How Motherhood Transforms Us: Reflections on Love, Loss, and the Mothers We Become

Four days had passed since we’d seen each other, yet it seemed like a month. Then, I heard a child’s delighted cry—“Gigi!” My grandson ran into my arms, almost knocking me over. I cherish it as one of the many times that mother- and gigi-love has left me reeling with joy.

Anyone who has held a child—whether for the first time or the thousandth—knows that something irreversible happens in that moment. The world rearranges itself. A new center of gravity forms.

That child’s dependence reveals depths of character and will we didn’t know we were capable of—patience, fierceness, and the willingness to rise in the night again and again without applause or acknowledgment. And joy—moments of shared communion too deep for words, that we wish would last forever.

Our First Yes

I will never forget that first gaze into each of my newborns’ eyes—seeing, outside of myself, a tiny being who had lived within me for so long. And yet, how paradoxical it is to know that precious little one more fully at the very moment when we became two rather than one. When I met my babies’ gaze, my whole being responded with an instinctive Yes, whatever it takes, I will do it for you.

Living out that yes has meant a lifetime of love and growth—and if I’m honest, sometimes suffering. Though I firmly believe that no one gets out of this life without suffering, the mother-child bond flavors it with a special poignancy.

I didn’t have words for this for a long time. Then I came across this sentence by Richard Rohr: “Great love and great suffering are the two universal ways of transformation.”

His line struck me because it’s true, even though it’s hard to hear. When we walk through the dark times of our lives, we hold onto light with every ounce of our strength. When we pass through valleys, we send our roots on a deep search for wisdom and love. The hard moments make us grow—especially with our children and grandchildren.

Alongside the moments of joy with our offspring, difficult seasons create the “great love” that Rohr describes. As real as the ground under our feet, these times shape the way we walk and the paths we choose. In some mysterious way, they re-form us.

And motherhood, like all deep love, carries its share of suffering.

Where Love Breaks Open

In Songs in the Night, Book Three of my Dauntless Series, Annie Anthony walked one of the most difficult paths a mother can face: the loss of her children.

Writing those scenes required me to draw on my own griefs over motherhood—even though, thank God, both my children are with me today. Those griefs kept me up at night, driving me to reach for the light and send my roots deep. In the end, they transformed me.

But Annie’s losses made me ask, What remains when a mother loses the ones she loves most?

From mothers who’ve shared their losses with me, I’m learning that not everything of their beloved child disappears. Love doesn’t vanish simply because we can no longer hold our loved one in the same way. If we allow suffering to foster transformation, it changes and deepens us over time.

In Annie’s case, that love led her to protect and strengthen children and women. Her losses shaped her into a woman who kept loving, kept giving, and held onto the light even as she sent her roots deep.

Remembering the Day

Mother’s Day can feel complicated. Some celebrate. For others, it’s a reminder of what’s gone or may never be. For many, it’s both.

But loving our children—whether they live near or far, thrive or struggle, remain present or live in memory—has already done its work in us. It’s made us who we are. And that’s worth remembering.

The Slow Work of Transformation

I believe Rohr is right. Great love and great suffering are both pathways of transformation, changing us gradually and imperceptibly over time.

And when we respond this way to great suffering—no matter where our children are or what they’re doing—our mother-love is never wasted. Even now, it shapes us into who we’re meant to be.

Do you enjoy historical fiction?

Want to read about Annie Anthony’s transformation? In the Dauntless series, I write about Anna Osborn Anthony, who married suffragist Susan B. Anthony’s brother, Daniel.

You can start for free with an encounter she had at age thirteen that set her on her path of supporting both abolitionist and suffragist causes in Songbird in the Marsh.