What if you can’t just call your mum?



You’ve probably noticed that I don’t like writing about my mum all that much, because I’ve only written about her once. Something about the topic that seems too special and too important to overshare.

So when I was asked to guest blog by the gorgeous Ellyn over at Mummalifelovebaby about what being a Motherless Mother is all about, I was a little reluctant at first. But once I sat down it all just came out. And I could not be more proud of this post.

This is my life. And although I know others are doing it a lot tougher than I am, reflecting on those dark moments where all I want to do is call my mum, I realise that I am a lot stronger than I think. Those doubts of whether I’m doing this #MamaLife thing right, all disappear.

Not only will I appreciate your respect and open mind as you read through this post, I’d also love for you to give Ellyn some love by giving her page a like/follow on Fb and over at Instagram. She has some other really amazing stories on her website (some hers, and some from other mamas), so do yourself a favour and grab a coffee…

The only way our words can reach other mums, who by some miracle might find us inspiring, is by working together in this way (heck, some might call this a collaboration!) so help us support mums, by supporting us.

So here it is, my guest blog post “Life as a Motherless Mum” for Mumma Life Love Baby.


What if you can’t just call your mum?

Imagine this scenario. You’ve just dropped off your 5 year old at kinder, and you’re on the way to have an internal ultrasound because you haven’t stopped bleeding 10 weeks after having a baby via c section and ‘google’ tells you that you might have cervical cancer. Your 10 week old baby boy also needs an ultrasound because the midwife told you he might have hip dysplasia. Both appointments are back to back and at the exact time of his second bottle for the day. You lie back while getting your ultrasound, and use one hand to feed your boy his bottle while he’s in the pram and the other to wipe away the uncontrollable tears. Tears of fear and pain. Tears of all sorts of emotions. Tears of anxiety and panic. Tears of loneliness.

What do you do? You’d call your mum?

What if your mums not around? What if she passed away a few years back? What if she passed away from cancer that started in her uterus then spread to her lungs? What if you can’t just pick up the phone and call your mum to ask her for help or tell her you’re shit scared that you may too have cancer or that your boy might have bad hips? What if you can’t just have her hold your hand and tell you that everything will be ok?

This happened to me last year. It was just one of thousands of times that all I wanted was my mum. But she’s gone. And so I’m a motherless mother. I’m one of those.

I don’t have my biggest fan. My number one supporter. I don’t have her guidance or her encouragement. I can’t ask her for advice. I can’t ask her for help. I can’t ask her to watch the kids while I shower, or clean the house, or cook dinner, or make a batch of homemade baby food. I can’t ask her to tell me everything will be ok.

I’m reminded every day that she’s not around. When I’m at Coles and see a young mum with her mum, helping settle the kids in the trolley as she shops. When I’m at the doctor and a grandmother is reading to her grandson as the mum stares blankly at the wall, probably trying to contain her worry. I’m reminded when I’m at a wedding and the mum is having a glass of wine whole her mum is watching the kids. I’m reminded when a fellow mum tells me she’s so exhausted and overwhelmed and so lucky that her mum came by to clean her house and then take the kids to the park so she can have a nap. I’m reminded when I look at childcare costs along with school costs and try to weigh up whether going back to work is financially viable.

Sure, it’s not my mum’s job to raise my kids. I wanted kids, so they’re my responsibility. I want to be a hands on, present mum, and I am. But there are times when only my mum can get me out of the spiralling overwhelming feeling of failure.

She left a huge hole. A hole in my heart and in my life. My world will forever be darker and lonelier. It will forever be harder. It will forever be a little less warm

I get up each day smiling because my two boys along with my husband fill my heart with love. With hope and with laughter. I trust in our goals, in our plans, in our values. I trust in the way we parent, and the way I mother. I’m proud of the woman, wife and mama I am. I’m proud of my boys and the good people they are.

But every second of every day, I miss her. I want her. I need her. I long for her voice. For her laugh. For her hug. I want my boys to have her in their lives. I want her to be the grandmother she always patiently waited to be. It’s not fair. But that’s my life. I’m a motherless mother and although she’s not here to tell me, I know I’m making her proud. Because I trust in the person she taught me to be.

Kat x

My Raw Self


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