Montego Bay Meditations: The Space Between Expectation and Reality

There’s a version of motherhood I carried in my heart for years—a vision of emotional closeness, shared wisdom, and mutual care between myself and my adult children. I imagined easy conversations over brunch, spontaneous check-ins just to hear my voice, and holidays where I was a center of gravity. I believed, deep down, that all the love, labor, and sacrifices I poured in would come full circle—not necessarily with fanfare, but with intentional presence.

That vision wasn’t unrealistic—it was rooted in the love I gave and the values I hoped to pass on. I raised my children to be independent thinkers, to move through the world with confidence and clarity. But I also hoped they’d grow into people who understood connection as a two-way street—where seeing and being seen went hand-in-hand.

The Grief I Didn’t Expect

As the years unfolded, though, I began sitting with a quieter truth: that vision hadn’t materialized. The emotional reciprocity I longed for remained out of reach. And as much as I wanted to deny it, or work harder to earn it, it slowly became clear that the version of motherhood I was living didn’t match the one I had imagined.

What rose to the surface wasn’t resentment—it was grief. Not over something that had ended, but something that had never really begun. A kind of ambiguous grief. The ache of what never was.

Even when gestures came—cards, brief texts, generic gifts—they often felt performative, disconnected from the years of pouring myself out. I wasn’t looking for perfection, just presence. And year after year, as those needs remained unmet, a silent ache settled in.

This wasn’t just a beach day. This was the moment the tone of my motherhood changed. I came to Montego Bay for rest—but found reckoning. In the quiet, with my feet in the sand and grief in my chest, I began the work of mothering myself.

The Trip That Changed the Tone

This Mother’s Day, I gave myself something I had never given before: distance and clarity. I booked a solo trip to Montego Bay, Jamaica. Disabled, yes—but determined. It wasn’t just a vacation. It was a declaration that I am allowed to celebrate myself, even if no one else does it the way I desire.

What began as self-care unfolded into something deeper—a reckoning. A soul-level shift.

In that space, surrounded by ocean and stillness, I stopped asking, “Why don’t they…?” and started asking, “What do I need?” And the answer surprised me.

What I Need Isn’t More of the Same

What I need is to be seen—not just as a mother, but as a woman, a human, someone who still needs care. I need a relationship with my children that’s not just duty-bound or transactional, but tender. But here’s the part that hurt: I realized I may never get that.

And so the work became this—how do I love them without losing myself?

I started to understand that I’ve been trying to maintain a version of family that only works if I do all the emotional labor. I was the planner, the forgiver, the soft place to land—even when I had nowhere soft to land myself. And it became clear: that’s not love. That’s depletion dressed up as tradition.

The Choice to Mother Myself

Loving my children fiercely hasn’t changed. But I no longer believe that loving them means staying wide open to every dynamic that drains me. This isn’t about cutting ties—it’s about recalibrating closeness. About redefining what I allow, how I show up, and what I stop explaining.

In Montego Bay, I began the practice of mothering myself. Of listening to my own needs, honoring my own exhaustion, and refusing to contort into shapes that make other people more comfortable while I disappear in the process.

There is a sacred pause between what we long for and what we receive. In that space, we have a choice: to harden or to soften. I’m choosing softness—but not the kind that sacrifices my truth. The kind that says, “I will love you from a place that doesn’t cost me everything.”

Holding Love, Letting Go of Fantasy

Let me be clear: This reflection isn’t a rejection of my children. It’s an acknowledgment of reality—one that allows me to stay grounded in love without being consumed by longing.

I’m letting go of the fantasy. Not because I’ve stopped hoping, but because I’ve stopped waiting. I’m no longer shaping my life around what they might give. I’m shaping it around what I need to receive—from myself, from the community I build, and from the rituals I create to honor my own journey.

An Invitation to Other Mothers

If you’re in that in-between space—between what you imagined and what you live—please hear this: your grief is not petty. Your sadness does not mean you’re ungrateful. It means you love deeply. And that love deserves to return to you, even if it’s only through your own hands for now.

Let yourself feel it. Let yourself name it. Then let yourself evolve.

Exchanging Expectations for Reality: This Is Just the Beginning

This is one of many reflections I gathered at the water’s edge. I call them my Montego Bay Meditations—truths unearthed in solitude, sea air, and silence. This isn’t the end of my story as a mother. It’s the beginning of mothering in a new way - acknowledging unmet expectations and accepting a current reality.

Not a letting go of love—but a letting go of the weight I carried alone for too long.

Reflection Prompt:What part of your motherhood story are you still carrying that no longer fits?

Mantra: I choose connection, not consumption. I love freely, but I do not abandon myself.

Written by Carlita L. Coley, LPC

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About the Author

Carlita Coley is a writer and wellness advocate devoted to helping women heal from generational pain, reclaim their power, and mother themselves with as much care as they give to others. As the founder of My Melanin Wellness and author of Eve’s Exodus, Carlita blends storytelling, spirituality, and mental health advocacy into reflective narratives that speak directly to the heart.

Her work is rooted in truth-telling—naming the unseen labor of womanhood, navigating complex family dynamics, and creating space for joy that doesn’t require justification. Through her Montego Bay Meditations blog series, she aspires to help women feel seen, soften without shrinking, and live from a place of intentional wholeness.