It happened so quietly, I almost didn’t notice. A phrase slipped out of my mouth—and it was hers. The way I folded the laundry, the sigh after a long day, the look I gave when something didn’t go right—it was all her. I laughed, shook my head, and thought, Oh no, I’m becoming my mama.
And not just in the light, charming ways. In the deeper ways too. The ways that made me proud. The ways that made me pause.
She became her mother. And now I see the thread winding through us all... A lineage of habits, strength, silence, and survival. Some of it I treasure. Some of it I need to break.
The Gifts She Gave Me
There are parts of my mother I hope I never lose. Her resilience—how she got up even when the world knocked her down. Her selflessness—how she gave when she had little left. Her sense of humor that pierced through stress like sunshine through clouds. The way she showed love through actions, not just words.
I admire her grit, her ability to show up, her unwavering loyalty to the people she loves. She taught me what it means to carry others without dropping yourself, even though she didn’t always get it right. That’s the part I’m keeping.
Then There’s the Other Stuff…
The martyr complex. The quiet swallowing of needs. The way she’d apologize for having feelings, for asking for help, for taking up space. The emotional armor she wore so tightly that even love had trouble getting in. The pride that sometimes got in the way of healing.
I see those patterns trying to take root in me—the tendency to over-function, to suppress, to avoid confrontation, to wear strength like a mask instead of a choice. That’s the cycle I’m breaking.
Because strength without softness can become isolation. And silence, while noble at times, can turn into suffocation.
The Line in the Sand
I am choosing to become a new version of this legacy. A conscious one. I want to be strong and vulnerable. Giving and self-honoring. I want to listen to my body when it says “rest,” instead of powering through because that’s what I saw. I want to speak up instead of shrinking down. I want to show love in ways I never saw modeled... through boundaries, through honesty, through saying “no” with the same love as “yes.”
I want to stop confusing sacrifice with love.
Generational Echoes and Evolution
It’s humbling to realize that I’m not so different from the woman I spent years trying to not become. And yet, there’s beauty in that too. Because becoming like her isn’t failure... it’s foundation. It gives me a starting point, a blueprint I can edit. She did the best she could with what she had. Now, I’m doing the same but with more tools, more awareness, more space to rewrite the story.
Yes, I’m becoming my mother. Just like she became hers. But I’m doing it with my eyes open. I’m choosing what to carry forward and what to let go of. I honor her by honoring myself. I break patterns not to reject her, but to heal both of us and everyone who came before.
Because growth doesn’t mean forgetting your roots. It means planting them deeper, in richer soil.
