Whitney Elizabeth

There is a difference.

A really big one.

People sometimes assume that when a relationship ends, the hardest part must be missing the person.

For me, it isn’t.

I don’t miss him.

I miss my kids.

I miss the everyday things I never thought I’d have to miss.

I miss hearing their voices.

I miss knowing what happened at school.

I miss the random conversations.

I miss being able to see their faces whenever I wanted.

I miss the little things that used to feel so ordinary that I never imagined one day they could become the things I would ache for.

That’s the part people don’t always understand about starting over after a difficult relationship.

Sometimes you’re not grieving the relationship.

You’re grieving the life that existed around it.

And when children are part of that life, the grief can feel impossible to explain.

You can be completely certain that leaving was the right thing for you and still feel absolutely devastated by what you’ve lost.

You can feel relief and heartbreak at the exact same time.

You can know you don’t want the relationship back while desperately wishing you could have your family circumstances back.

Those things aren’t contradictory.

They’re human.

I don’t want him back.

I don’t lie awake wishing things between us could go back to the way they were.

I don’t romanticize the relationship.

I don’t miss being married.

I don’t miss the chaos.

I don’t miss the version of myself I had to become to survive it.

But I miss being a mom in the everyday sense.

I miss the normal.

The boring.

The inconvenient.

The things that used to make me roll my eyes that I would give almost anything to experience again.

A knock on the bedroom door.

Someone asking what’s for dinner.

A random story that makes absolutely no sense.

A hug.

A goodnight kiss.

Hearing about their day.

Knowing they’re okay.

Being there.

That’s what I miss.

There is a particular kind of grief in being separated from your children.

It’s not the same as losing a relationship.

Because the love doesn’t end.

There’s no clean ending.

There’s no “we weren’t meant to be together.”

They’re still your children.

You’re still their mother.

And your heart doesn’t understand distance the way a calendar does.

A certain number of miles doesn’t make you love them less.

A certain number of days doesn’t make the ache disappear.

You can build a new home.

Start a new job.

Make new friends.

Create a new routine.

You can even have genuinely happy moments.

And then something tiny can remind you of them and suddenly that ache is right there again.

That’s the strange thing about rebuilding.

You can be grateful for your new life and still grieve the parts of your old life you didn’t want to lose.

I’m learning that starting over doesn’t mean starting from scratch.

I am still their mom.

That hasn’t changed.

No matter how complicated things become.

No matter how much time passes.

No matter how far away they are.

No matter what anyone else thinks about me.

That part of me doesn’t disappear.

And I refuse to let the circumstances of this chapter convince me that I’m not still their mother.

I don’t know exactly what the future looks like.

I don’t know how every relationship will heal.

I don’t know how long this chapter will last.

But I know this:

I love my children.

I always have.

And I always will.

So if you’re reading this and you’re missing someone…

Maybe you’re not missing the person everyone assumes you’re missing.

Maybe you’re missing your children.

Maybe you’re missing your home.

Maybe you’re missing the version of your life that you thought you’d have.

Maybe you’re grieving something that doesn’t have a simple name.

If that’s you, I want you to know that you can hold two truths at once:

You can know you needed to leave.

And:

You can desperately miss what you had to leave behind.

You don’t have to choose between those truths.

I’m learning how to carry both.

I’m learning how to build a life while still hoping for a different future.

I’m learning how to let myself be happy without feeling guilty for the people I miss.

And most importantly, I’m learning that this chapter isn’t the whole story.

It’s just the chapter I’m in.

And I’m still writing the rest.

— Whitney
The Other Side of the Mirror