When Grief Sneaks in the Back Door of Motherhood

I had a client session last night, and by the end of it, I referred them to another therapist. I just knew I wasn’t the right fit.

Whenever I refer someone out, I always feel a sense of guilt—like I’m letting them down. Usually, that guilt fades after a day, replaced by peace in knowing I did the right thing. But this time, something lingered. It wasn’t just guilt. It felt heavier. Sadder.

After sitting with it for a while, I realized what I was feeling was grief—not over the client, but over the parts of myself I don’t access as often anymore. The version of me who could hold space for others outside of my family. The therapist in me is still there, but my head and heart are so full right now—with kids, with never ending cleaning, and meals on the table.

I stay home with my kids, and that’s a choice I made with intention. I wanted to be there for the milestones and the early years of my children. One of the reasons I became a therapist in the first place was because I knew private practice could give me flexibility during these early years. And for a while, it did.

Before my second child, I could see a few clients without having to get childcare and still have energy left over. I would use nap times for sessions, and it gave me a burst of energy. Now, the thought of working sometimes makes me feel overwhelmed. And that realization—that I simply can’t do what I used to—hit me hard. It felt like I was grieving my own capacity.

And as the grief response came, along came comparison. I started looking at other moms—those who somehow run work part time/full time jobs, and still seem to run the household and have home-cooked meals on the table every night. Why couldn’t I be like that?

My husband listened and reminded me. “If you want to work more, we’ll find a nanny,” he said. But we both know what we value most right now: being present with our kids.

Still, the fears crept in.
What if I lose my skills?
Will I be out of place in a few years when I want to go back to work in a agency—even if I’ve kept one foot in with occasional sessions?

That’s when I started reframing. (My attempt to use my own skills on myself)

This is a season. A season where I’m needed at home. A season that is exhausting, beautiful, and irreplaceable. A season that won’t last forever.

I started listing all the things I am doing:

• Teaching my kids about nutrition

• Practicing healthy communication

• Modeling self-regulation

• Supporting language development for my toddler

• Managing big emotions (theirs... and mine)

These aren’t lost skills—they’re redirected ones.

Someone once asked me what I did for work, and I said, “I’m home with my kids.”
They smiled and replied, “So… you’re a CEO?”
I laughed, and was grateful for the validation I needed when I felt like a diminished stay at home mom.

Now I like to say, “I run a nonprofit.” That line usually gets a laugh, but also—it’s kind of true.

Right now, my life looks like library trips and story times, scooter rides, family walks, nap times and lots of park time. A full-time caseload isn't on the horizon, but these small, sacred moments are. And they matter.

That full-time therapist version of me? She’s not gone. She’s evolving. And maybe she’ll come back in a new way—or maybe she won’t. Either way, my skills, my value, my self—they’re not lost. They’re just showing up differently right now.

And that’s more than okay.