Grief shows up in many ways. We usually think of grief as something we feel for what we've physically lost. But what about grieving something that never happened?
What about grieving what could have been, or what we expected would be?
I didn't realize I was carrying this grief until a friend pointed it out to me:
"You are grieving all that didn't happen."
Wow. I took that in and let myself feel it. The feeling was real, and it brought sadness and tears.
There is a name for this: grieving the "expected child." It is the grief we feel for the child and the future we imagined, even as we deeply love the child in front of us. It doesn't mean we love our child any less. It means we are letting go of a picture we held for a long time.
It shows up when I least expect it, like hearing friends share about their kids at college. The loss is real. I feel it in my chest, and I lose focus.
Acknowledging this grief has been huge for me. It comes and goes. When it shows up, I now know what it is, and I give it space. I don't try to talk myself out of it.
And alongside the grief, I hold something else too: the wonderful things that did happen. I have learned to trust myself. My child and I have shared intense moments of connection and bonded over our shared journey. Some of these gifts may never have come if we had walked a more familiar path. Both are true. The grief and the gratitude can sit side by side.
This experience is beautifully captured in Emily Perl Kingsley's essay Welcome to Holland. It was read aloud to me during a course, and it brought tears and an overwhelming feeling of being seen.
If you're carrying this kind of grief, I hope you, too, feel seen, and know you are not alone.
What milestone are you quietly grieving? Give it a name, and give it some space.
If you'd like support along the way, visit my resource page or reach out to schedule a conversation.