When I was seeing new patients in the clinic and would provide a confirmed but new mental health diagnosis, there were a variety of emotions that would occur. Relief came with the confirmation of what was suspected, inspiration to take action and explore appropriate resources, but most notably, there was always some sense of grief in these situations. I have two very close friends whose children have been recently diagnosed with mental health diagnoses. The diagnoses themselves were not surprising at all; we, as moms, know our children better than anyone. So, their suspicions to pursue a more thorough assessment yielded confirmation of what they had already honestly known. Both of them, unbeknownst to one another, expressed various iterations of grief related to these new diagnoses. These respective conversations only solidified that this is a more common emotion that we truly realize. As a disclaimer, while I’m discussing grief in motherhood related to mental health diagnoses in this particular post, I am very much aware and do not minimize that grief is also very apparent with new physical health diagnoses. Much of what I discuss applies to it all.
Grief isn’t always about death. It’s also about loss of normalcy, certainty, or hope. For mothers, a diagnosis can spark feelings of shock/denial, anger, and isolation. I have also heard that resounding feelings often involve guilt, fear of the future, and feelings of failure. As mothers, we feel like there’s no space to grieve because amid our feelings, our children still need us. Balancing this is incredibly difficult because we feel guilt for grieving when our child is alive and with us. We often suppress our emotions to stay functional, only to feel emotionally exhausted from being “strong” all the time. But grief doesn’t mean we don’t love our child or aren’t grateful. It means we are simply adjusting to something profoundly different than what we expected.
So, what do we do?
First, we specifically name what we are grieving. This requires a great deal of vulnerability and transparency, as it forces us to identify and acknowledge our fears. I remember when Samuel was initially diagnosed with a speech delay, I had to be honest about what I was feeling. I felt guilty because I thought it was something I had or hadn’t done, and as a result, I thought I had failed him as his mother. See how quickly down the rabbit hole we can go? However, this type of identification is crucial for processing our emotions. But don’t stew in this! I cannot over-emphasize how vital it is to find a community (much like this one) to help with the completely normal isolation that we can feel in these situations. Support groups are there for a variety of different diagnoses; find one (or several) that work best for you. There is beauty in community. Also, therapy. Therapy is excellent because it allows someone to help challenge our anxious and likely distorted thoughts with professionalism and objectivity.
Giving ourselves grace to feel multiple things at the same time is equally necessary. Grief doesn’t end, but it evolves. Allow joy and grief to co-occur. And I know how feelings of failure will rear their ugly heads. Take it from a fellow mom and mental health professional:
The only failure is when we know something needs attention, but we willingly decide to ignore it because of our fears and projections.
Remember, a diagnosis doesn’t mean something went wrong in motherhood. It means we now have language, tools, and insight to support our child/children in the way they need. That is not failure—it’s progress.
