“Parents seldom relinquish their children, leading children to let go of their parents. They move forward, creating new paths, their lives defined by their own achievements. Only later do they realize that their stories are built upon the narratives of their mothers and fathers, layered like stones beneath the surface of their lives.” —Paulo Coelho
Recently, I stumbled upon a home video featuring my eldest child at just five months old. As I watched, I was captivated not just by my baby’s first Christmas but by the sight of my mother as she once was. Hearing her voice again opened a floodgate of memories I thought I’d lost; I had forgotten the warmth of her tone and the moments we shared—me, a nervous new mother, and her, a doting grandmother.
Since 2007, my mother has been battling Alzheimer’s, and this has prompted deep reflection about our differences and similarities.
I often contemplate how distinct I am from my mother. This realization is a blend of guilt, rebellion, and self-discovery. My mom, with her tall, slender figure, soft-spoken demeanor, and selfless nature, dedicated her life to our family and her faith. If she had one cookie, she would gladly give it up for me. Her response to any challenge was simply, “Pray about it.” She epitomized the Southern Baptist preacher’s wife, always present in the front pew of church each Sunday.
In contrast, I am a compact, brown-eyed woman with a tendency to ask questions rather than offer easy answers. If my children were to describe me, “passive” or “soft-spoken” would not even make the list. My daughter might jokingly call me “muscle mama,” a recognition of my strength and resilience.
Despite our contrasting personalities, there are profound connections between us that I initially overlooked in favor of our differences. My mother was an English teacher, my first mentor, and instilled in me a love for language and writing. While she dreamed of being a missionary in Africa, her journey led her to serve in South America. When her parents faced health challenges, she moved back to the U.S. to care for them.
I now see the reflection of her choices in my own life. I, too, am an English teacher, nurturing my children’s love for reading since their infancy. Though I didn’t dream of Africa, my desire for open spaces led us to relocate to Colorado, sight unseen. When family emergencies arose, we returned to the East Coast to support our loved ones. My mother’s influence is evident in these decisions, even if it doesn’t manifest in my personality.
As I evolve as a mother, my children witness me as a confident individual who values my career and is committed to helping others. I stand shoulder-to-shoulder with their father, rather than in the background. I strive daily to improve myself without sacrificing my identity. I hope they recognize that self-worth is not diminished by motherhood.
I once saw a meme that said, “Sometimes, when I speak, my mother comes out.” This made me smile, as I no longer hear her voice in my daily life. I miss her gentle tone, yet I find her presence in the significant decisions that shape who I am today. Although our paths diverged—where she chose “right,” I often chose “left”—we both showed up for our families in the best ways we knew how.
I will never be my mother, and that’s perfectly fine. I wish I could share one last conversation with her about the choices I’ve made. Some might disappoint her, while others would fill her with pride. I like to think she would be pleased to see her independent, progressive daughter forging a unique path for her family—though she might prefer a more conventional route with less uncertainty.
While I do not mother the way she did, I honor her by embracing my own unique approach to motherhood. She brought me into this world and imparted invaluable lessons about love and life. Our differences are worthy of celebration, as we share a profound bond rooted in love and shared aspirations. Each day, I show up as myself, honoring her legacy in my own way.
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Summary:
Eliza Thompson reflects on her distinct approach to motherhood compared to her own mother, who was self-sacrificing and traditional. Despite their differences in personality and parenting style, Eliza finds profound similarities in their shared values and life choices. She embraces her individuality as a mother, honoring her mother’s legacy while carving her own path.