139: Parenting After Stillbirth: When You're Grieving One Baby and Raising Another

There is a very specific kind of tired that comes with parenting after stillbirth. It's not the new-baby tired you've heard about. It's not the "I worked a long week" tired. It's the kind of tired that sits in your bones the moment you open your eyes, before your feet have even touched the floor.

If you came home from the hospital without your baby and walked into a house with other children who still needed their mom, you know exactly what I mean. And almost nobody talks about it.

So today, I want to.

The Tired That Has Nothing to Do With Sleep

When you're parenting after stillbirth, your body is doing two of the hardest jobs in the world at the same time, in the same body, with the same nervous system. You are grieving, which on its own would be a full-time job. And you are mothering little humans who do not pause for grief.

Imagine for a moment that someone said to you, You don't have to do anything for the next year except grieve. You would still be exhausted. Grief is that heavy. Now add a toddler who still needs his diaper changed. A kindergartner who needs help finding her shoes. A baby who wants to be held while you can barely hold yourself up. There is no version of this that isn't depleting.

These two jobs do not take turns. They don't say to each other, You take the morning, I'll take the afternoon. They both want you at the same time, pulling in completely different directions. Your grief is tugging at your brain while your toddler is tugging at your leg, and there is no instruction manual for any of it.

So if you are walking around feeling like your phone battery has been in the red since the moment you woke up, that's because it has been. You are not weak. You are not failing. You are carrying more than most people will ever have to carry in a lifetime, and you are doing it while pouring cereal and packing lunches.

The Moment in the Kitchen That Cracked Me Open

I remember a morning in those early weeks where my five-year-old was standing in front of me in his little Batman pajamas, talking. He was a talker. I had no idea what he was saying. None. The lights were on, but nobody was home.

It wasn't that I didn't love him. It wasn't that I didn't want to answer. There was just nothing left.

If you have had a moment like that, I want you to hear this. That moment was not a sign that you are damaging your children. It was a sign that you are a real person living through something almost impossible to live through.

Mothers who don't care don't run out of fuel. They don't notice they're running out. The fact that you noticed, the fact that you felt the gap between the mother you wanted to be in that moment and the mother you could be, is evidence of how deeply you love them.

The Second Job Hiding Inside the First Job

The exhaustion of parenting after stillbirth isn't just from the actual mothering. It's from the relentless commentary running in the background while you're doing it.

You read a bedtime story and your mouth says the words while your brain whispers, You're not really here. They know. You're a bad mom. You snap at one of them because tired people snap, and then you spend two days replaying it, convinced you have permanently damaged them.

That second job, the constant grading of yourself, is the one that really takes you down. It runs every meal, every bath, every bedtime. You are failing yourself in your own head over and over, while your hands are still doing the work of mothering.

I spent so many nights certain that my boys would grow up to remember that mom was sad that year. That they would carry it with them. That I was breaking something in them I would never be able to fix.

Years later, I can tell you what they actually remember. Not much. They remember being little. They remember the funny stuff. They remember our routines, our family, the feeling of being loved.

What kids remember is the overall feeling. And the overall feeling, for them, was that their mom loved them. She showed up. She had hard days, and she came back. She said sorry when she needed to. She tucked them in. They were safe.

Your kids are going to be okay. More than okay. They have a mom who is doing one of the hardest things a person can do, and is still showing up for them. That is not damaging them. That is teaching them something they will carry with them for the rest of their lives. They are watching you survive something terrible and still be their mother. That is a gift, even when it doesn't feel like one.

The Story Was the Problem, Not the Moment

I had a stretch in those early weeks where my two-year-old wanted to be held constantly. He was always in my lap, always on my back, always close. I loved him so much. I was also physically healing, and I could only hold him for so long before I had to put him down.

He would cry. And the story in my head would go straight to the worst place.

I was supposed to have twins. If they were here, I would be holding two babies right now. And here I am setting down the one child I have because I can't handle him. I don't even appreciate the kids I have. I am a horrible mother.

That story was eating me alive. Not the act of putting him down. The story I built around it.

Here is what I want you to know if you are doing this to yourself. The damage is never in the moment you snap, or the moment you have nothing left, or the moment you have to set them down. The damage is in the story you build afterward. And the story is almost always a lie.

You are not the worst version of yourself on your worst day. You are a tired mother doing your best inside something nobody prepared you for.

A Practice for When the Guilt Starts Running

The next time you snap at one of your kids, try not to spiral. Take a breath, and say to yourself, I just had a hard moment. I'm tired. That's not who I am. That's just where I am right now. And then move on.

When the guilt really starts talking, picture your best friend sitting across from you saying the exact words you are saying to yourself. What would you say back to her? Say that to yourself. You deserve that voice too.

And lower the bar. All the way to the floor. Right now, the assignment is not Pinterest-worthy meals or matching outfits or perfectly executed bedtime routines. The assignment is this: did you feed them, did you hug them, did they feel loved today. If the answer is yes, you did it. Everything else can wait.

Your Baby Is in This With You

The baby you lost is one of your children. They are part of this family. You don't have to do anything extraordinary to keep them with you. They are already with you, woven into the way you love the children who are here. Every kiss, every story, every bedtime, your baby is in it.

You are mothering all of them at once. And you have enough love in you for every single one. That is not something you have to earn or prove. That is just who you are now.

You are a good mom on a hard day. And it counts.

If the guilt we talked about today is something you're carrying right now, I made a free workshop just for this. It's called Practical Ways to Release Guilt and Navigate Grief After Baby Loss, and it's built specifically for moms like you. No one will ask you to move on. No one will ask you to leave your baby behind. Just real, doable tools you can actually use this week.

You can register at navigatingbabyloss.com/workshop whenever you feel ready. There's no pressure, just a soft place to land if you want it.

Until then, keep being the mother you already are. To the children with you, and to the ones who aren't.