy is squeezed between diaper changes, laundry, and bedtime routines. You may crave touch, laughter, or simply uninterrupted conversation with your partner—but exhaustion and schedules leave little room.
For mothers with CEN, this grief often carries an extra layer of intensity. If you grew up without witnessing secure, responsive love, you may struggle to expect or ask for connection. The distance can feel familiar—and lonely.
Journaling prompt:
What do I most miss about intimacy with my partner—laughter, touch, being fully seen? How do these needs echo what I missed in childhood, and how might noticing them change the way I connect with both my partner and myself?
Grief for Lost Friendships
Friendship can change in motherhood. Those spontaneous coffees, late-night talks, shared adventures—they fade or shift. Some connections drift away, while new ones appear, but often they don’t replace what’s lost. You may grieve the version of yourself who could go out without planning half a day in advance or who could be fully present in adult spaces without interruption.
CEN can intensify this grief. If your emotional needs were ignored as a child, losing supportive peers now may reopen old wounds of invisibility and isolation. Friendships once effortless can feel complicated or even impossible.
Journaling prompt:
Which friendships do I miss most, and what about them nourished me? How have my connections changed since becoming a mother, and what do I most need from friendships now to feel seen and supported?
Grief for the Care You Never Received
You cradle your child and realize that everything you do—soothing, feeding, listening—echoes the care you longed for yourself. The lullabies you sing, the gentle hands you place on a fevered forehead, the words of encouragement you offer—these are things you may have silently wished for as a child but rarely received.
For mothers with CEN, this grief can be profound. It isn’t just about exhaustion; it’s about the ache of doing for someone else what was missing for you. You may feel the tension between pride in your efforts and a deep, haunting sadness: Why didn’t anyone do this for me?
Journaling prompt:
When I care for my child, what emotions rise—pride, grief, longing, love? How do these feelings connect to the care I missed as a child, and what small ways can I offer that same kindness to myself today?
Grief of Responsibility (“This is my only chance to get it right”)
Every decision feels monumental. Every reaction, every word, every discipline choice carries the weight of breaking—or repeating—patterns from the past. The pressure is relentless: This is my one chance. I must get it right.
If you grew up with CEN, this grief may carry extra intensity. Without early emotional validation, you may struggle to trust your instincts or forgive your mistakes. The sense of responsibility becomes heavy, almost unbearable. It’s not only about your child—it’s about proving to yourself that you can finally do what was never done for you.
Journaling prompt:
Which expectations do I place on myself that feel heaviest right now? Where do these expectations come from, and how might my child’s love allow me to release some of the weight without letting go of care or attention?
Grief for Other Possible Lives
You sometimes catch yourself daydreaming about the paths not taken—the careers you might have pursued, the places you could have traveled, the partners you didn’t choose. The life you imagined for yourself, before diapers, sleepless nights, and endless responsibility, now feels distant.
For mothers with CEN, this grief can be tinged with guilt or self-judgment. The “what ifs” may awaken the same feelings of invisibility or shame you experienced as a child: Did I choose wrong? Am I failing at life? But grief here is natural—it is the mourning of roads not traveled and the recognition that your current life, while rich and meaningful, came with losses.
Journaling prompt:
Which “what if” life do I find myself missing the most, and what qualities of that life can I carry into my present? How does imagining it honor my longing without diminishing the life I am living now?
Grief for Joy Itself
You watch a sunny morning through a window, a toddler’s laughter ringing across the room, and yet your heart feels heavy. Moments that “should” be joyful—first steps, birthday parties, quiet afternoons—can feel muted, shadowed by exhaustion, worry, or longing for what’s lost. Joy becomes slippery, almost unreachable.
For mothers with CEN, this grief is especially complex. If your feelings were once ignored or dismissed, you may struggle to fully inhabit happiness. You may find yourself apologizing inwardly for moments of delight, as if pleasure were selfish or fleeting. And yet, this grief is part of your capacity to feel deeply. It signals that joy matters—it has weight because love is present.
Journaling prompt:
When I notice a fleeting moment of joy, what else arises—guilt, sadness, wonder? What does this mixture tell me about what I value, and how might I allow myself to sit fully in these moments, even if they are tinged with grief?
Grief for the Grief
Sometimes, the hardest grief of all is the grief about grieving. Feeling sorrow feels wrong. Feeling sorrow feels endless. Feeling sorrow brings shame: Why can’t I just be happy? Why am I so tired of this?
For mothers with CEN, this grief is intimately familiar. You may have learned that your emotions are too much, or that your pain doesn’t matter. Now, the inner critic returns, whispering that your grief is inappropriate, excessive, or inconvenient. And yet, acknowledging this grief is a form of courage—it is an invitation to finally meet your own emotional landscape with gentleness.
Journaling prompt:
What do I notice about my relationship with grief itself? Where do I resist it, and where might I allow it to speak? How could sitting with this grief teach me something about my needs, my boundaries, or my capacity for self-compassion?
Pathways Toward Healing
Motherhood is both a tender and demanding journey. The griefs we’ve explored are real, layered, and sometimes overwhelming. Healing does not mean erasing them or “fixing” ourselves—it means learning to sit with them, honor them, and gradually bring ourselves back to presence, safety, and self-compassion.
These pathways are designed to help you reconnect with your body, your mind, and your heart, and to integrate grief into a meaningful, grounded experience of motherhood.
1. Name and Legitimize the Grief
The first step toward healing is giving your grief a voice. Saying it out loud or writing it down can help you separate what belongs to you from what you’ve internalized from expectations, guilt, or shame. For gentle guidance, see the free journaling workbook at the end of this article.
Therapeutic practice:
- Take a few minutes each day to name the grief you feel in that moment.
- Speak to yourself as you would a close friend: “I see you. I hear you. This is heavy, and it matters.”
- Recognize that grief is a natural response to love and loss—it is valid and necessary.
2. Care for Your Nervous System
Many of these griefs live in the body as tension, fatigue, or hyper-alertness. Soothing the nervous system is essential. This is not indulgence—it is healing through safety and regulation.
Therapeutic practice:
- Micro-pauses: take 30–60 seconds between tasks to feel your feet on the ground, breathe slowly, notice sensations.
- Gentle movement: stretching, yoga, or slow walking helps release tension. Learn more about Restorative Yoga for Deep Healing: How to Use Stillness to Rewire Your Nervous System
- Rest cues: soft music, warmth, or mindful touch can signal safety to your nervous system.
3. Allow Mixed Feelings
Grief and joy can coexist. You do not have to feel one perfectly to honor the other. Allowing complex emotions creates space for authenticity.
Therapeutic practice:
- Observe feelings without judgment: name them, describe them, and notice how they interact.
- Reflect on paradoxes: “I love my child deeply, and I feel frustrated or exhausted.”
- Practice curiosity: ask yourself what each emotion wants to teach you about your needs and boundaries.
4. Practice Reparenting Yourself
Reparenting is a core practice for mothers with CEN. It involves offering the care, safety, and validation you didn’t receive as a child—while parenting your own child.
Therapeutic practice:
- Gentle self-talk: “It’s okay to feel this. I am learning how to care for myself.”
- Small nurturing gestures: wrapping yourself in a blanket, preparing a comforting meal, or speaking kindly to your reflection.
- Internal dialogue: imagine your inner child sitting beside you—what would they need, and how can you give it?
5. Seek Micro-Moments of Repair
Healing doesn’t have to be monumental. Small, intentional moments can restore connection, safety, and presence.
Therapeutic practice:
- Daily touchpoints: a brief hug with your partner, eye contact with your child, noticing a moment of calm.
- Reflection breaks: journaling for 5–10 minutes about one grief or one joy each day. See the free workbook below for ideas.
- Gratitude-infused pauses: naming something that felt nourishing, safe, or comforting—even briefly—anchors you in the present.
Invitation to Reflect and Heal & Free Workbook
Motherhood awakens grief in many forms, from the body that has changed to the friendships that have shifted, from lost freedom to the heavy weight of responsibility. Each grief is real, valid, and intimately tied to the love you feel for your child—and to the wounds you may carry from your own childhood.
Acknowledging these griefs is not a sign of weakness—it is an act of courage. It is the first step in creating space for compassion, healing, and presence in your daily life.
To support you further in this journey, I’ve created a Free Journaling Workbook: Exploring the Many Faces of Maternal Grief. Inside, you’ll find three exploratory prompts for each of the 11 griefs, designed to help you:
- Sit with your emotions and discover what lies beneath them
- Notice patterns shaped by both motherhood and past experiences
- Begin offering yourself the care, compassion, and validation you deserve
Book Recommendation
For those seeking further guidance in navigating grief, I deeply recommend The Wild Edge of Sorrow by Francis Weller. It shows how grief is not something to be fixed or overcome but a vital part of being fully alive. It explores the many layers of grief and offers ways to honor them through ritual, community, and presence. For mothers carrying the invisible griefs of body, freedom, and identity, this book offers profound validation and a gentle path toward wholeness.
If you’d like to read it in paperback and support my work at no extra cost, I’d be so grateful if you use this link. I choose Bookshop because each purchase also supports independent bookstores.
Final Words
Healing is not linear, and grief is not something to “fix.” It is part of love, part of growth, and part of presence. By noticing your grief, exploring it thoughtfully, and offering yourself compassion, you create a bridge from pain to wholeness—not only for yourself, but for your child and your relationships.
Every step you take, even small moments of reflection or self-kindness, is a reclaiming of your life, your body, and your emotional depth. You are not alone, and your grief is worthy of attention, care, and gentle exploration.
Explore Further:
The Hidden Cost of Breastfeeding: What Every Mother Wishes You Knew + Printable Snack Ideas
Motherhood as a Journey of Growth: Embracing the Transition from Maiden to Mother
The Grief Beneath the Anger: How Restlessness, Somatic Healing, and Nature Lead Us Home (+free PDF)
The Unexpected Challenges of Motherhood: A Dark Night of the Soul
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