Grief Taught Me I Can’t Do It All—And That’s the Gift

Grief isn’t a bad thing. I used to think it was. I used to believe it was something to move past, something to shake off so I could go back to who I was before. But now I know—grief isn’t an enemy. It isn’t a failure. It isn’t even something to be "fixed."

It is a teacher.

Grief has stripped away my ability to do everything at once, but in return, it has given me the clarity to dive into what matters most in the moment. It has forced me to slow down, to sift through the noise, to choose where I pour my love

Because if I’ve learned anything, it’s this: I can’t be everything for everyone at once.

And that’s not a loss—it’s a lesson.

When I’m a Good Friend, I Struggle to Be a Good Mom

There are moments when my heart is called to my friendships. When I sit in deep conversations, when I remember a birthday, when I send a text just to say, I’m thinking of you. I’ve learned that showing up for my people is a privilege, a way to say, You are important to me, and I want you to know it.

But if I spend all of myself in that space, I have less left for my children. The patience that friendship requires is the same patience my children need from me. And so, some days, I choose them instead. I let go of the pressure to be constantly available to others because, in that moment, I am needed most at home.

It’s not about failing in one area to succeed in another—it’s about knowing where my heart belongs today.

When I’m a Good Mom, My Work Slows Down

Motherhood is a place where time both drags and vanishes. I can lose hours sitting on the floor with my children, wrapped up in their world of wonder. It is a place of deep presence, of laughter and sticky hands, of tiny voices calling my name a thousand times a day.

But in those moments, my work sits untouched. The emails go unread, the ideas go unspoken, the ambition I once carried so fiercely takes a backseat. And for a long time, that felt like a failure.

Now, I see it differently.

Grief has shown me that life happens in the now. My children will only be small today. If I wait until everything else is done before I sit with them, I will miss it. So I let go of the guilt. I let my work rest. I trust that I will return to it when the moment calls for it.

When I’m Focused on Work, My Friendships Become Quieter

Then there are days when the fire inside me burns again—when I feel the pull to create, to build, to dream. When the grief that once dulled my ambition now fuels it instead. Those are the days when I pour into my work, when I follow inspiration, when I let myself be someone outside of motherhood and grief.

But when I do that, my friendships soften in the background. The text replies take longer. The check-ins happen less. And that used to make me feel like I was failing.

Now, I understand: love does not disappear just because I am not constantly tending to it. Real friendship allows for quiet seasons. The people who matter know my heart. They know that I will return, that love is not measured by how quickly I answer a message but by how deeply I care.

Grief Isn’t a Burden—It’s a Guide

For so long, I thought grief was holding me back. Now I see—it was leading me home.

It was teaching me to be present. To choose what matters most, not in general, but in this moment. Grief has taken away my ability to do everything at once, but in return, it has given me the wisdom to know where I am needed most.

Some days, that means being a mother first.

Some days, it means being a friend.

Some days, it means chasing a dream.

And none of those choices are wrong.

These are just a few of the places where I’m needed most, but there are others, too. The quiet moments of prayer, the unexpected conversations, the days when my heart is simply called to rest. Grief has taught me that I don’t have to do everything—I just have to show up where I’m meant to be.

So, I no longer fight against the fact that I can’t do it all. Instead, I lean into it. I let grief shape me, not as something heavy to carry, but as something that teaches me how to live.

I used to think grief meant losing myself. But maybe it’s just been showing me the way back all along.