Womanhood & Humanity

Elle Morse · February 12, 2024

Today is the anniversary of the day that I became a mother for the first time. Delivering my child into the arms of their adoptive parents.

This day brings up uncomfortable feelings for me to sit with. Shame, grief and vulnerability blend together creating its own concoction of misery. A brand of misery only felt by a mother whose arms are empty of her own making.

All I want to do is lie in bed, drain all of that misery into my pillow and forget. Forget the entire damn thing ever happened. Delete it from my memory forever. At least then I wouldn’t be haunted by the ghosts of yesterday.

The ghost of their warmth in my arms, the smell of them or the feeling of their head on my breast. These ghosts show up in the shadows of my life, when I least expect them to, when I think I have finally set them free.

Oftentimes birthmother grief is overlooked. It is complicated to grieve someone who is still alive.

Being able to maintain a presence in our children’s lives can feel like both a blessing and a curse. The pain we experience happens over and over, every birthday, every milestone and we re-live that same pain when we parent our own children.

The full picture comes slowly into focus and the magnitude of the decision we made is revealed. The joy we lost, the love we will never experience or just the little intimate moments between parent and child that will never be had.

My heart breaks for my teenage self navigating this decision. I don’t know if I will ever be fully healed from this experience. And perhaps that is how it should be. A broken bond that deep should be remembered. Maybe some sorrows are worth holding onto because they are the only thing left connecting us to those moments. Some ghosts are meant to have permanent residency in the dark corners of our memory.

So rather than wrestle these ghosts when the weight of grief settles on my chest, I lay down with it. Hold it in my arms and rock it to sleep. Until the next time my body remembers. Because in those moments, I am reminded that healing doesn’t always look pretty. Healing doesn’t mean that I won’t feel emotional about a traumatic moment in my life. Healing means that I know how to manage those moments, I know how to put them back to sleep when they come to visit.

Happy Birthday my sweet baby. We will meet again when my heart is pregnant with your memory and grief is delivered into my arms once more. I will embrace the sadness this time, sing it to sleep and dream of a sweetness that never was.

Originally published in Modern Women on Medium.

Elle Morse · September 21, 2024

I’ve been working long hours, and the burnout is starting to wear on me. I’ve been questioning why I push myself so hard, especially when the exhaustion is constant. The weight of my professional and familial duties and responsibilities weigh heavily on my back these days. So I thought about it and the answer seems to lie in my need for validation. Even after all the progress I’ve made, I’m still striving for recognition at work, hoping it will somehow confirm my worth in other areas of my life. I’ve also noticed that when have a position of authority over me, my drive for approval becomes even stronger. A need to prove myself. While I’ve been working to detach from seeking validation in my personal life, I didn’t realize how much that need still shows up in my professional life.

I’ve been treating myself like a resource, just another cog in the machine. It’s as though I’m an old iPhone trying to install a system upgrade, but without enough memory to fully adapt. I’ve realized it’s time to clear my memory and make space for a new system. My value is not tied to how many hours I can log, my salary, or my boss’s opinion of my performance. I’ve had to let go of people I liked before, and that’s taught me that work performance isn’t a reflection of worthiness.

My real worth comes from how I make others feel, the kindness and compassion I share with the world. That’s where my strength lies. Like a tree, my worth is inherent, rooted in my strength, abundance, and the quiet resilience that allows me to keep growing despite any challenges I face. A tree doesn’t strive to prove its value, it simply is. Its presence is powerful, shade giving, oxygen producing and beautiful without seeking recognition. Trees adapt to their environment, bending in the wind, shedding leaves when necessary, and growing new branches after a storm. They take what they are given and transform it into something vital and life-sustaining.

In the same way, I can take what life gives me, whether it’s sunshine or storms, and turn it into something meaningful. My ability to transmute experiences into wisdom and growth is where my true power lies. A tree doesn’t apologize for the space it takes up, nor does it compare itself to the other trees in the forest. It just stands tall, deeply rooted, and continues to grow at its own pace. That’s what I want for myself to be deeply rooted in who I am, to understand that my worth is not defined by how much I produce, but by the energy I bring into the world.

A tree that offers its fruit, shelter, and beauty without asking for anything in return. My energy and worth is not transactional. I don’t need to measure myself by the gold stars I’ve accumulated. My existence alone has meaning, just as a tree is valuable simply because it exists. And just like the unseen potential in the seed, waiting patiently in the darkness, my full potential has yet to fully unfold. It’s time for me to trust that, like the tree, my growth is inevitable, and my worth is already complete.

There is still so much more to me that has yet to bloom. My value doesn’t come from my work or anyone else’s perception. My value is simply because I am.

Originally published in Modern Women on Medium.

Elle Morse · August 10, 2024

The death of a pet is often a child’s first brush with the concept of mortality, a moment that is both heartbreaking and profound. For my daughter, today was such a day. Her best friend’s hamster, Vanilla (Rest in Power Vanilla) passed away, and with it came the tender grief that accompanies a child’s realization of life’s impermanence. It’s a small, yet significant moment in a child’s life, where they begin to understand that the things they love do not last forever. As a parent, witnessing this realization in my daughter was both heart-wrenching and heartwarming. It made me immensely proud to see how she handled the situation — with compassion, thoughtfulness, and a desire to bring comfort to her friend.

Tender grief is a unique and delicate emotion, especially in the heart of a child. It’s that quiet, aching sadness that comes with the realization of loss — soft and unassuming, yet deeply felt. In my daughter’s case, her tender grief was palpable as she navigated the emotions of losing Vanilla. Unlike the more overt expressions of sorrow that might come with later experiences of loss, this grief was gentle, a quiet understanding that something precious was gone. It’s the kind of sadness that lingers in the background, not overwhelming, but ever-present, teaching a young heart about the bittersweet nature of life. Watching her experience this tender grief, I was reminded of how fragile and beautiful a child’s understanding of the world can be. It’s a reminder that grief, in its purest form, is an expression of love, and my daughter’s grief for Vanilla was a testament to her deep capacity for caring and empathy.

When my daughter heard the news, she didn’t hesitate; she immediately wanted to be there for her friend, to cheer them up and offer some solace in the face of this tiny, yet monumental loss. Throughout the day, she crocheted a headband as gifts, each stitch filled with love and a deep understanding of what her friend might need at that moment. This simple act of kindness was her way of saying, “I’m here for you, and I care.” After spending the day crafting her gift, we decided to bring her friend some candy as well — a small token that we hoped might bring a smile to her face, even if just for a moment. As we stood there, offering these tokens of love and support, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude and pride. My daughter’s actions mirrored the values I’ve tried to instill in her — kindness, empathy, and the importance of being there for others in times of need. Seeing her reflect these values back into the world is a gift I cherish more than words can express.

In that moment, I realized how truly blessed I am. As a parent, you hope that your child will grow up to embody the best parts of you, and watching my daughter do just that was incredibly affirming. She didn’t just learn these things; she internalized them and made them her own, and now she was using them to make the world around her a little brighter, even in the face of sadness.

This experience also served as a reminder of the small, yet significant connections we share with others. My daughter’s friend’s mother and I both work for the same company and it was sweet to see our children forming bonds that echo the relationships we’ve built in our professional lives. In many ways, our children reflect the environments they grow up in, and knowing that my daughter is growing up in a space filled with love, support, and understanding fills me with a deep sense of contentment.

Today was a day of loss, but it was also a day of love, connection, and growth. My daughter learned about the fragility of life, but she also learned how to support those she cares about. As we move forward, I hope that this experience will be one that shapes her in positive ways, helping her to continue to grow into the compassionate and loving person she is becoming. And as her parent, I will continue to cherish these moments, grateful for the opportunity to watch her become the best version of herself.

Originally published in Modern Women on Medium.