I look at this photo and wonder if this is me or my mother?
Seriously, I know it’s me. But when I look at this photo all I can see is my mom, when she was my age. Now I don’t mind a bit, I love my mom. She’s one of the finest people on the planet. (You might think I’m biased, but I’m not. She really is). But of course, like many women I am in complete denial about becoming more and more like her every day.
And it’s not just my face… or the pose… or the hat… I hear her voice coming out of my mouth, and I hear myself saying things she says all the time, fer cryin’ out loud. (Aw! See?) I hear her when I laugh, and I’m reminded of her in the odd gesture or movement I’ll catch myself making sometimes.
As wonderful as our mothers may be, I think there is something about becoming more like them that makes women uncomfortable. I think it’s because we spend our whole lives trying to be different, to prove her wrong, to show her that we can do things on our own. But then we discover that she was right about a lot of things. Maybe we begin to understand that she learned lessons from life that gave her wisdom and strength, and now it’s our turn. We’ve been learning those same lessons ourselves.
It took me until just a few years ago (And I’m 57, or will be soon.) to get comfortable with the fact that I’m turning into my mother. I’m not exactly like her—I’m a lot more liberal—but I find myself doing a lot of the same things, and I see my daughter doing/thinking some of the same things also. I wonder how long it will take her?