How Stay-at-Home Motherhood Saved Me

When the grief of losing her husband threatened to pull her under, it was the daily tasks of mothering that kept one writer afloat.  

Image courtesy of Ashley Habib

When my husband was alive, I felt confident in my role as a stay-at-home mom. I knew—because he told me regularly—that he valued my work in the home as parallel to his at the office in service of the life we were building together. We were a team, and we worked hard to divide the load equally. But financially, he was the breadwinner, so when he validated my role in the home, I felt seen.  

As Mother’s Day approaches—my third without my husband—I am reflecting on motherhood as a solo parent. How do I want to see myself? How do I want my daughter to see me? One day, when she is struggling with what to write in an overpriced Mother’s Day card, I don’t care if she remembers every little task I did to keep our lives afloat. Rather, I hope she looks back at these years and sees me as both a pillar of strength and a soft place to land. To be the mother I want to be right now means leaning into the invisible work of motherhood, while acknowledging my own value. 

Navigating Sudden Loss as a Stay-at-Home Mom

At the time of my husband’s death, I was settled into life as our daughter’s primary caregiver. We had lived abroad for seven years, during which I was a part-time yoga teacher and breastfeeding educator on the sidelines of family life. Our move back to the US in 2019 was swiftly followed by the pandemic, when my daughter’s care and education became my full-time responsibility once more. Then, just as the world was beginning to open back up and I felt like I was getting a handle on my next entrepreneurial endeavor, my husband was gone. 

We were together for a decade; losing him triggered a massive shift in my identity, which was still reeling from new motherhood (are we ever past being postpartum?) and multiple international moves. To be in such a nebulous stage in my career path at the same time left me feeling even more adrift. During the first year or so, I was purely in survival mode. My to-do list was my tether; handling my husband’s final affairs, helping my daughter adjust to a new school, tending to our mental health, and managing our home became my full-time job. 

My to-do list was my tether; handling my husband’s final affairs, helping my daughter adjust to a new school, tending to our mental health, and managing our home became my full-time job. 

As time has passed, the adrenaline rush of survival has morphed into anxiety about the future. Financial necessity, stability, my own sense of confidence and self-worth, and the desire to be a role model for my daughter are at the top of my mind. Building a career from scratch after years of various gaps and pivots is daunting and adds another layer to the mental and emotional gymnastics of motherhood. 

The Invisible Labor of Parenting While Grieving

Parenting alone while grieving means the work doubles, and the mental load is even heavier. Before, I struggled with whether I was a good enough mother—now I struggle with whether I am a good enough at everything. I am always fearful of what ball I am going to drop next, or which job I am going to half-ass (can you tell I’m a perfectionist?). Caring for our mental and physical health, learning how to cope with acute grief, running our home, staying emotionally attuned to my daughter, keeping track of her academic progress and extracurriculars, being involved at school, caring for our pets, maintaining a social life, managing finances, and nurturing family relationships and cultural ties—this is the playlist on repeat in my head daily, my cognitive and emotional endurance tested to their limits.

The learning curve has been steep. My husband and I spoke different languages—literally and figuratively; now I have to learn the language of things that were typically his responsibility. How do I choose the right health insurance? How do I handle the finances? It reminds me of that scene from the movie The Holiday, when Jude Law’s character explains to Cameron Diaz’s that he is both a mother and a father, a working parent reading cookbooks and parenting books before bed, with his cow in the backyard—and he’s also trying to play it cool and date. He says it helps to compartmentalize his life to keep from feeling overwhelmed, and I completely empathize.

While I appreciate Nancy Meyers’s fairly accurate portrayal of the juggle of widowed parenthood, in reality, grief is less visible in our culture than it has been at other times in history. Years ago, I would have worn black, and it would have been understood that I was in mourning. Public mourning is a language we have collectively forgotten. Toggling between my public and private faces is its own form of code-switching. I smile at school drop off, then go home to pick up the pieces of a broken life behind closed doors. 

I am physically and emotionally exhausted all the time but still wake up to make breakfast.

Needing to pick up the pieces makes the unremitting invisible work of motherhood even more crucial. It isn’t just about conducting the symphony of day-to-day logistics without my husband or putting on a brave face; it’s about doing the deep inner work that is necessary to survive acute grief. I carve out time and space to be vulnerable and feel my own grief, and then set it aside when my daughter needs me to hold the space for hers. I am physically and emotionally exhausted all the time but still wake up to make breakfast. I organize our community and professional help to fill in the blanks when I can’t.

The Mental Load as a Life Raft

Though unsettling, balancing stay-at-home motherhood and starting anew in my career is a privilege that has afforded me flexibility and time. When my daughter wakes up sick in the middle of the night and my cat pukes all over the apartment the next day, I can fully tend to their needs without guilt. When grief is overwhelming, and I need to eat takeout in bed? I can lean into that, too. Despite the countless uncertainties, I am grateful to have had the latitude to grieve my husband and adjust to life without him. 

Trauma robbed me of my sense of agency, my confidence, and my sense of self. Mothering my daughter through the process—and the work it takes both center and backstage—has quite literally kept me alive during my darkest days. It has buoyed me while showing me how capable I am. Motherhood has given me the strength to keep going. Like an anchor, I know I will keep us steady through the waves. I can look in the mirror and be proud that I continue to do the work, in all its forms—for that I will joyfully celebrate myself this Mother’s Day.