Learning to live with the unknown

Motherhood is full of questions.

Some are logistical: How many ounces did they drink? When will they nap? Is this daycare safe? Others are existential: Will I be able to get pregnant? Will I carry to term? Will my baby be okay? Will my child live a happy life? But what often catches mothers off guard is not just the volume of these questions—it’s the unanswerability of them. There are no guarantees. No final destination where you’re told, “You’ve made it, everything’s fine now.” Just a steady unfolding of new stages, new stakes, new hopes, and new fears.

And the deeper truth is: this kind of uncertainty is uniquely intense in motherhood. Why?

Because motherhood awakens a level of emotional investment that is both primal and permanent. We are wired to protect our children with our whole selves—but given no promise that we can. We are handed the most precious, fragile love we’ve ever known—and reminded daily that we can’t control the outcome. There’s no other role that requires this kind of devotion in the face of such deep unknowns.

Before conception, the uncertainty begins:

Will I be able to get pregnant? Will this embryo implant? Will the test be positive this time?

During pregnancy:

Is the baby okay? Is this cramp normal? Will my body hold this pregnancy?

After birth:

Are they developing on time? Are they eating enough? Will they sleep through the night? Will they grow up kind, confident, safe, secure?

And through every phase, these questions evolve but never fully disappear. The form changes, but the uncertainty remains.

This is the undercurrent of modern motherhood—and yet it’s rarely named.

So let’s name it here:

• You are not weak for finding this hard. You are experiencing a very real emotional labor—holding enormous love and staggering uncertainty in the same breath.

• You are not failing by not knowing. Motherhood doesn’t come with an answer key. It comes with instincts, trial and error, community, and resilience.

• You are not alone. If every mom could speak their private fears aloud, the room would be filled with quiet heartbreak and deep relief. You’re not the only one lying awake at 2 a.m., asking impossible questions.

And while we can’t make uncertainty disappear, we can soften how we hold it. We can remind each other:

You don’t need to know how everything will unfold in order to be a good mother today.

We can practice staying present, asking what is true right now?

We can breathe through the questions instead of bracing against them.

We can remind ourselves that when we spiral into the future, worrying about things that probably won’t ever happen - this is our brain working in overdrive to protect us, but ultimately making things worse.

We can ground ourselves not in outcomes, but in the daily “what should we have for breakfast?” kind of love. In showing up. In taking a deep breath, and taking each day as it comes.

Because love—especially a mother’s love—isn’t built on certainty, it’s built on a million little moments. And these are the ones our kids will remember.