Early Motherhood
“He was so small when he was born, my oldest. Just six pounds, seven ounces—a tiny, perfect piece of heaven. In the nine months I carried him, he had become inseparable from me, as if he were a part of my own body. The moment he was born and rushed away for medical care, it felt as though they had taken a piece of me. A piece I didn’t realize I had grown to need so desperately. When he was with me, I felt whole. Complete. Everything I had ever been meant to be. When he wasn’t—when medical needs kept him away—there was an aching emptiness I couldn’t fill.
It would be just over a year later that his dad and I would divorce. My first thought was fear—that he might never see his child again. He had chosen divorce, and I felt I shouldn’t have to spend even a second away from my son more than absolutely necessary. But then, one night, a painful clarity came to me. I realized that keeping him away from his father was not what was best for my child. I didn’t sleep that night. By morning, my tears had run dry. I understood then that I was about to miss not just moments, but entire years of my son’s life. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Navigating Life After Divorce
I wanted to witness everything: his first steps, not just his first word, but every single new word he learned. I wanted to cuddle him every night and watch him sleep peacefully. He’s been to Disneyland three times, none of those trips with me as I had always imagined. The vision I had carried of what being a mother meant had shifted drastically, and I had no control over it. Sharing a child is one of the most complicated, heart-wrenching experiences. The realization that by the time they turn eighteen, there will be years you’ve missed—through no choice of your own—is a truth that shakes you to your core.
Looking back at my twenty-one-year-old self, lying in that hospital bed, I wish I could have whispered some advice: Never take a single moment of that first year for granted. Be patient when he cries, even when it’s exhausting. Stay up a little longer just to watch him sleep. I wish I could have hugged her tightly, knowing that the emptiness she felt during those early separations would become a recurring reality.
Remarriage
It’s been six years since my divorce. Since then, I have been blessed with a beautiful, loving family. My husband is beyond anyone I could have imagined sharing my life with. Together, we have two children—beautiful, challenging, and perfectly imperfect—who have added so much richness to my life. We hike, explore, and adventure together. We capture family moments often, photographing every stage of this chaotic, wonderful life. We laugh, we play, we cuddle, we have movie nights and storytimes. We are happy in ways I never thought possible.
Even so, we carefully plan around the time our oldest will be with his dad, but inevitably, there are moments he misses. This is the hardest part. There’s a guilt that creeps in when we enjoy something I know he would love, and he isn’t there to experience it. It sometimes feels as though I’m “cheating” on him with my happiness, as if I should wait to savor joyous moments until he is present.
Yet, I also understand that my other children deserve all of me. They deserve a happy mother, fully present and loving, who cherishes every moment, who is patient when they cry, who stays awake just a little longer to watch them sleep. They cannot become victims of circumstances beyond their control. Recently, we scheduled family photos, only to discover last-minute that our oldest would be with his dad. I felt devastated.
For a moment, I considered canceling. I told my husband, “We just won’t take ‘a family picture’ because our whole family isn’t here.” I thought about taking photos without him, but everything felt incomplete. After a long back-and-forth with myself, I realized this was still my family. Even with an empty space, what we had was still beautiful.
Co-Parenting Journey
The holidays are a special time of year—filled with family, snow, festive food, and cherished traditions. I adore the magic: sledding, snowmen, gingerbread houses, Christmas movies, and hot chocolate. Yet, there are moments that pierce the heart—standing by the tree on Christmas morning, watching my children beam with excitement, and knowing that one is missing. I notice the empty chair at Thanksgiving, the extra gifts waiting under the tree for him. These reminders of absence are part of the reality of sharing a child.
But here’s the beauty in it: your love for your child surpasses the heartache. Your love drives you to watch them leave, week after week, and to smile through the pain, telling them, “I’ll see you soon.” Your love motivates you to let them have a relationship with both parents, even when it’s hard. It inspires endless calls, often unanswered. It pushes you to reach into the empty space, knowing sometimes there will be no hand to hold yours. All of this stems from the pure, unconditional love you feel for the child you brought into the world.
It never fully becomes “easy,” but over time it gets easier. You grow stronger. Loving enough to let go, sometimes, is not a weakness—it is the truest, bravest form of love a parent can give. Never forget that.”
