I Love My Mom
I was born to my mother for a reason.
I used to dwell on our differences, that she was emotional and that I'm not. She doesn't like to cook; I love it. She hate shopping while it's my therapy. We have a very different style of accomplishing things as well. My mother's theory is "if it's only worth half doing, half do it." While mine is "if it's worth doing at all, it's worth doing right."
But recently these differences are not so important to me. They are no longer how I define our relationship to another. Rather, I have been noticing similarities.
My mother and I are both journalists. We are both interested by people and the world around us. We have no problem talking to others, and I believe we both feel that making connections, learning new things, gaining new stories validates us, makes us more interesting, accomplished people.
My mother and I are both intelligent and witty. We are also exceptional writers.
My mother instilled a great love for BBC dramas in me at a young age. I'm the only one of her daughters that ever got really into them. I remember hating them when I was very small, but something changed at some road marker and now I can't get enough of them.
My mother and I both love to travel.
We also both love to eat. This hobby works beautifully well with traveling.
Neither my mother nor I like "things." We don't like souvenirs- they're just more things to dust.
My mother and I have both suffered with depression. There is a despair so great associated with depression that those who battle with it have an unspoken understanding. It is a painful understanding of woe, but knowing that you're not alone even in your depth of lonely grief is a strength.
My mom actually listens to me. I used to think she didn't, but she does. She is the most supportive person I have. The most caring, the most involved.
My mom seems to think that I'm incredible. I hope that someday I can recognize in myself what she sees.
My mom doesn't try to sugarcoat my situation. But she has experiences that help strengthen me through difficulties.
My mom has faith in me. Faith that I will be okay. Faith that there is a better plan for me.
My mom loves me.
I love my mom.
I used to dwell on our differences, that she was emotional and that I'm not. She doesn't like to cook; I love it. She hate shopping while it's my therapy. We have a very different style of accomplishing things as well. My mother's theory is "if it's only worth half doing, half do it." While mine is "if it's worth doing at all, it's worth doing right."
But recently these differences are not so important to me. They are no longer how I define our relationship to another. Rather, I have been noticing similarities.
My mother and I are both journalists. We are both interested by people and the world around us. We have no problem talking to others, and I believe we both feel that making connections, learning new things, gaining new stories validates us, makes us more interesting, accomplished people.
My mother and I are both intelligent and witty. We are also exceptional writers.
My mother instilled a great love for BBC dramas in me at a young age. I'm the only one of her daughters that ever got really into them. I remember hating them when I was very small, but something changed at some road marker and now I can't get enough of them.
My mother and I both love to travel.
We also both love to eat. This hobby works beautifully well with traveling.
Neither my mother nor I like "things." We don't like souvenirs- they're just more things to dust.
My mother and I have both suffered with depression. There is a despair so great associated with depression that those who battle with it have an unspoken understanding. It is a painful understanding of woe, but knowing that you're not alone even in your depth of lonely grief is a strength.
My mom actually listens to me. I used to think she didn't, but she does. She is the most supportive person I have. The most caring, the most involved.
My mom seems to think that I'm incredible. I hope that someday I can recognize in myself what she sees.
My mom doesn't try to sugarcoat my situation. But she has experiences that help strengthen me through difficulties.
My mom has faith in me. Faith that I will be okay. Faith that there is a better plan for me.
My mom loves me.
I love my mom.
