The Grief We Don’t Talk About: Parenting When Life Looks Different Than You Imagined

Photo by Paul Hanaoka on Unsplash

By Haide Giesbrecht

When we think of grief, we often associate it with the loss of a person, a pet, or something tangible. But grief is far more complex than that. Sometimes, it shows up in quiet, surprising ways—especially when the life we’re living doesn’t match the one we imagined.

This is something I’ve experienced firsthand. When my partner and I began talking about having children, there was hope, anticipation, and excitement. We knew we wanted a family, but we also had practical goals to reach first—like putting me through grad school and saving for a down payment on our first townhome. Having children felt like the natural next step.

But then infertility entered the picture. I had always known, intellectually, that some people struggled to conceive—but I had hoped (and maybe even assumed) that wouldn’t be our story. When it was, I grieved. I grieved not only the absence of a child but the loss of how I thought our life would unfold. I grieved the ease others seemed to experience and the timeline I had quietly planned.

As our friends celebrated new pregnancies and babies, I experienced that bittersweet mix of happiness for them and sorrow for us. I had always dreamed of of telling my dad he was going to be a grandfather. But before that dream could become reality, he became ill and passed away. I hadn’t fully realized how grief could take root—not just for what we had lost, but for what we had never had in the first place.

And that’s what I want to talk about today: The grief that shows up in parenting when our reality doesn’t match our expectations.

Whether it’s through infertility, a diagnosis, missed milestones, or simply realizing your child is different from the one you imagined—grief can sneak in. And it’s not just okay to grieve those unmet expectations; it’s essential.

But there’s a crucial distinction to make: We must grieve our expectations, not our child.

As parents, we carry hopes, dreams, and assumptions—many of them unspoken. Maybe we expected our child to love the things we love. Maybe we envisioned sibling relationships that didn’t materialize. Maybe we imagined sports, dances, or school events that simply weren’t possible.

When we grieve our child instead of our expectations, even unintentionally, we can send messages that cause harm: that they are not enough, that they are the problem.

But they are not the problem. We are not grieving our child; rather, we are grieving the story we were holding about our child.

Our children deserve to be received with love and curiosity, not comparison. They deserve to grow up feeling accepted, not like they’re falling short of some invisible standard. Our children need us to love and accept them for who they are—not for who we expected them to be.

So, as parents, we do the hard, critical work of naming our grief. We process it in safe places—maybe with a trusted friend or a counsellor—but not in front of our child. They should never feel like they are the source of our sorrow. Grieving our expectations privately, intentionally, and compassionately allows us to show up for the child in front of us with curiosity, openness, acceptance, and love.

I thought that once my partner and I became parents, our losses were behind us. But we soon realized that the parenting journey would come with its own challenges and griefs—some anticipated, and others that caught us by surprise.

We had four amazing children in five years. The early years were intense—colicky babies, sensory sensitivities, meltdowns, eloping children, and struggles with transitions. We thought we were doing something wrong and that we were terrible at parenting, because we seemed to be struggling so much more than our friends. It took years before we understood that our children were beautifully neurodivergent, and that the parenting tools we were reaching for didn’t always apply to our reality.

Grief showed up again and again: When our children didn’t reach milestones at the same time as their peers. When summer camps, dances, group activities, or even graduation ceremonies weren’t options for or even of interest to our children. When the hopes we carried—about dating, careers, weddings, or grandchildren—began to shift.

And yet—grief is not the end of the story.

With time, reflection, and support, I’ve come to embrace the life we have. I’ve found freedom in the unique rhythm of our family. The open, direct communication. The honesty. The creativity. The way my kids see the world.

I’ve had people walk beside me—counsellors, friends, educators—who helped me grieve well and reminded me that hope can exist even in the midst of loss.

Because the grief we carry doesn’t mean we’re bad parents. It means we’re human ones.

So if you’re a parent quietly grieving a path you didn’t expect—please know you’re not alone.

Let’s do the brave, loving work of separating our sorrow from our children—so they can grow up free to be fully themselves. And so we can discover the unexpected joy of loving the child we have—not the one we imagined.

~ Haide

Link to podcast: https://creators.spotify.com/pod/profile/encouragement/episodes/When-Parenting-Doesnt-Go-As-Planned-Grieving-the-Life-You-Imagined-e35tamb