There’s no card for this kind of motherhood—but here’s mine

For every mother holding grief alongside love, and every story that doesn’t fit inside a Hallmark card—this one’s for you.

To my Miscarriage Movement family,

Every year, Mother’s Day stirs something different in me.

Some years it’s grief. Some years it’s rage. Some years it’s gratitude so big it takes my breath away. And sometimes—like this year—it’s all of it at once.

In case we’re meeting for the first time, I’m Jenn, co-founder of Miscarriage Movement and mom of three.

I’ve also lost two pregnancies—back to back—after becoming a mother for the first time. So while I was never invisible on Mother’s Day, like so many of us who go through loss are, my grief was. I know what it feels like to hold a child in your arms while aching for the ones you never got to meet. To be celebrated publicly while privately falling apart. To scroll through social media with a smile on your face and a lump in your throat. None of it is simple. And none of it makes you any less of a mother.

I’ve sat in that ache. I’ve cried over pregnancy tests that once showed two dark lines—watching them fade, day by day. I’ve carried the weight of due dates that never came. I’ve marked time by losses, not milestones—one miscarriage, then another, eight months apart. And I’ve smiled through baby showers, even as I quietly calculated how far along I would have been.

This is the kind of grief that doesn’t always get a name. The kind that lives in your body long after the world moves on. The kind that turns even joyful days—like Mother’s Day—into something complicated and tender and hard to explain.

That’s why I started this platform in the first place: because there’s no card for this kind of motherhood. No brunch mimosas for the women who are mothering in grief, in longing, in memory.

And yet, we still show up. We still mother. Through heartbreak. Through hope. Through the impossible in-between.

So this Mother’s Day, I want to speak directly to you—the ones who don’t know where you fit today. The ones who feel like this holiday was not built for you. The ones who are still mothers, even when the world doesn’t see it.

Mother’s Day might get wrapped in flowers, cards, and picture-perfect brunches—but what I want this year, for all of us, is something deeper. Something real. Because whether today feels soft or sharp, full or hollow, I want you to know this:

You are not alone in it. And you belong here.

You don’t need to be celebrated by someone else to claim your worth. You don’t need proof, or permission. You are already enough.

And if today feels heavy, that’s okay too. You can step back. You can take space. You can let yourself feel it all—without apology.

Because this is what we believe at Miscarriage Movement: Motherhood is not one thing. And neither are you.

Wherever you are in your journey—navigating grief, holding hope, honoring what could’ve been, or learning to live with the ache—you belong here.

You are already enough.

You don’t need to prove your motherhood through milestones, ultrasounds, or perfect words.

Your love is the evidence. Your grief is the proof. Your story is the legacy.

With all my love and solidarity,

Jenn Sinrich
Editor, Miscarriage Movement
Co-founder, Mila & Jo Media

If you have a story to share, an idea to pitch or just want to reach out, we’d love to hear from you. Email us at jenn@milaandjomedia.com or send us a DM at @miscarriagemovement.

Talking about miscarriage shouldn’t feel like a secret. Let’s keep pushing for change—together.