112: Why It Makes Sense That You've Lost Your Purpose
There’s a moment that no one talks about after you lose your baby.
It’s not just the moment you leave the hospital with empty arms. Or the moment when everyone else goes back to their normal lives and you’re still stuck in the before.
It’s that moment—days or weeks or even months later—when you look in the mirror and realize you don’t even recognize the person staring back at you.
Because you didn’t just lose your baby.
You lost the version of yourself who was going to mother them.
You lost the future you were dreaming about.
You lost the purpose that gave shape to your days.
And now, everything feels blurry and heavy and hollow.
And if you're sitting in that space right now—wondering why you feel so lost—I want to tell you something that no one ever told me:
It makes perfect sense.
Why Feeling Lost Is a Normal Part of Grief
When my twin girls were stillborn at 32 weeks, I thought I could just “get back” to who I was before. I tried to be the same mom, the same wife, the same friend. I filled my days with busy things—sewing, redecorating, building a business—anything to drown out the grief.
But deep down, I knew something wasn’t right.
Because it wasn’t just that my babies were gone.
It was that I was gone—the version of me who was so sure of what her life was going to look like.
And I didn’t know how to find my way back. Because the truth is, there isn’t a way back. Not really.
There’s only forward. And forward looks different now.
When Purpose Disappears
So many of the moms I work with tell me the same thing in different words:
“I don’t care about anything anymore.”
“Everything that used to matter just… doesn’t.”
“I don’t even know what lights me up anymore.”
It’s not a lack of motivation. It’s not laziness. It’s grief.
When your baby died, your whole life shifted. And the identity you were stepping into—whether it was your first baby or your fifth—got torn away too.
So if nothing feels meaningful right now… that’s not a sign you’re broken. It’s a sign you’re becoming.
What Purpose Can Look Like (Spoiler: It’s Not Always Big or Public)
You don’t have to start a foundation.
You don’t have to write a book, or become a coach, or make your story public.
Purpose doesn’t have to be loud. It can be quiet. Small. Personal.
It might look like:
Creating a shelf in your home to honor your baby
Sending a card to another mom who’s grieving
Taking care of your body—not because you want to, but because it once held your baby
Saying your baby’s name out loud when no one else does
Just. Keep. Going.
Yes, purpose can be found in helping others or creating something new. But it can also be found in simply choosing to keep breathing, to keep living, to keep loving—even when it’s hard.
Gentle Questions to Ask Yourself When You’re Ready
You don’t need the answers today.
But if you’re open to a little reflection, try asking yourself these gentle questions:
What makes me feel the tiniest bit more like me?
Who do I feel safe around?
When do I feel most connected to my baby?
What used to light me up—and does any of that still feel good?
Is there something I’ve been curious about, even just a little?
What would a single moment of comfort look like today?
Sometimes just asking the question—without needing to solve it—can open a tiny door.
A Story to Hold Onto
One of my clients, Rachel, was a middle school counselor before she lost her baby. After her loss, she couldn’t imagine going back. She said, “I don’t care about it anymore. I don’t even know who I am.”
So we didn’t start with her job.
We started with her body.
With rituals.
With letting go of guilt.
With learning to speak gently to herself.
And months later, she told me she was going to speak on a grief panel for educators.
Not because she wanted to change careers.
But because it felt like something that mattered.
That’s purpose.
It doesn’t have to be forever.
It just has to be right for right now.
You’re Not Failing. You’re Becoming.
If you feel like you’re walking around in a fog, going through the motions, trying to busy your way out of the pain… I see you.
You’re not failing at life.
You’re becoming someone new.
Someone who carries unimaginable love.
Someone who survived the unthinkable.
Someone who will find her spark again, even if it’s dim right now.
You don’t have to have it all figured out.
You just have to keep going.
Want Support As You Rebuild?
If this resonated, I’d love to invite you into the Always Loved Club—a gentle, supportive space for moms navigating life after stillbirth.
We talk about purpose.
We talk about grief.
We talk about everything no one else understands.
And you’re always welcome there.
