“Parents often struggle to let go of their children, prompting children to move on. They distance themselves. The defining moments of their childhoods become overshadowed by their own achievements. Only later do children realize that their stories and successes rest upon the narratives of their parents, layered like stones beneath the surface of their lives.” — Paulo Coelho
Recently, I stumbled upon a family video featuring my eldest child when he was just five months old. As I watched, I was captivated not just by the charming antics of my baby but by the sight of my mother in her prime. Hearing her voice brought an overwhelming wave of nostalgia; I had almost forgotten how she sounded. The memories of our interactions flooded back — me, a nervous new mom, and her, a proud grandmother.
Since 2010, my mother has been battling Alzheimer’s, which has led me to reflect deeply on the ways I differ from her.
I often find myself pondering the contrasts between her and me — a blend of guilt, rebellion, and self-discovery. My mother, a tall, slender blonde with striking blue eyes, was gentle, soft-spoken, and completely devoted to her family and faith. She would selflessly offer anything she had, even if it meant giving up her last cookie. Her solution to life’s challenges was always, “Pray about it.” She epitomized the role of a Southern Baptist preacher’s wife, always present at church on Sundays.
In stark contrast, I am a short, sturdy brunette with brown eyes who frequently seeks answers rather than providing them. If my children were to describe me, they would likely not use any of the adjectives I associate with my mother. Passive? No. Soft-spoken? Absolutely not! Fragile? Definitely not! Self-sacrificing? Perhaps, but I would never share my dessert.
While my children might struggle to find similarities between me and their grandmother, there are fundamental connections that I almost overlooked. My mother was an English teacher, my very first educator, who inspired in me a love for language and writing. She longed to be a missionary in Africa; although she never achieved that dream, she dedicated many years to service in South America. When her parents faced health challenges, she returned to the U.S. to care for them.
Suddenly, I can see the threads of our lives intertwining. I am also an English teacher, fostering my children’s passion for reading by taking them to libraries and bookstores since they were infants. While I may not have dreamed of Africa, I did envision open spaces, leading my family to relocate to Colorado. When we faced the need to support ill relatives, we moved back to the East Coast. The choices I have made carry traces of my mother’s influence, evident in my actions even if they diverge from her personality.
As I continue to evolve as a mother, my children view me as a confident woman passionate about my career and dedicated to helping others. I am not merely an observer in the front pew; I stand beside my partner, actively engaged in our shared family life. My daughter humorously calls me “muscle mama,” acknowledging both my physical and emotional resilience. My children witness my daily efforts to better myself, illustrating that motherhood does not necessitate the loss of one’s identity.
I once encountered a saying that stated, “Sometimes when I open my mouth, my mother comes out.” I chuckled because that phrase doesn’t resonate with my reality. I no longer hear my mother’s gentle voice in my daily life, and I miss it deeply. However, I can find her essence in the significant decisions that shaped who I am today. Our paths have diverged — where she chose “right,” I often opted for “left.” Yet we both approached our responsibilities with the best intentions.
I will never be my mother, and that’s perfectly fine. I wish I could share one last conversation with her to discuss my choices. Some may disappoint her, while others would fill her with pride. I like to believe she would be pleased to see she raised an independent, forward-thinking daughter forging a unique path for her family, though she might prefer I choose a more traditional, less risky route.
I do not mother as my mother did, but she brought me into this world and instilled in me profound lessons about love and life. I embrace and celebrate our differences while recognizing the common ground we share in our love and aspirations. I honor her by approaching motherhood not as her but as my true self every day.
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In summary, while my approach to motherhood diverges from my mother’s, I recognize and honor her influence in significant ways. Our shared values and experiences continue to shape my identity as a parent.
Keyphrase: Motherhood Journey
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