There are still moments, more often than I care to admit, when I feel like the little girl from my original family—the one I was born into, where I was the younger sister and daughter. Recently, I felt that nostalgic tug when my children were off at camp and my partner was away on a business trip. I shared dinner with my father and brother, creating a rare moment that felt strikingly familiar. We reminisced about family vacations, our late mother’s culinary misadventures, and the long life of our beloved family dog.
This isn’t the first time I’ve felt that pull back to my roots while navigating my own family life. I remember calling my mother from a hotel payphone during my honeymoon, excitedly sharing wedding details while she gently urged me to savor the moment with my new husband. I was enjoying every second of our getaway, but that simple phone call drew me back to her.
Years later, when my son was born, I filled out hospital forms and instinctively wrote my mother’s name in the “mother’s name” section. The nurse kindly reminded me, “Sweetheart, you’re the mother now.” Ah, I got it—sort of.
Just a few months after that, I sat by my mother’s bedside as she faced the end of her long battle with cancer. She encouraged me to go home and be with my husband and son—my own family—and to take good care of them. She understood this transition better than I did.
Perhaps my original family’s gentle nudges to embrace my role as a grown-up in my own family only intensified my desire to revert back to the familiarity of my childhood. I’ve heard that in some families, grown children feel guilted into taking on familial responsibilities, prompting them to flee. My mother spoke of giving us both roots and wings. I had the roots, but I clearly needed more expansive wings.
Over time, I’ve noticed those wings have grown. Despite what Peter Pan once taught me during a family outing to the theater, I have indeed grown up. While I still instinctively reach out to my father for advice on car repairs or insurance, and I occasionally call my aunt (my mother’s sister) from a dressing room for input before buying a new outfit, I feel most at home in my roles as a wife, mother, and legitimate adult. It took me long enough to get here!
My husband and children have created our own family traditions, inside jokes, travel stories, and favorite meals (even if my daughter still dreams of having a family dog). We are a complete and, I’d argue, a quite happy family unit—just the four of us. They are blessings I cherish every day. It may sound cliché, but it’s absolutely true.
Whenever the opportunity arises to spend time with my original family members, I seize it. I’ve come to appreciate that it’s perfectly okay to embrace both the memories of my first family and the moments I share with my own grown family. That’s part of what being an adult means—and those progressive bifocal lenses!
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Summary:
This piece reflects on the author’s connection to her original nuclear family while embracing her role in her own family. It highlights the nostalgia of childhood memories and the gentle push from her original family to grow into adulthood. The author expresses gratitude for her current family unit while acknowledging the importance of both her past and present familial ties.