Healing the Storm: Embracing My Role as a Rainbow Baby

Yesterday, I was listening to a beautiful soul I follow on YouTube, Ashley of the WayUp Network. She was sharing some revelations about her journey as a rainbow baby, and this term stopped me in my tracks. I had always known I was born after my mother lost twins, but I had never heard the term “rainbow baby” until now. Hearing those words sent me into my own rabbit hole of reflection, peeling back layers of my story I hadn’t fully examined before. What I found listening to her message and sitting in my own thoughts was that I am in awe of the strength we can summon to heal, even when the journey feels unbearable.

For most of my 50yrs + of life, I felt like my existence was met with resentment rather than joy. Hence my perplexity to find out that Rainbow babies typically symbolize hope, healing, and renewal following a period of loss or grief, particularly after the loss of a previous pregnancy. My mother never openly expressed grief over the twins she lost. If you’ve been reading this blog for a while by now you know I’ve often refer to my mother as the “Wonder Woman” of our family because nothing ever seemed to faze her. Yet now I realize her unspoken sorrow lingered in the spaces between us, shaping our relationship in ways I am only beginning to understand.

The term “rainbow baby” holds so much symbolism—the light that follows the storm. But when the storm isn’t acknowledged for generations, that light can feel less like a celebration and more like a shadow of the pain that came before it. Growing up, I often wished she’d had the twins instead of me because I felt like I could never be enough to fill the void they left. That unspoken tension became a silent narrative, one that shaped how I saw myself: not as a cherished individual, but as a replacement—someone who had to earn her place and prove her worth.

Since diving into my healing journey, this new understanding has given me a profound sense of purpose. I can now see that being a rainbow baby isn’t just about the circumstances of my birth. It’s a role, a calling, and yes, at times, a burden. It’s about being sent to bring light not only to my mother’s storm but to generations of unspoken grief, unresolved trauma, and cycles of pain that were handed down like heirlooms.

I’ve realized that I was sent here to heal and break the cycle from my maternal lineage. That awareness has been both liberating and overwhelming. There have been so many moments when I’ve thought, “Why me?” Why did she lose those two babies, leaving me to endure her anger? Why did I have to face what felt like endless sorrow, disappointment, and despair? Even as I began to accept that I am the cycle-breaker, I found myself asking, “Why did I have to be the one to gather all the strength of my soul to face this pain head-on?”

But then, as I sat with these questions for the last couple of days and digest Ashley’s message, I feel the answer stirring in my heart: because I was the one who could. I was the one brave enough to stand in the fire and choose to transform it into light. And while I’ve often wished I could hand this work to someone else, I’ve also come to understand that this work—this healing—is the legacy I am creating.

Being the one to break the cycle isn’t easy. It means facing not only my own wounds but the echoes of generations past. It means grieving not just for myself but for the mother I needed, for the twins who were lost, for the love that was buried under layers of pain and unspoken sorrow. And it means finding compassion—for my mother, for her mother, and for the women before them who lacked the tools, the support, or the courage to heal.

It also means finding compassion for myself. For the sensitive child who carried the weight of her mother’s pain. For the over-functioning, people-pleasing woman who has spent a lifetime trying to make sense of it all. For the brave soul who chose to come here, to this family, to this lineage, with a purpose far greater than she could have ever imagined.

This realization has given me a sense of peace I didn’t know I needed. I can now see that my mother’s inability to process her grief wasn’t a reflection of my worth. Her silence about her pain wasn’t my fault. And her struggles to show love weren’t because I was unlovable. They were simply the result of a storm she never learned to weather.

By breaking this cycle, I’m not only healing myself. I’m reclaiming the beauty, strength, and resilience that have always existed within my lineage, buried beneath these deep layers of pain. I’m choosing to honor both the storm and the rainbow, to hold space for the grief while also celebrating the light. And I’m choosing to write a new story—one that is rooted in love, compassion, and the profound belief that healing is possible.

To anyone else on this journey of breaking cycles and healing generational wounds: I see you. I know how heavy this work can feel. But I also know the beauty that lies on the other side of the storm. You are not alone in this. And while it may not feel like it in the hardest moments, the light you are creating will illuminate paths you can’t yet imagine.

You are the rainbow, not just for those who came before you, but for yourself. For your own soul. For the life you are reclaiming. And that, I believe, is the most beautiful legacy of all.

Thank you for your message, Ashley!