My Mother's Daughter

M Word Diaries - My Mother’s Daughter

If you asked me what my mother was like, I would tell you she was all fire. A true Aries through and through. Always shooting from the hip and never backing down. She had a strength I still can’t fully comprehend. When life knocked her down, she got back up like it was nothing. When things were bad, her famous saying was, “This too shall pass.” It was always her go-to.

Growing up, there were times she scared the heck out of me. There was a rage inside her that I never quite understood. An anger that didn’t surface often, but when it did, you ran for cover. It wasn’t abusive. Just, to a small child — terrifying.

What reason did she have to be so angry?

Every reason in the world.

She was 27 years old. Barely grown herself. Left alone without warning, with two daughters, one salary, and a child with special needs. She was still becoming who she was supposed to be. She was still figuring out her own life and she was doing all of it completely alone. Every single day. No partner. No backup. No one to tap in when she was exhausted or scared or running on empty.

She didn’t have the luxury of falling apart. So, she didn’t.

Looking back now, I see that is where it all began for me. The people pleasing. The placating. The careful reading of every room I walked into. I learned young how to read her. I knew when to keep talking and when to go quiet. It became second nature. A survival skill I didn’t even know I was developing.

I became masterful at keeping the peace. When everyone else panics, I stay calm. Calm on the outside anyway. I have this gift, if you can call it that, of appearing completely unrattled while my stomach is in knots. Instead of feeling, I go straight into solution mode. What’s the plan? How do we fix this? I don’t waste time on blame. I just go into caretaker mode and start moving.

Because of all of this, I spent most of my life believing my mother and I were polar opposites. Her explosive fire versus my quiet calm. Her snappy comeback versus my silence and bitten lip. Her presence that filled every room versus my carefully managed invisibility.

But we were never opposites.

We were just fighting the same battle in different ways.

She faced every obstacle life threw at her with her chin up and her fists ready. And then life threw her one final battle; breast cancer. She was only 46, still so young. Still so much left to do. Still so much left to become.

And even then, even in the middle of that fight, she never broke down. Not once. Not in front of me.

As a mother now, I understand what that cost her.

She had to have been absolutely terrified. Lying awake at night with thoughts no mother should ever have to think. Wondering who would hold her daughters when she was gone. Wondering if she had said enough, loved enough, given enough.

But she never let me see that fear. Not once. Because she knew I was terrified. And she only cared about being strong for me. She was the good soldier long before I ever was.

She taught me the only way she knew how, by example. By being brave when she was falling apart inside. By putting everyone else first even when she was fighting for her own life. She handed me the greatest gift she had. And without either of us realizing it, I have carried it forward for the rest of my life.

For everyone. In every crisis. Her battle cry has never left me.

“Never depend on anyone for anything, Theresa. Always — ALWAYS — be able to take care of yourself and never give up.”

I must have heard those words a thousand times from the time I was seven years old. The year my dad left. The year she became everything.

I thought we were different. I thought she had fire and I had composure. But I understand now that composure was just my version of her fire.

We were never opposites. We were always the same. Two women. Same blood. Same battle cry. Same refusal to break.

She just ran out of time. I don’t intend to.

She never got to finish her story. I intend to finish mine. For both of us.