Mothering myself while grieving my mother

My mom died eight years ago.

Usually, I feel the effects of grief after the anniversary, but this year, I experienced a long, slow intensification of sadness. Like the tide rising, the waves are getting choppy, leaving me scared and panicked. I don't like this feeling – sadness. When it shows up, I know it is time to reflect and identify what is going on, or in this case, what is missing.

If I were not so uncomfortable in this wave of grief, I might not have noticed that I had stopped talking to my mom. I used to journal as though she were the one reading the words. I used to go on walks and talk to her directly. I used to say her name and tell her stories. At least more often than not. Recently? Those things are not in my day-to-day. From nurturing my marriage, parenting a toddler, working a full-time job, managing a household, and exploring hobbies, I've not made space for my grief and my ongoing relationship with my mother. I didn't notice until I was thrust into the depths of sadness this month. A level of emotion I have not experienced toward Mom in years, maybe not since the year of firsts.

Moving Bravely is one way I keep that connection alive. I stopped living in the space of Moving Bravely in 2022 after 3 years of sharing my story daily. She was always part of that with me, even if she was not explicitly mentioned. It was our project together. She was the inspiration and the mirror. Losing her granted me an opportunity to be brave in how I would move through my life. Her death cracked me open and stripped me bare. I didn't know how to go on. I started living in the most basic and essential ways. I got up. I got dressed. I brushed my teeth. I went to work. I moved my body. I ate. I slept. I thought about Mom. That was on repeat for months before I reintegrated myself into my slice of the world.

When I got pregnant, I experienced what I would categorize as the most distinctive shift in my life and my identity since she died. Sure, I was not married when she died, but she met my husband and understood that was our relationship's trajectory. I changed jobs after she died, but I am so comfortable in my professional identity that it didn't feel like she didn't know me. But, becoming a mother? That was a huge change. Looking back now, just over two years postpartum, I realize that I was unsure of my becoming and felt more and more distant from my mom than ever.

I'm spending time today reintroducing myself to her. Not in some sweeping, grand gesture, but in the slow pace of this day. Turning my thoughts towards her, starting the conversation again. Not all of it is life-changing and eloquent. In fact, most of it is just everyday thoughts, and that's the point.

Sharing life with the ones we have lost doesn't need to be grand or extraordinary. I find the most comfort and warmth in reflecting on my day and just thinking, "Mom, you would love this," or "Mom, this made me think of you in the moment." I haven't been actively bringing her into my life, and the weight of her absence is heavy—a weight I no longer can bear. I must be brave enough to start bringing her back in, through gentle checkpoints and nightly reflections, carving out space and time to give her a nod, even to say her name. In this practice of Moving Bravely in this season, I am challenged to see myself from a mother's perspective, one I seek and crave in my matrescence journey. Imagining what my mother might say to me has been one of the most healing and supportive personal practices I do. It increases my empathy toward myself and quiets the nagging voice that tells me I'm not doing enough or in the right way. Her voice cuts through that noise, soothing my mind and spirit, helping me take a deep breath, reset, and keep going.

To give myself the grace and to nurture myself as a mother would is how I am Moving Bravely today.