A Mother for a Season: How the Loss of My Step-Children Became My Lifelong Purpose

Motherhood is often imagined as permanent, filled with sleepless nights, school drop-offs, and the long road of raising a child into adulthood. But for me, motherhood was something that came into my life briefly and then, just as suddenly, left. I once had the privilege of being a step-mom, a figure who nurtured, guided, and supported children who weren’t biologically mine but were very much a part of my heart. I packed lunches, helped with educating, listened to their worries, and celebrated small victories with them. In those moments, I was their steady presence, their mom figure. And then, when that chapter ended, I faced the quiet reality of losing a role I had grown into with love.

As a clinical psychologist, I have spent years helping families navigate change, loss, and transition. Yet when it was my turn, no theory or textbook softened the pain of saying goodbye. What I experienced was what I now call “invisible grief," a grief not always acknowledged by others, but very real nonetheless. Society often doesn’t recognize the heartache of losing step-children, foster children, or even the version of motherhood you thought you would one day have. But grief doesn’t require permission. It shows up in the routines you no longer carry out, in the quiet spaces once filled by laughter, and in the ache of absence that lingers long after.

This loss shifted my perspective on motherhood forever. I no longer see it as a fixed title bound by biology or time; I see it as a calling. Sometimes we are called to mother for a lifetime, and sometimes only for a season. Either way, the love and impact remain. Children remember presence more than perfection. They carry forward the warmth, the laughter, and the guidance, even if it was temporary. What matters is not how long you were there, but how deeply you showed up.

For moms, step-moms, and caregivers alike, the lesson is simple but profound: presence matters more than perfection. Children don’t need flawless parenting; they need consistency and love. They also need room for independence, and they benefit when we model resilience in the face of change. Whether your time with them is brief or enduring, the role you play has value. Every moment of nurturing leaves an imprint, one that helps children step into their own story with strength and confidence.

Losing my step-children as part of my daily life was painful, but it was clarifying. I learned that motherhood isn’t only about longevity; it’s about legacy. Even if my role lasted only for a short time, I gave them a part of myself that cannot be undone. To every mother, step-mother, foster mom, or caregiver reading this: your love matters, your presence is enough, and your impact will always live on in the children you’ve cared for, however long or short that season may be.