Into Motherhood | Becca
Into Motherhood: A monthly photo + poem series inspired by authentic interviews with everyday moms.
Meet Becca
Becca is the type of person who you can tell, pretty much instantly, is meant to be a mother. She wholeheartedly embraces every part of motherhood with intention and love. She says yes to jumping into the lake, yes to cake pops, yes to fun all while setting enough boundaries and providing enough structure to let her kids feel safe and loved. The best part? Becca never makes you feel like you are inferior as a mother or a friend. It is a true gift.
I walked into Becca’s home for this photography session and was greeted by Harrison vrooming cars up and down the floor, walls, and his family. Macey gave me a tour of the house while telling me the name of each of her stuffed animals. Becca beamed at her children. I recognize this smile. I have been photographing Becca’s family for years and am lucky enough to call her my friend.
Which made reading her interview even more heartbreaking and inspiring. Becca experienced pregnancy loss before having Macey and Harrison, and now, for 2.5 years, Becca has been working to conceive a third child, seeking answers through ultrasounds/blood draws/tests/specialists. She has been pregnant five times and lost all five pregnancies. I am continually stunned at her ability to just keep going. To bear the weight of all that loss and also wake up and smile at her family. When asked about it she said:
“Friends. Grief and joy can co-exist. I think it’s okay to allow space for both and understand that both can exist at the same time. Being a mother doesn’t allow you to always stop and grieve because there’s always something that needs tending. However, motherhood has a way of caring for your grieving heart through your kids. My kids have tended to my grief in ways only they could, with innocence and genuine, unfiltered honesty.”
Tell Us
We want to know, in what ways have children helped you cope with grief and loss? Answer in the comments!
Tend to My Grief
How many hopes have I buried
in the space between soil and tangled roots?
Bloom dates written round and flowy in
calendars, now scratched in dirt.
I could choose to live there forever, shut-eyed
under the greenery, holding the ones I've lost.
But my living kids won't let me.
Knee deep in puddles. Shirts full of sand.
Grass in their hair. Stains everywhere.
Clear eyes and clean hearts.
They come to me and tend to my grief
in ways only they could.
They know hunger can be for bread as it is for home.
They demand a home built with room for everyone.
Have you noticed, Momma? my kids ask.
How everything worth admiring
is beautiful but also scary?
The rainbow and storms.
The garden and thorns.
The kitchen table and empty chairs.
The round belly desire and bloody despair. You must take it all,
they say,
to love at all.
I was eager to be called “mama”. but my journey to become a mom started with heartbreak. My first pregnancy ended just shy of 11 weeks.
Eventually, I became mama to my daughter, Macey. I felt this sense of relief. We learned how miraculous a healthy conception is. It was a dream imagined coming to life.
Before kids, I was optimistic and naive. And now as a mother, I still feel optimistic, but much more seasoned. As if sprinkled with more of life’s sobering realities. I think motherhood can reveal both the beautiful and scary parts of life.
Just over a year after Macey was born, I experienced the miracle again. We had our son, Harrison. But after his birth, we had no idea the grief that was coming next.
For the next 2.5 years would be us working to conceive a third child, seeking answers through ultrasounds/blood draws/tests/specialists, and ultimately losing the next five pregnancies back to back to back to back to back.
And this is how I learned grief and joy can co-exist. Being a mother doesn’t allow you to always stop and grieve because there’s always something that needs tending. However, motherhood offers a way of caring for your grieving heart through your kids.
For example, my kids and I are almost always outside finding magic. Knee deep in puddles, shirts full of sand, grass, and dirt in their hair, stains everywhere. And by being with them, my kids have tended to my grief in ways only they could- with innocence and genuine, unfiltered honesty.
Now when I feel like I am in some middle ground, I cope by telling myself to use the word “and” instead of “but”. Such as, I’m experiencing stomach-turning grief, loss after loss after loss, AND (not but!) I have two beautiful, amazing babies I get to hold in my arms.
I wish more people understood how to sit in grief like that. To honor the “and”. To allow space for joy AND grief to co-exist. I don’t think this lesson is unique to being a mother, but that happens to be how I learned it.
I learned it from all my babies.
