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I Finally Understand You, Mom
I reached out to you today because I was feeling a bit overwhelmed. Without any hesitation, you agreed to come over as soon as you finished your laundry. You joined me for lunch with the boys, and just having you around made everything feel a little lighter. Why does everything seem so secure when you’re nearby?
Even at 31, I sometimes find myself wanting to run to you for comfort. You have this incredible knack for saying just the right thing to make me feel better. You’re the only one who picks up on the things I leave unsaid and notices what I try to hide.
It’s like I’ve stepped into your shoes. In my toughest moments, I realize you did this for me. There are days when I feel invisible, as if no one sees the effort I pour into everything. Sometimes it seems like I’m constantly giving, yet I’m expected to give even more, often without recognition. My partner unintentionally makes me feel like my contributions don’t stack up to his, simply because I don’t have visible outcomes at the end of the day. The house is still cluttered, the dishes pile up, and I can hardly remember what I accomplished.
Sometimes, it feels like you’re the only one who truly sees the love and effort I put in. You grasp how much of myself I sacrifice for my family. I often reflect on those moments from my childhood when you gave selflessly. I think of the grapes I don’t eat, letting the boys have them because I know how much little Timmy loves them. Growing up, I remember there were always grapes around. I assumed you didn’t like them since you never ate them. Even now, you insist I take the last of anything, saying you “don’t need it anyway.” I always trusted you until I became a mom myself. Now, I get it—you were letting me have it, even if you wanted it too, because your joy came from seeing me happy.
In those moments of giving, I often think back to how you poured yourself into me. All day, I’m surrounded by the stories of others—their achievements, their adventures. I watch Lego towers being built, kids jumping off steps, and karate moves in the air. I’m asked to notice everyone else’s victories, and once the kids are tucked in bed, I finally get a brief moment to think about myself.
I sometimes feel like I do the same thing to you. I call, eager to share everything happening in my life, racing to spill all the details. You’re the only one who listens with such genuine interest, celebrating my wins like no one else does. Or at least, you make me feel that way. After our conversations, I often realize I forgot to ask how you’re doing.
You are my safe haven. You nurture me even when I’m not aware of it. You make me feel cherished and truly heard, and I never fully appreciated that until now, when I often come last. I understand what it feels like to be the one providing that sanctuary for someone else.
I used to think I had outgrown my need for you, that I was carving out my own path. You let me believe that. Yet, you’ve always been there, quietly supporting me, helping me to rise whenever I stumbled, just like you did when I was a little girl. Thank you hardly captures my gratitude, but I want you to know I see you now. I see you all day, in my darkest moments and in those blissful seconds when I look into my children’s faces. I recognize all that you sacrificed and the depth of your love. I finally see you, Mom.
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In summary, this heartfelt reflection illustrates the deep appreciation for a mother’s sacrifices, love, and unwavering support. It emphasizes how being a parent can sometimes obscure the recognition we give to our own mothers, and it highlights the realization that these bonds are often cyclical.