Parenting Two Daughters Without a Mother: The Reality of Grief from a Perinatal Trauma Therapist’s Experience

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By: Sarah Donovan, LCPC, PMH-C | September 23, 2025

For the past six years, I’ve stepped away from social media for at least one month a year. That month is almost always September—the month my mom died. The purpose is to grieve.

In the weeks before her passing, I was torn in every direction: Should I stay by her side? Care for my toddler? Keep working? Make space for friends? Take care of myself? The questions felt endless and impossible.

Two weeks before she died, I was in the hospital overnight with my daughter during an asthma flare-up. My mom had always come to support me during these emergencies. But this time, she was dying—and I knew I was about to step into motherhood without my mother. That realization landed like a brick.

I remember saying to her: “I can’t do this without you.” And in that moment, I truly believed it.

At the time, my daughter was only 18 months old. I was working full-time to keep her in daycare, and taking clients on weekends in private practice. I threw myself into work and distraction, often ignoring my own body and dissociating from the reality of my grief.

Looking back, here are some of the ways grief showed up for me—and what I now know were survival strategies:

• Avoiding holidays, especially Mother’s Day, Christmas, and Thanksgiving (though over time I’ve reclaimed them in ways that honor my mom and create new traditions).

• Unable to look at photos of my mom for years without a visceral reaction—heart racing, tears flooding.

• Dissociating and pushing forward until I hit full burnout (a story I’ll share another day).

  
  

That pause, though brutal, forced me to ask myself hard but clarifying questions:

• What do I want my life to look like as a woman, mother, and therapist—versus what was modeled for me?

• What truly matters to me?

• Where is my energy best spent?

• How do I want to raise my daughters in today’s world?

It took years to realize that my grief—and my mom—were guiding me through those questions, expanding me instead of only making life harder. Those painful reflections eventually led me to found Tilted Root, specialize deeply in perinatal mental health, trauma and EMDR, and embrace and normalize recovery from burnout as a woman, mother, sister, and friend.

If I could talk to the younger version of myself, I’d tell her: you’re allowed to be deeply sad, and time really will help—even if it doesn’t feel believable right now.

What Helped Me in My Grief

• Writing it down. When my daughter started preschool, my first instinct was to call my mom. Instead, I opened a notes app and began jotting down all the little things I wished I could tell her. Over time, this space became a release valve for the ache—a way to “speak” to her when I couldn’t pick up the phone.

• Therapy & female support. My grief needed a web of support. Therapy, medication, acupuncture, chiropractic care—and yes, even my hairstylist and esthetician—became lifelines. Their consistent presence gave me perspective, compassion, and safe containers when I felt like I was unraveling.

• Music & comedy. A dear college friend made playlists that still live in my head and heart. Feminist comedy, silly trends, and even trashy reality TV gave me moments of levity when I needed to remember I could still laugh.

• Finding mothers everywhere. I leaned on my sister, my mother-in-law, friends’ moms scattered across the country, neighbors, and even the women at my nail salon who always ask about my kids. Slowly—and sometimes painfully—I learned to open myself to maternal energy in all its forms. Allowing those relationships in softened the sharp edges of grief.

  
  

Keeping her memory alive. In the early years, I couldn’t even look at her photos without breaking down. Eventually, I began hanging them on my walls, weaving her into my social media, and talking about her with my daughters. Their wisdom often surprises me—like when my oldest declared, matter-of-factly, “Ganny- her name for my mom -  lives in the moon.” Those reminders ground me and keep her close.

What I’ve Learned

• Grief isn’t just about loss—it can also expand you.

• Joy and sorrow can coexist, and sometimes that’s when healing happens.

• The longing never disappears—but her values, love, and spirit keep showing up as guideposts in my life and work.

• My job is to stay curious, present, and open—to keep listening for how she shows up.

  
  

Key Takeaways

• Mothering without a mother is an invisible grief. It doesn’t go away—it reshapes you.

• Community matters. Like-minded women are not a luxury—they are essential to surviving and thriving.

• Grief is not linear. It can look like tears, numbness, humor, avoidance, or deep clarity. All of it is valid.

• Healing takes time—and compassion especially for your past grieving self. What feels unbearable in the early years may soften, shift, and even expand your life in unexpected ways.

• Support networks save us. Whether through therapy, friendships, extended family, or professionals, we need others to help hold the weight of loss.

• It’s okay to redefine traditions. Reclaiming holidays, rituals, and family stories in ways that honor both loss and new beginnings is part of healing.

• Your grief is allowed to be witnessed. Sharing our stories—whether through writing, therapy, or community—is itself an act of survival and connection.

  
  

💡 For my fellow women navigating grief, motherhood, and burnout: You’re not alone. These experiences often weave together, and they matter. Tilted Root exists because of that truth.

If this resonates with you, I’d be honored to hold space for your story. You can learn about Tilted Root’s offerings here: https://www.tiltedroot.com/services