“I never understood why when I was hurt, I only wanted you.

Now I do, you’re the safest place I’ve ever known.” - Jessica Urlichs

I saw this photo on Facebook and it was like I’d been hit by a bus – totally blindsided.

“Ooof, that hits heavy and hard," I thought, as tears welled in my eyes, and my heart sped up. I looked at it again and stared. I cried for a few minutes, my breathing became irregular and a little gaspy as I noticed the pain in my chest and heart. Have you ever experienced this?

After the initial shock and intense surge of grief had subsided, I read and sent the accompanying article to my husband and a couple friends who I know love me and would acknowledge my pain, see me, and not feel the need to say much more than, ‘I love you.’ Then, after a few more tears, I decided to write about it. This is a super vulnerable topic and not something I have done before - to have an audience, that blends personal and professional. But you know what? We are all human. None of us are immune from difficulties in our lives and, at times, emotional overwhelm, grief, and loss. I used to think that sharing this kind of information about myself might sacrifice my integrity as a therapist. But now I think it’s quite the opposite, really. The human condition (and sometimes the suffering that goes alongside it) is universal. What I have been through, how I feel, what I think, and how I cope… is unequivocally relatable. It makes me more empathetic and more capable of sitting with someone in their own pain and suffering, whether that be friends, family, or clients.

For those who don’t know, my mom died of cancer in January 2020 after being diagnosed just a short 18 months prior. It was already stage 4 when she was diagnosed, and we were absolutely devastated. We held on to hope that it could be contained. She fought hard and was so positive along the way. I am sure she was terrified, but she put on a brave front for her loved ones. I tried to be brave as well, but those were some of the scariest and sickening months of my life… aside from when she actually passed away. I got pregnant a few months after her diagnosis and constantly worried if she’d ever get to meet my firstborn. Fast forward several months later, and I was fortunate enough that my mom did meet my son. Despite some stress along the way (another story for another blog), I have beautiful memories etched into my mind and heart. Visuals of my son and my mom smiling at one another (she was the first person he smiled at), pictures of her holding him and them cuddling together, videos of her voice and her laugh. I am so beyond grateful for these times. Sadly, my mom would never get the chance to meet any other children of mine. My son was 10 months old when she died.

When I recently became a new mother again, this time to my daughter, I no longer had the pleasure of seeing those incredible interactions between my mom and the new baby. I longed for the simple comfort of my mom loving on me and taking care of me in one of the most multifaceted changes to life as we know it. I knew this was coming. I knew what I was getting myself into when we decided to expand our family. But wow, you can never fully prepare yourself for what you go through in life sometimes.

This time, I became a mother, without my own.

How has that been? Well… different, and in some ways, the same. Expected and unexpected. Grief-ridden and joyous. So many both-and’s. It’s a lot some days. And some days, I am more carefree and lighthearted than I think I have ever been (at least in the last few years). It’s strange, really.

On a side note, about motherhood… The way I see it is: You don’t just ‘become’ a mother once; you do it again and again, within the same relationship of a single child and in new relationships as you have more children. We are constantly learning, growing, changing, and ‘becoming’ who we are at any given time. I know that sounds a bit odd and perhaps a little philosophical, but really think about it; our identity is an ever-evolving entity! And as it relates to identity and the concept of constantly becoming who we are… Language and how we describe our experiences is complex and always at play. It directly impacts how we make sense of ourselves and our lives and can sometimes elicit overpowering emotions. I think the language in the following line found in the description of that image and article that stands out the most, and hits the hardest, is:

I never understood why when I was hurt, I only wanted you. Now I do, you’re the safest place I’ve ever known.

Phew – every time I read it, I feel it so genuinely. I think that is one of the most difficult parts about losing a mom. She, quite literally, is the safest person you have ever known and, oftentimes, the only person you want when you are hurting.

Am I hurting in motherhood? Well, yes, in some ways, I very much am. Let me preface this: I am 10 weeks postpartum; the physical recovery and the hormones are wild enough as it is; add grief in there, and it’s a whole other ball game. As I navigate my second born - this time a daughter - our relationship and bond, the sleep deprivation, the loneliness, and occasional worrying, the crankiness, the love, peace, and contentment, the act of caregiving, the depletion, I often lean into the desire for someone to care for ME. Most accurately – I have a deep longing for my mom…

Some days, I desperately want my mother to mother me, as I mother my child.

That all said, am I also experiencing intense joy and pride? YES! Sometimes remarkably so. And that can also trigger grief in its own way. Thoughts that sound like: “I wish she was here to experience this with me,”; “I wish I could witness their bond,” or “I wish she could see me now.” Some could classify my current circumstances as being motherless. For some people, that word and sentiment is harsh or untrue. It depends on a person’s feelings and beliefs. I like to think that I am not motherless, but instead, I have a mother who has passed on, and I live out her legacy every day. She also left her mark on numerous others in an abundance of ways.

I acknowledge that not everyone is privileged enough to have such a close relationship with their mother, or parent/caregiver, and one’s grief may be complicated with other layers of ‘stuff.’

I think what I am experiencing has profoundly changed who I am. I mean, having children does that and losing loved ones does that. Academically, while training to become a psychologist, I was taught that I did not have to go through exactly what another person did to empathize and support them. And while I think that still can be true, I have also lived the other side of it and believe that my loss has actually made me a better therapist. I also think it has made me a better person; the loss of my mom has changed the very fabric of my being, in mostly good ways, albeit not without devastation throughout the journey. Don’t they say that it is with the greatest hardship that comes the greatest growth?

I’ve enjoyed sharing some of my thoughts and feelings; it has been healing for me today. I also encourage anyone grieving a loved one to consider writing about it in some capacity as I have done here. And please don’t underestimate the power of therapy; it has certainly been a game changer for me. Last but not least... If you are a new mom (to one or more children) and don’t have your mom to turn to for comfort, support, guidance, and care… know that you are not alone. You can click HERE or call 587-333-6349 to connect💙

References 

Image: McIntyre, M. (2021, March). Molly McIntyre on Instagram: “Yesterday I didn’t get much sleep and was thinking back on how I felt when my older son was first born.” Instagram. https://www.instagram.com/p/CMZo1v7Dkev/ 

Words: Jessica Urlichs. (2022, August 20). Dear Mum, I Understand Now. https://www.jessicaurlichs.com/post/dear-mum 

Facebook Post that inspired the Blog: BabyCentre . (2023, September 9). I need my mama. Facebook. https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=700995778735187&set=pb.100064743126602.-2207520000&type=3