I’ve been thinking a lot about mothers lately.

Not because motherhood is difficult—that much we already know.

But because I wonder if we still don’t fully understand how difficult it can be.

What are mothers carrying that we still don’t see?

There is a phrase we hear often now: the mental load.

We speak about remembering appointments, buying groceries, packing lunches, organising birthdays, washing school uniforms and noticing when the milk is running low.

Those things matter.

But I wonder if the mental load of motherhood runs even deeper than that.

Because there is a kind of responsibility that cannot really be handed over.

Even in the most supportive partnerships.

Even when someone else is helping.

A mother is often carrying something invisible that rarely leaves her.

She is constantly scanning.

Is everyone okay?

Who needs me next?

Have I forgotten something?

Will this decision affect them later?

What are they feeling?

What am I missing?

The list changes every hour because children change every hour.

Motherhood isn’t simply a collection of tasks.

It’s an ongoing state of awareness.

A landscape that shifts from one day to the next, requiring a woman to continually adjust, respond and anticipate.

Some days she carries it with joy.

Other days she carries it while exhausted.

While grieving.

While working.

While trying to remember who she was before everyone needed something from her.

And perhaps this is the part we struggle to see.

Not because people don’t care.

But because so much of motherhood happens inside a woman’s mind.

Invisible work rarely receives visible recognition.

Yet it still consumes energy.

It still asks something of her nervous system.

It still shapes the way she moves through the world.

I sometimes wonder what would change if we became more curious about the inner landscape of mothers rather than only the visible outcomes.

Perhaps part of what makes matrescence so profound is that motherhood isn’t simply something we do—it changes the landscape of our inner world.

Instead of asking why she’s overwhelmed, perhaps we could ask what she has been carrying for so long.

Instead of assuming she should cope because this is what mothers do, perhaps we could recognise that constantly holding responsibility for another human being changes something inside you.

Motherhood is beautiful.

It is deeply meaningful.

And it can also be profoundly demanding.

Those truths are not opposites.

They exist together.

Perhaps one of the greatest gifts we could offer mothers is not another piece of advice.

Perhaps it is understanding.

Not because understanding removes the weight.

But because carrying something heavy feels different when someone finally sees that you’re carrying it.

Perhaps that’s where compassion begins.

The post The Weight We Rarely See: The Invisible Mental Load of Motherhood appeared first on Finding Her.

I’ve been thinking about how easily we recognise grief when something tangible is taken away.

The end of a relationship.

The death of a loved one.

A job loss.

A move.

We understand that these experiences come with sadness, longing, and a period of adjustment.

But change often carries grief too.

We just don’t always call it that.

Perhaps because nothing appears to have been lost.

A woman becomes a mother and gains a child, yet grieves the freedom she once had.

Someone leaves a career that no longer fits and feels relieved, while also mourning the identity they spent years building.

A relationship improves after years of difficulty, yet there is grief for the years spent surviving instead of living.

Even growth can bring grief.

Because every becoming requires a letting go.

I wonder if part of the reason we struggle to recognise grief in change is that we have been taught to focus on what is next.

To stay positive.

To be grateful.

To look forward.

And while these things have their place, they can make it difficult to acknowledge what is ending.

Why We Struggle to Acknowledge Grief

Yet grief does not only belong to loss.

It belongs to transition.

It belongs to the spaces between who we were and who we are becoming.

It belongs to dreams that no longer fit.

Roles we have outgrown.

Versions of ourselves that carried us through one season but cannot accompany us into the next.

Many life transitions carry this kind of invisible grief.

A grief that is often mistaken for confusion, uncertainty, or disconnection.

Sometimes what feels like confusion, restlessness, or being stuck is actually grief asking to be acknowledged.

Not because something has gone wrong.

But because something mattered.

The Part We Often Skip

The difficulty is that grief cannot be processed if it remains unnamed.

When we don’t recognise grief, we tend to fight with the symptoms instead.

We try to think our way out of the discomfort.

We push ourselves to move on.

We judge ourselves for not feeling more grateful, more certain, or more excited about what lies ahead.

But grief asks for something different.

It asks to be acknowledged.

To be witnessed.

To be felt.

Not rushed.

Not fixed.

Not explained away.

Just recognised.

There can be a quiet relief in simply saying:

“Of course, I feel unsettled. Something is ending.”

Even if that ending is invisible to everyone else.

Following Grief Through

Martha Beck writes in Finding Your North Star:

“People who follow grief through its whole course emerge stronger and healthier, more able to cope with the inevitable losses that affect every human life. In the end, they become sources of wisdom and compassion for themselves and everyone around them.”

I have always found comfort in that idea.

Not because grief is pleasant.

But because it reminds us that grief is not something to overcome.

It is something to move through.

When we allow ourselves to acknowledge what has been lost, what has changed, or what is ending, we create the possibility for something new to emerge.

Not immediately.

Not neatly.

But naturally.

The irony is that many of us try to avoid grief because we believe it will keep us stuck.

Yet often it is the refusal to acknowledge grief that keeps us stuck.

Grief is not the obstacle to moving forward.

Sometimes it is the path.

An Invitation

If you find yourself in a season of uncertainty, perhaps the question is not:

“Why do I feel so unsettled?”

Perhaps the question is:

“What am I being asked to let go of?”

What dream?

What expectation?

What identity?

What version of yourself?

Because often the path forward begins when we stop trying to return to who we were and make space to honour who we have been.

And perhaps that is what grief is really asking of us.

Not to hold on.

But to honour, release, and make room for what comes next.

Work with me

The post Why Do We Often Recognise Grief in Loss, But Not in Change? appeared first on Finding Her.