When you don’t recognize yourself anymore

For most of us, there is a moment after loss when we realize something we didn’t expect. In our grief, we begin to see that we’re not just grieving our babies, but the million little losses that come with it, too. One of the biggest is noticing that we don’t quite feel like ourselves anymore.

I’m sharing this as part of a short three-part series on identity after loss, because this piece of the grief journey can feel especially disorienting and hard to put into words. If you’ve felt this too, I hope you know you’re not alone. 

Before I walked through loss, I thought grief was mostly sadness over what was gone. I assumed it would look like tears, missing someone deeply, and eventually moving forward. I didn’t realize how much deeper it would go, because grief doesn’t just touch your emotions, it reaches into the way you see yourself, your relationships, your faith, and your future. What once felt certain begins to feel anything but. Even the things that used to bring you joy feel different, because you are different.

I remember the first time I realized I wasn’t just grieving my baby. I was grieving parts of myself, too. It felt shocking to notice how much had changed. My emotions weren’t the same, my energy wasn’t the same, the way I saw the world had shifted in ways I couldn’t undo, and life no longer felt predictable or safe. The version of me from before and the version of me now felt like strangers.

There is a picture of me and my oldest son from the Fourth of July that year, when I was still pregnant and didn’t know anything was wrong. I was smiling in a way that felt light and full of joy. Paige died in August, and I remember looking back at that picture and thinking that version of me is gone. I hadn’t smiled like that since. It felt like I had aged so quickly in such a short amount of time. What was even harder was realizing that my outsides now matched what I felt on the inside. That recognition was deeply painful.

There were other parts of the before me that I missed, too. Relationships felt different and harder to navigate. Walking back into church, or into a family gathering, or even just picking up my phone to text a friend felt overwhelming. People still expected the version of me they had always known, but she wasn’t there anymore, and I didn’t know how to show up in those spaces.

How do you text about the weather or a cute pair of jeans when your baby just died? You don’t. At least, I couldn’t. In those early days, I didn’t have the capacity for surface level conversations. I lived in survival mode for a long time that first year. Just getting through the day felt like enough, and anything beyond that felt overwhelming.

Even my body felt unfamiliar to me. I had a postpartum body, but no baby to show for it. Normally, after having a baby, there is a sense of amazement and wonder. Look at what my body just did. But for me, it didn’t feel that way. It felt broken, like it had failed. My first baby was born at twenty-nine weeks, and my second was a twenty-two week stillbirth. My body didn’t feel strong or capable after these pregnancies and births, instead it felt like something was wrong with it, like something was wrong with me.

And I didn’t treat it kindly. There were seasons where I didn’t eat enough, trying to lose the weight, and other times I overate because it felt like it didn’t matter anyway. Neither of those were care or kindness toward myself. It took time to begin seeing my body differently and to remember that this body carried my baby, and to be grateful for that gift. Within my body, she heard my heartbeat and my voice. That is a kindness from the Lord. Psalm 139:14 reminds us that we are fearfully and wonderfully made, even when our bodies feel like a place of grief. Slowly, I began to realize that my body was not my enemy, but was a part of my story.

Grief touches every corner of who you are. It reshapes you in ways you did not expect or choose. You may look in the mirror and not recognize yourself anymore. You may feel like the person you used to be is gone, and you may wonder if you will ever feel like yourself again.

If that is where you are, and you feel surprised by what you see and feel, remember this… God is not surprised by you. He sees you in the middle of this unfamiliar version of yourself, and He is still near. Psalm 34:18 tells us that the Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. That nearness does not depend on you finding your way back to who you once were. We have a Savior who meets us right where we are, as we are.

Psalm 23:3 says, “He restores my soul.” And He will, friend. He is a God of restoration. It won’t happen all at once, and you most likely won’t go back to exactly who you were before your baby died. I know it can feel disorienting to not know who you are anymore, but your identity is found in Him, so keep turning your face toward the Lord as you grieve and heal. He is working, moment by moment, making you new. And this new you, formed in closeness with your Maker, will surely carry a depth and beauty that only He could create.

Because He lives, I hope,
Jennie Parks
Executive Director

Thanks for being here with me in this space. If this encouraged you, would you share it with one friend who might need it, too?

Next week, we’ll sit with a question that often rises up after loss: Who am I now?

Jennie is the Executive Director for Hope Mommies. She and her husband Brian live in Oregon and have four children together— Trenton, Paige who has been in Heaven with Jesus since 2010, Mason, and Cora. If you were to knock on her front door today, you’d find her in something comfortable drinking a hot cup of tea, while trying to figure out how to balance all the things that make up a life. She enjoys spending time in God’s word, fresh flowers, board games with her kids, cooking, and evening walks in her neighborhood. She adores being a new creation in Christ and prays she reflects Him well on this earth.