I Don’t Parent Like My Mom, But I Cherish Her Influence on My Motherhood Journey

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“Parents seldom release their children, prompting children to let go of them. They branch out, moving away. The defining moments of their youth fade beneath their own achievements. It’s only later that children realize their stories and successes rest on the foundations laid by their mothers and fathers—stones stacked beneath the surface of their lives.” —Inspired by Paulo Coelho

Recently, I stumbled upon a home video featuring my eldest child at just five months old. I was captivated by the sights and sounds, but what really struck me was the glimpse of my mother as she once was. Hearing her voice released a torrent of emotions I hadn’t expected. It had been so long since I heard her gentle tone, and I recalled our exchanges—me, a nervous new mom, and her, an adoring grandmother.

Since 2010, my mother has been battling Alzheimer’s, leaving me to navigate a path of deep reflection.

I’ve been reflecting on how different I am from my mom. It’s a blend of guilt, rebellion, and self-discovery. My mom was a tall, slender, blonde, blue-eyed woman—passive, soft-spoken, delicate, and utterly selfless. She would give us anything she had, even if it meant going without. Her life revolved around family and faith, always encouraging us to “pray about it” whenever challenges arose. The archetypal Southern Baptist preacher’s wife, she was a fixture in church every Sunday.

In stark contrast, I’m a short, sturdy brunette with brown eyes, often armed with more questions than answers. If you asked my kids to describe me, I doubt they’d echo any of the sweet adjectives I’d use for my mom. “Passive?” They’d chuckle. “Soft-spoken?” Not a chance! “Fragile?” Absolutely not. “Self-sacrificing?” Maybe a bit, but I’m definitely not sharing my snacks!

To be honest, they would have to dig deep to discover any resemblance between me and their Nana.

Yet, despite our differences, there are undeniable similarities that I nearly overlooked while focusing solely on our contrasts. Mom was an English teacher, my first educator, igniting my passion for writing and literature. Her childhood aspiration was to be a missionary in Africa. While she never made it there, she dedicated many years to service in South America. When her parents struggled with Alzheimer’s, she moved back to the States to care for them in their final days.

Now, the parallels are clearer.

I, too, am an English teacher—my children’s first mentor. Since they were tiny, I’ve taken them to libraries and bookstores, nurturing their love for reading. While my dreams didn’t lead me to Africa, I sought wide-open spaces, moving our family across the country to Colorado without even a glimpse of our new home. When tragedy struck and we needed to support sick parents, we packed up and returned to the East Coast. Mom’s influence resonates in these choices, even if our personalities differ greatly.

I continue to evolve as a mother. My children see me as a woman who embraces her career and passionately helps others. I stand beside their dad as a partner and equal rather than just a supportive figure in the pews.

My daughter affectionately calls me “muscle mama,” recognizing both my physical and emotional strength. Each day, I strive to become a better version of myself without sacrificing my identity in the name of motherhood. I hope they understand that my individuality holds just as much value as theirs.

I once came across a meme stating, “Sometimes when I open my mouth, my mother comes out.” I chuckled at how this didn’t resonate with me. I don’t hear her voice in my life anymore, and I miss that soft, soothing sound. Yet, I can still feel her presence in the backdrop of the major choices that have shaped who I am today. Although our paths are vastly different—where she turned right, I often veered left—we both stepped up when it mattered most, striving to fulfill our dreams, raise our kids, and support our loved ones.

I will never be my mother, and that’s perfectly fine. I wish for one last chat with her about how she feels about that. Some of my choices might disappoint her, while others would make her beam with pride. I like to think she would be thrilled to see her independent, forward-thinking daughter paving a unique way for our family. However, she might prefer I take a more conventional route with fewer risks and questions.

I don’t parent like my mom did. She brought me into this world and imparted countless lessons about love and life. I embrace and celebrate our differences, recognizing that our shared love and aspirations overshadow the contrasts. I honor her legacy by being authentic to myself in my role as a mother every single day.

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Summary

This piece reflects on the author’s journey of motherhood, contrasting her parenting style with her mother’s. While they differ significantly in personality and approach, the author recognizes the lasting influence of her mother’s values and experiences. The narrative embraces their differences while honoring the shared love and aspirations that connect them.