When Motherhood Does Not Come the Way You Imagined

Scripture:

“The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart.” — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV)

There are some losses that do not come with a funeral.

No obituary.

No gathering of people bringing food.

Sometimes there is only a woman sitting quietly with the knowledge that the child she hoped to hold will not be in her arms.

I know something about that grief.

I had several miscarriages.

Even now, I can remember what it felt like to hope, to imagine, to wonder who that little person might become—and then to have that hope disappear.

Pregnancy loss can be difficult to explain because sometimes the rest of the world moves on much faster than your heart does.

People may not know what to say.

Some say nothing.

Others try to make you feel better.

“At least you can try again.”

“Everything happens for a reason.”

“Maybe it just was not meant to be.”

Usually people mean well.

But sometimes what a grieving woman needs most is not an explanation.

She needs permission to grieve.

Because you are not only grieving a pregnancy.

You may be grieving the baby you imagined holding.

The name you were considering.

The birthday you calculated.

The little face you wondered about.

The child you had already begun making room for in your heart.

And for some women, the grief becomes even deeper when they realize that biological motherhood may never happen.

That can hurt.

Deeply.

Especially in a world where women are frequently asked:

“When are you going to have a baby?”

“Do you have children?”

“Are you going to try for another one?”

Sometimes people do not realize how much history can be sitting behind a very simple question.

Mother’s Day can hurt.

Pregnancy announcements can hurt.

Baby showers can be both joyful and painful.

You can genuinely celebrate someone else while quietly grieving something you wanted for yourself.

Those feelings can exist in the same heart.

But something else I have learned is that motherhood does not always arrive the way we imagined it would.

For some women, it comes through pregnancy.

For some, through adoption.

For some, fostering.

For others, it may look like helping raise a niece, nephew or grandchild.

Sometimes it is mentoring a young woman who needs someone steady in her life.

Sometimes it is becoming the woman a child calls when she needs advice, prayer, encouragement—or simply a safe place to land.

And sometimes a woman may never have a child of her own at all.

Her life is not therefore empty.

Her womanhood is not incomplete.

And her capacity to nurture, teach, protect, encourage and love is not determined by whether her body was able to give birth.

For me, adoption became part of my story.

But adoption did not erase my miscarriages.

Becoming a mother another way did not mean those babies never mattered.

That distinction is important.

Gratitude does not cancel grief.

And grief does not mean you are ungrateful for the life you have now.

I can be profoundly grateful for the daughter God placed in my life and still acknowledge that there were children I once hoped to carry and raise.

Both are part of my story.

Maybe they are part of yours too.

I wonder how many women we sit beside at church, work with, laugh with, or pass in the grocery store who have quietly carried this kind of grief.

Women who have smiled through baby showers.

Women who have answered uncomfortable questions graciously.

Women who have stood in a Mother’s Day service wondering whether there was a place for them.

Women who have wondered whether something important about being a woman passed them by.

If that is you, I hope you hear this:

Your ability to pour life into someone is bigger than your ability to give birth to someone.

You can pour courage into a child.

You can make someone feel safe.

You can teach.

You can nurture.

You can advocate.

You can listen.

You can show up.

You can love.

And none of that requires us to pretend that the loss did not hurt.

There is room for both.

There is room to say:

I wanted that baby.

I grieved that baby.

I wish my story had been different.

And there is also room to ask:

God, what can love look like through me now?

Not as a replacement.

Not as a way of pretending the loss never happened.

But as another chapter.

Sometimes motherhood comes through the body.

Sometimes it comes through adoption.

Sometimes it comes through an open front door, an extra chair at the table, a phone call from a young person who trusts you, or years of faithfully showing up in someone’s life.

And sometimes the most mothering thing a woman can do is simply become a safe place for another human being.

The path may not look anything like the one you pictured when you were younger.

Mine did not.

But I am learning that a life can hold grief and gratitude, loss and love, what might have been and what God is doing now.

One does not have to erase the other.

Maybe today is simply a MOMENT to remember the women whose motherhood stories came with tears.

And to remind them:

You are seen.
Your losses mattered.
Your love matters.
And your story is still a story worth honoring.

Just wondering…who has mothered, nurtured, guided or poured into your life in a way you will never forget?

Every MOMENT Matters.

Love,
Monica
MOMENTMOMS.org

🌺 You Are Seen, Known, and Loved

Scripture

“Since thou wast precious in my sight, thou hast been honourable, and I have loved thee.”
— Isaiah 43:4, KJV

The Reflection

There is a kind of loneliness that is difficult to explain.

You can be surrounded by people and still feel unseen. You can love deeply and wonder why that love so rarely seems to find its way back to you. You can show up for everyone else while quietly wondering, “Who will show up for me?”

Sometimes that loneliness is tied to loss.

People you thought would be part of your story for years to come are no longer here. A parent. A sibling. A spouse. A friend. Someone whose voice you would give almost anything to hear one more time.

There are empty chairs and familiar dates that do not feel the same anymore. There are moments when you instinctively think, I need to call them, and then remember that you cannot.

And sometimes we grieve more than people.

We grieve the life we thought we would have.

Maybe you imagined marriage and it did not happen, or it did not look the way you expected. Maybe you wanted children and that was not your story. Maybe you pictured a close family, lifelong friendships, a certain career, financial security, or simply having people around you who would love you as thoughtfully as you have loved them.

There are losses we announce.

And there are losses we quietly carry.

Yet somehow, you have continued to give.

You remember birthdays. You check on people. You encourage. You pray. You make the phone call. You notice when someone is struggling. You give your time, your resources, and your heart, sometimes when you could use some of that care yourself.

And when that love is not returned, it can make you question yourself.

Maybe I am too different.

Maybe I do not fit.

Maybe there is something about me people do not understand.

Maybe I will always be the one on the outside looking in.

But today, I want you to pause long enough to hear something that may be difficult to believe when you are hurting:

You are not invisible.

Your value is not determined by how many people recognize it.

Your worth does not rise and fall according to who calls, who remembers, who reciprocates, or who chooses you.

Your life is not less meaningful because it looks different from someone else's.

And you are not incomplete because something you deeply wanted is missing from your story.

You are not God's forgotten daughter.

You are His beloved daughter.

Isaiah 43:4 does not say you are precious because of what you accomplish, how much you give, whether you are married, whether you have children, or whether everybody understands you.

God says:

You are precious in My sight.

There may be people who failed to see you clearly.

There may be people who received your generosity without understanding the heart behind it.

There may even be people whose rejection left you wondering what was wrong with you.

But someone else's inability to recognize your value does not erase your value.

You can be misunderstood and still be deeply loved.

You can be overlooked by people and completely seen by God.

You can grieve what you have lost without believing that your life has lost its purpose.

And perhaps there comes a point when we have to stop asking only,

“Why don't they choose me?”

and begin asking,

“God, how are You teaching me to receive Your love and live fully in the life You have given me?”

You do not have to spend your life proving that you deserve a place at someone else's table.

There is already a place for you at God's.

You are allowed to receive.

You are allowed to need people.

You are allowed to desire friendship and companionship.

You are allowed to acknowledge when a relationship hurts.

You are allowed to recognize when you have been giving from a place that has become empty.

Your generosity is beautiful.

But generosity should not require you to disappear.

God cares about the woman behind the giving.

The woman behind the smile.

The woman behind the strength.

The woman who encourages everybody else and sometimes goes home wishing someone would encourage her.

He sees her.

He sees you.

And He has not forgotten you.

Your story is not over.

There are still moments of joy you have not experienced.

There are still people you have not met.

There are still prayers you have not prayed.

There are still places where your presence will matter.

There are still ways God can use your life to bring comfort, wisdom, compassion, laughter, encouragement, and love into this world.

So do not allow what is missing to become the only thing you see.

Look again.

Your life is still here.

Your heart is still capable of loving.

Your voice still has something to say.

Your presence still matters.

And God is still writing.

You are seen.

You are known.

You are remembered.

You are precious.

You are loved.

Your MOMENT of Truth

What others fail to recognize about me does not determine my worth.

I do not have to be understood by everyone to be valuable.

I do not have to be chosen by everyone to be worthy of love.

I do not have to have the life I imagined to have a meaningful life.

Some losses cannot be replaced.

Some questions may never be completely answered.

But I can still live.

I can still love.

I can still laugh.

I can still hope.

I can still receive.

And I can trust that God sees the whole story, even the chapters no one else understands.

I am not forgotten.

My MOMENT Affirmation

I am seen.

I am known.

I am loved.

I am not incomplete because my life looks different from someone else's.

My losses do not define me.

My relationship status does not define me.

Whether or not I have children does not define me.

Other people's rejection does not define me.

My generosity is a gift, but I am worthy of receiving too.

I do not have to earn my place.

I belong.

I matter.

God has not forgotten me.

There is still purpose in my life, beauty in my story, and room for joy in my future.

My MOMENT Prayer

Dear Heavenly Father,

You know me completely.

You know the parts of my story I rarely talk about. You know the people I miss, the dreams I have grieved, the questions I still carry, and the places in my heart that sometimes feel empty.

You know how often I have given to others while quietly wishing someone would give back to me. You know the times I have felt misunderstood, overlooked, unchosen, or invisible.

Today, Lord, help me see myself through Your eyes.

Remind me that I am precious.

Remind me that I am loved.

Remind me that my life has meaning even when it looks different from what I once imagined.

Heal the places where rejection has caused me to question my worth and the places where grief has made me afraid to hope again.

Help me release the belief that I must constantly give in order to deserve love. Teach me how to receive love, care, friendship, and kindness without feeling that I first have to earn them.

Place people in my life who see me, value me, and love me well. Give me wisdom in my relationships and courage to create healthy boundaries where they are needed.

When loneliness becomes heavy, remind me that I am not alone.

When I miss the people I have lost, hold my heart gently.

When I feel forgotten, remind me that You remember me.

When I feel like the odd one out, remind me that I belong to You.

And when I cannot see what comes next, help me trust that my story is not finished.

Thank You for loving me, not because of what I do, what I give, or what I have accomplished, but because I am Yours.

Help me believe it.

Help me receive it.

Help me live from it.

I am seen. I am known. I am loved.

In Jesus' name, Amen.

Take This MOMENT With You

Before you move on with your day, take a few minutes to sit with what came up for you while reading. You do not have to answer every question. Start with the one that speaks most directly to where you are today.

1. Where in my life have I been feeling unseen, overlooked, or misunderstood?

2. What am I still grieving, whether it is a person, relationship, dream, or life I thought I would have?

3. What do I freely give to others that I need to allow myself to receive too?

4. If I truly believed that I am precious, known, and loved by God, what might change about the way I see myself or live my life?

Finish this sentence:

I am not forgotten because ____________________________________.

A Final MOMENT

Be still for a moment.

Take a slow breath and remind yourself:

I am not invisible.
I am not forgotten.
I am not incomplete.
I am not alone.
I am God's beloved daughter.
And my story is not over.

You do not have to force yourself to feel every word immediately. Just allow yourself to receive them.

You are seen. You are known. You are loved.

Pause. Pray. Receive. Remember.

❤️ Every MOMENT Matters.

Monica Lynne Wilkins
MOMENT Moms™
MOMENTMoms.org