by Majka Baur
Becoming a Mother of Two: The Grief, Joy and Transformation of Matrescence
Six weeks ago, I became a mother of two. I am in awe of this tiny new life I get to hold in my arms. There is so much joy, wonder and love. And alongside all of it, there is grief, too.
I miss having one-to-one time with my toddler. I miss the occasional quiet shower. I feel the uncertainty of my professional identity being on pause, or perhaps being reshaped from the ground up.
I can be deeply grateful for what is here and still grieve what has changed.
This is one of the things I have been reflecting on during these first weeks of becoming a mother of two: so much of who we are, how we relate to others, and how we move through the world can change when a child arrives. All these changes happening at once can be deeply destabilising.
The many layers of becoming a mother
Six weeks before writing this reflection, I was sitting on a bench, feeling the first surges of labour. My lower back was contracting, music was playing in my ears, and I was slowly dropping into my body.
Today, it is autumn. Windy and sunny. My body feels strong. My eyes are tired. My chest is warmed by my son, sleeping in the sling.
Who have I become?
A mother of two. A mother at peace with her birth experience and the weeks that followed. Recovering gently, in awe of her reshaped body, and discovering a deep trust in it.
It has been a healing experience, showing me that things can happen differently. That I can trust myself.
I feel supported by my family and my partner. And yet, I also feel lonely, still looking for a sense of belonging and local friendships in this new place.
I feel trustful about what will unfold. And professionally, I feel lost. When I think about the future, I notice how much I miss having a vision.
I am learning to be patient with this not-knowing. I hope that the next two or three years will reveal something that I cannot yet see.
I feel held by my roots, by the people and places that have shaped me. And at the same time, I am finding my way in a new landscape, by the sea, in a new city: Kiel.
So many things can be true at once.
What is matrescence, the transformation of becoming a mother?
There is a word for the profound transformation that happens when we become mothers: matrescence.
Matrescence describes the transition into motherhood, a process that encompasses far more than giving birth or learning to care for a baby.
It brings lasting changes to our bodies, emotions, relationships, identity, sense of purpose, and place in the world. It can reshape how we experience ourselves, what we care about, how we relate to our partners and families, and how we imagine our professional and personal futures.
Like adolescence, matrescence is not a single event with a clear beginning and end. It is an ongoing process of becoming, with a particularly intense phase during the first years of motherhood.
And yet, I feel that we still don’t talk enough about the complexity of this transition. More importantly, we don’t adequately support women as they become mothers.
We talk about the love, the joy, the miracle of new life. We talk about the exhaustion and the practical challenges of parenting.
But what about the parts of ourselves that we miss? The identities that no longer quite fit? The relationships that change? The dreams that need to be reconsidered?
What about the grief that can exist alongside all the love?
Gratitude and grief can coexist
I don’t experience grief because I wish my life were different or because I regret becoming a mother. I experience it because something has changed.
Some of the changes are small and everyday: having less time alone, less spontaneity, fewer moments of uninterrupted attention.
Others reach much deeper. My relationship with my first child is changing. My relationship with my own body has been reshaped. My professional life is in an uncertain phase.
Some of these changes need time. Some need to be mourned. Not because we want to turn back, but because something meaningful to us has come to an end.
I believe we need more space to acknowledge this side of becoming a mother. To allow ourselves to miss what was, without questioning our love for what is. To recognise that gratitude does not cancel grief, just as grief does not diminish gratitude.
Grief wants to be heard. And sometimes, it simply needs space.1
Why we need rites of passage for life transitions
The more I experience life’s transitions, the more I believe we need ways to honour not only what is arriving, but also what we are leaving behind.
In many cultures, rites of passage have offered ways to mark important moments of change. They create a space to acknowledge an ending, move through a period of uncertainty, and gradually step into a new phase of life.
Becoming a mother is one of the most profound transitions a person can experience. And yet, in contemporary Western societies, the transition into motherhood is often treated primarily as a medical event or a practical adjustment to family life.
What if we approached it more consciously as a rite of passage?
What if there were more spaces to acknowledge the person we were before becoming a mother, to grieve what has changed, and to explore who we are becoming?
Not to rush into a new identity or find quick answers. But to give this transformation the time, attention and recognition it deserves.
I have experienced the importance of such spaces in other moments of my life, particularly through wilderness-based rites of passage and Vision Quests.
They have taught me that transitions are rarely linear. We often need to spend time in the in-between, where the familiar has loosened its grip but the new has not yet taken shape.
Perhaps matrescence asks for something similar: patience, support, recognition, and the freedom to become at our own pace. But also guidance from wise women, a sense of belonging to a community that truly understands us, and nature-based rituals that support us in letting go, embodying who we have become, and welcoming the strengths and powers we have developed.
Making space for what is changing
I don’t yet know what my professional life will look like in the coming years. I don’t have a clear vision of what comes next.
For now, I am learning to be with this transformation. To care for the two little humans who depend on me, while slowly rediscovering what it means to care for myself, within the possibilities available to me right now.
I want to honour the joy of this new chapter without pretending that everything is easy. I want to make space for the grief without letting it overshadow the beauty of what is here.
Perhaps this is also what navigating life’s transitions means: allowing ourselves to acknowledge what is ending, stay present with what is unfolding, and remain curious about what might emerge.
We don’t always need to know who we are becoming.
Sometimes, we need a little more space to find out.
4030 gr.
Four weeks ago, I sat on this bench,
my lower back contracting with the first surges,
music in my ears,
dropping into my body.
Today, it’s autumn.
Windy and sunny.
My body feels strong.
My eyes are tired.
My chest warmed by my son,
asleep in the sling.
Who have I become?
A mom of two.
A mom at peace with the birth I gave.
At peace with the weeks after birth.
Plenty of milk.
Gentle recovery.
In awe of my reshaped body,
a body I can deeply trust.
A healing experience,
showing me that things can be different.
That I can trust myself.
Feeling supported by family.
Still, my eyes becoming blurry again.
Broken nights.
Tension sitting in my back and neck.
Feeling supported by my family and my partner.
And lonely, still looking for local friends.
Trustful of what will unfold.
Lost professionally,
really lost when thinking of the future,
missing a vision.
And in acceptance
of the transformation of matrescence
I’m going through.
Patient with what is yet to unfold
over the next two or three years.
Held by my roots,
by people and lands.
Held by the experiences that shaped me.
And lost on new land,
by the sea, in this city.
An Invitation to Get in Touch
Did this article stir something in you? Are you in a life transition, maybe just became a mother, and thinking about how to honour and make sense of it?
Don’t hesitate to get in touch by using the contact form.
What Came Before
In my past article “Why Rites of Passage Matter: The Missing Link in Cultural Development“, we explored what happens when life transitions are not accompanied in a supportive way and the consequences this can have on an individual and collective level.
1: This is a citation from the book Mothershift, Reclaiming Motherhod as a Rite of Passage by Jessie Harrold
Photos by Majka Baur-Sprenger