This is the fifth installment in my series on grief. I recommend reading the previous posts highlighting denial, anger, bargaining, and depression before this one. They provide solid context and highlight the emotional journey I have been through to get to this point.

It’s been over a year since I began walking through this grief journey, and the progress I’ve made has been slow and steady. Last December, my husband and I watched the play The Savior of the World in Salt Lake City. As I sat there, reflecting on everything I had gone through, I was surprised at how much of the play still resonated with me. Act one focuses on the events leading to the Savior’s birth, and act two focuses on the events leading up to His resurrection. Even though I had been healing for about a year, the message of letting go still felt fresh and deeply needed.

A major theme woven throughout the play is the idea of letting go of our demands. It highlights the experience of Elizabeth and Zacharias, who each received what they had wanted after surrendering their demands. It illustrates the struggle Joseph experienced as he prepared to marry Mary, who would no longer be perceived as a virgin. It also depicts the struggles Thomas had as he doubted before the resurrected Lord appeared to him.

This play resonated deeply with my heart. As I watched their stories unfold, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own journey. Like all these people from the Bible, I, too, had to surrender something I wanted. I had to surrender my expectations of breastfeeding and lay them at the feet of the Lord, who was leading me into greener pastures.

The theme of letting go isn’t just about surrendering to the Lord’s will, but about trusting in the process. It’s about realizing that my plans and expectations may not always align with what is meant to be. The people in the play experienced loss, confusion, and disappointment, but in the end, they were able to accept what was and trust that something greater was unfolding.

In many ways, this mirrors my own journey. As I walked through grief, I fought against what was happening. I had a picture in my mind of what motherhood would look like, and that picture didn’t involve my body not being able to breastfeed. But just like the people in the play, I, too, have had to let go of my demands and accept that my journey as a mother would be different than I had imagined.

One of my favorite parts of the play is when the shepherds sing a song called The Lord is My Shepherd. It beautifully illustrates verses in Psalm 23 better than anything else I have heard.

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”

As I sat there reflecting on this verse, I realized how much I had been wanting—the idealized version of motherhood, the ability to breastfeed, the perfect experience. I had been so focused on what I didn’t have that I had forgotten to see what I did have: a beautiful little boy who was thriving despite it all. That verse settled into my heart, gently shifting my focus from what I had lost to what I still had. And in that shift, something inside me changed.

For a long time, I felt like I was standing at the crossroads of my grief, torn between the ideal I had imagined and the reality I was facing. The loss I experienced wasn’t just about the inability to breastfeed; it was the grief of a dream I had held so tightly to—one that had defined my view of motherhood.

But just like the shepherds in the play, who learned to trust in what God had planned for them, I, too, had to trust in what God had planned for me as a mother. Psalm 23 reminds me that I don’t need to want more than what I already have—a beautiful little boy who is thriving. The Lord was guiding me, even through the unknowns. And in that, I found peace.

I remember the exact moment when I made the decision to let go. It wasn’t a grand epiphany—it was more of a quiet surrender. I knew that I had to trust the Lord, even when my plans for breastfeeding fell apart. Slowly, I began to loosen my grip on the ‘perfect’ image of motherhood.

I distinctly remember thinking to myself, “My son needs a happy mom more than he needs breastmilk.” Reframing my thoughts in this way removed some of the weight I was carrying. It took away the pressure. Now the goal was achievable. Now it was something I knew I could accomplish. I realized it would greatly benefit my son’s development to have a mom who was not withdrawn or depressed about the situation—a mom who was happy and shared moments of joy with him.

Now, when I look at my son, I no longer see what I couldn’t give him—I see everything I do give him. I see the way his face lights up when we sing silly songs together. The way he reaches for me when he’s unsure. The way he smiles and giggles when we do fist bumps before bed. The way he melts into me when he’s tired. These moments are real, and they are enough. I no longer feel like I’m failing him; I feel like I am exactly the mother he needs. And that realization, more than anything else, has set me free.

Though the healing process has been slow, I can see now that it has been a journey of growth—one I am still walking. It hasn’t been perfect, and it hasn’t been easy. But with each step, I have found peace. There are still days when I feel sad or struggle with insecurities, but I now know that those emotions don’t define me. The love I have for my son, the joy I find in motherhood, and the faith that the Lord is leading me through this journey—those are what define me now.

I’m not the same person I was when I started this journey, and I am so grateful for that. I’ve learned to embrace imperfections and to let go of the expectations that once held me captive. In surrendering to this new path, I’ve discovered a strength I didn’t know I had—a resilience that continues to carry me through the toughest days. I’ve gained a deeper sense of compassion, both for myself and others walking their own struggles. Through this process, I’ve learned that healing is not a destination, but a constant, evolving journey—and in each new step, I am becoming the mother, and the person, I always needed to be.