Grief, Motherhood & the Sacred Pause

The other night, I was up again—rocking my baby girl back to sleep. It wasn’t a particularly hard night, just one of those quiet ones when the world slows down and your thoughts get louder.

Out of nowhere, a memory of my stepdad surfaced.

He passed away just a few days before my daughter was born. It was an incredibly difficult time for me. He had been such a strong parenting figure in my life, and losing him while I was preparing to step into motherhood shook me deeply. I allowed myself a few days to feel the heaviness, to grieve, to cry. But soon after, I tucked it all away—because I had to focus on birthing my baby, on entering a new chapter that required all of me.

Since his passing, every time a thought of him crept in, I gently pushed it aside. The pain was still too raw, and my life was too full. I had a new soul to care for. I didn’t have the space to break down.

But something shifted the other night. The memory came again, and this time, I chose not to turn away.

I let it in.

I let myself feel the ache I hadn’t been ready to face before. And in that soft, still moment, I realized that my grief wasn’t just about losing him—it was also about losing a part of myself. The maiden I once was. The identity I had carried up until that threshold moment of becoming a mother.

I saw clearly that no amount of preparation—no podcast, meditation, book, or practice—can truly prepare you for death in any of its forms. Whether it’s the death of a loved one, the death of who you used to be, or the quiet death of old stories and identities... death is change at its most profound. And it’s never easy.

I had known his departure was coming for years. Just like I had nine months to prepare for becoming a mother. But when these transformations arrive, they still shake us. They still ask more of us than we expected.

That night, something opened inside me—a small but sacred space for grief. I allowed myself to sit in that portal, to honor the pain, even if only for a moment. It didn’t take me down, and it didn’t last forever. But it reminded me that healing happens in layers. That it’s okay to pause, to put things on hold, and to come back to them when we’re ready.

I’m sharing this with you today because maybe you’ve been there too. Maybe you’ve had to shelve your grief or your healing because life demanded something else of you. And I want you to know: That’s okay.

It’s okay if you didn’t have the bandwidth. It’s okay to take a break from “doing the work.” Because the truth is, if deep healing is part of your soul’s path in this lifetime, the work will keep unfolding whether you’re consciously engaging with it or not.

You can’t rush healing. You can’t force readiness.

One day, the door opens. The moment arrives. And you meet your grief, your truth, your transformation—not with overwhelm, but with a quiet strength you didn’t know you had.

So wherever you are right now—in joy, in pain, in resistance, or in peace—I hope you’re offering yourself grace.