Before I had my daughter, I had a whole vision.
I was going to be the calm mother.
The patient one.
The one who never raised her voice, who responded to every tantrum with grace and a soft tone.
I was going to have a beautiful morning routine, organic snacks ready,
affirmations on the wall, and a home that felt like a sanctuary.
I had Pinterest boards.
I had a whole aesthetic.
I had a version of myself that I was absolutely certain I would become the moment I held my baby for the first time.
And then real motherhood arrived.
And that woman I had imagined? She didn’t show up.
Mama, if you’ve ever felt the ache of grieving motherhood and the mother you imagined you’d be, this letter is for you.
The Mother in the Vision Was Perfect (And She Was Never Real)
Here’s the thing nobody tells you about the mom you imagined: she was built in the absence of exhaustion.
She was imagined before the sleepless nights, before the emotional labor, before the mental load that never fully lifts.
She was created by a woman who didn’t yet know what it actually felt like
to be needed by another human being every single minute of every single day.
“That imagined mother never had a bad day.
She was never touched out, never overstimulated, never standing in the kitchen at 6 PM
completely empty, trying to figure out dinner while someone pulls on her shirt.”
She wasn’t a vision of who you could be. She was a fantasy built on the idea that love alone would be enough to sustain you. And love is powerful, Mama. But love doesn’t prevent burnout.
The Moment the Grief Arrived
For me, it was an ordinary Tuesday.
My daughter was having a hard morning, and I lost my patience in a way I’m not proud of.
Nothing dramatic.
Just a raised voice, a sharp tone, a moment where I was not the mother I wanted to be.
And afterward, when she had calmed down and I held her close, I felt it.
This quiet, heavy sadness that had nothing to do with the argument.
It was grief. Real grief. For the version of myself I had promised I would be.
For the mother on the Pinterest board who handled everything with softness and calm.
I cried in a way that surprised me.
Because I wasn’t just crying about that morning.
I was crying for all the mornings I hadn’t been her.
That is grieving motherhood in its rawest form. And it is okay.
What Nobody Says About Grieving Motherhood
This kind of grief is complicated because from the outside, everything looks fine.
You have a healthy child.
You show up every day.
You love fiercely and consistently.
But inside, there’s this running comparison between the mother you imagined and the mother you actually are.
And that gap, however small, can feel enormous when you’re already tired.
For Black mothers specifically, this grief carries extra weight.
Because we didn’t just have personal expectations for ourselves.
We carried the weight of cultural expectations, family expectations,
and the silent pressure to do everything with strength and grace, no matter what.
“The mother we imagined had figured all of that out.
The mother we actually are is figuring it out in real time, on the floor, in the mess, with everyone watching.”
Grieving Her Is Not Betraying Her
I want to say something important:
allowing yourself to grieve the mom you thought you’d be is not the same as giving up on being a good mother.
It’s actually the opposite.
The grief means you care.
It means you hold yourself to something.
It means you haven’t stopped dreaming about who you want to be for your children.
That instinct, that longing to be better and softer and more present, it’s one of the most loving things about you.
But grief needs to be moved through, not carried forever.
Because if you hold onto that image of the perfect mother too tightly,
she stops being an inspiration and becomes a weapon you use against yourself.
Every moment you fall short becomes evidence that you’re failing.
Every hard day becomes proof that you’re not enough.
And Mama, that is a story you cannot afford to keep telling yourself.
The Mother You Actually Are
Let me tell you about her. The real one. The one who showed up today.
- She is the woman who apologizes to her child when she gets it wrong, modeling accountability in a way the perfect imagined mother never had to.
- She is the woman who keeps showing up on the hard days, not because it’s easy, but because love is a choice she makes over and over again.
- She is the woman who is doing this largely without a manual, often without enough support, sometimes without enough sleep, and she is still here.
She is imperfect and she is real and she is exactly what her children need.
Grieving motherhood doesn’t mean you’ve failed her. It means you love her enough to keep trying.
Grieving Motherhood Gently: Letting Her Go
At some point, we have to say goodbye to the mother we thought we’d be.
Not in defeat. Not in shame.
But with the same tenderness we would offer a friend.
She served a purpose.
She gave us something to reach for before we understood what reaching would actually cost.
She carried our hope for the kind of mother we wanted to be, and that hope is still valid, even if the image needs updating.
“You are not the mother you imagined.
You are something better: you are the mother your child actually has.
The one who showed up.
The one who tried.
The one who loved even on the days love felt impossible.”
Let her go, Mama. And step fully into the woman you already are. ♡
If you’re also carrying the weight of Black mom guilt, you might find comfort in this open letter I wrote for you.