I dreamt of being a mother long before I became one. It wasn’t just a role, I felt like it was a calling. But I’ll be honest: motherhood wasn’t what I imagined. I struggled deeply in the beginning.

I grieved not having the birthing experience I wanted. My due date was complicated, and as a first-time mom, my emotions were already overflowing. I endured broken sleep, endless crying, and survival mode for at least six months before things began to settle.

I had envisioned the everyday moments: breakfast before school, brushing tiny teeth, bedtime stories, spontaneous hugs, deep belly laughter. I imagined being the constant. The safe place. The one who was always there.

And now, because of a decision made by his father, I only get to live that dream half the time.

🌪️ The Grief No One Talks About

50/50 custody sounds fair on paper and I do support fathers having equal time with their children. But in my heart, it feels like a fracture I didn’t choose. Something I had no control over. Something someone else got to decide on and I had no say. I already felt like my voice was being unheard in the marriage, but this was the biggest form of silencing.

There’s grief in not having the postpartum experience I needed. The one filled with softness, empathy, and protection. I felt robbed of that support and had to do it alone from the beginning. That cut is deep and still is very raw and open.

There’s a particular kind of grief that comes with shared custody. It’s not just missing your child—it’s mourning the version of motherhood you built your life around. It’s the ache of knowing someone else decides when you can hold your child, tuck them in, or hear about their day.

I grieve the dream I had since I was a girl. Despite everything I’ve done to preserve it, the man I thought cared about my hopes and dreams didn’t think twice about his decision.

Grief isn’t linear. Some days I manage. Other days, I hold Alaric and cry, dreading the future. The path I’m walking feels isolating, especially since I don’t know anyone personally who’s been through this. Not only that, but it goes against every thing I was brought up on.

🧍 One Is a Lonely Number

It’s hard to talk to family and friends who haven’t experienced this. They try to say the right things, but the right things don’t feel right.

“At least he’s young, he won’t remember.” But I will. I remember the emotions, the hurtful words, the hollow ache in my stomach. I held it all while staying present for Alaric. I composed myself while interacting with Lenny.

“He should spend 50/50 with his dad, it’s only fair.” I support shared parenting. But that still means I lose 50% of Alaric’s childhood. Unless you’ve walked in my shoes, it’s hard to grasp the depth of that loss.

“At least you’ll get child support.” I’m grateful for financial support. But time with my son is priceless. You could offer me all the money in the world, I’d still choose more time with Alaric.

🧬 The Legacy of Longing

As a Vietnamese American woman, motherhood is woven into my cultural identity. It’s not just about care, it’s about presence, protection, and emotional inheritance. To be told I can only mother 50% of the time feels like a rupture in that legacy. It feels defeating.

And yet, I know I’m not alone.

Divorce affects roughly 41% of marriages, and 70% are initiated by women. These numbers deserve more attention. Why are marriages still failing, even as people marry later in life?

There are so many of us, mothers, fathers, caregivers, grieving the loss of time, rhythm, and the everyday intimacy that custody splits rearrange. We’re mourning the marriage we thought we were entering. The sacred vows that vanished like smoke.

🕊️ What I’m Learning to Hold

I’m learning that love isn’t measured in percentages. Even when I only have my son half the time, I am his mother all the time. Grief and gratitude can coexist. Healing doesn’t mean accepting injustice, it means learning to live with heartbreak and still show up with love.

To put it in perspective: once Alaric starts school, he’ll only see either parent from 4–9 PM on weekdays. That’s just 15 hours or 58 hours a week, depending on the weekend schedule. Out of 168 hours in a week, that’s barely a third of his life.

I feel torn between choosing myself and losing 50% of Alaric’s childhood. This decision feels like it’s ripping me in half. I understand why some mothers stay and abandon themselves in order to stay close to their children. But was that sacrifice worth it? If they could go back, would they choose differently? If you’ve been here, please comment and let me know your experience.

🤝 If You’re Going Through This Too

You’re not alone. Your pain is valid. Your love is not diminished by a custody schedule. And your child still feels you, even when you’re apart. Your role is still, if not, more important now because he/she will look to you for stability and guidance.

Two of my closest friends came from divorced parents and they both had the same major piece of advice., for me to provide the safe and stable home for Alaric. The home they wished they had with either mom OR dad but didn’t.

Moms, don’t forget to get take of yourself. Here are some Gentle Practices to support you daily while you are supporting everyone else.

Need some more support? Download my free Nervous System Awareness and Gratitude journal prompts to help keep you grounded through any challenges you are facing especially while navigating separation or divorce. Something as simple, quick and easy as journaling may help bring clarity to your journey and maintain calmness in your nervous system to make the best informed decisions.