All that motherhood is

Claire Doll
Class of 2024

(5/2022) There’s a picture of my mother somewhere in my basement. A photograph, tattered and worn, capturing a moment in time where my mother wasn’t yet a mom—she was simply a young adult, age twenty like me, with loose, brunette curls and a sun-filled smile. Finding this photograph as a twenty-year old now, I wonder what my mother was like before she had my sister and me. I wonder if she knew she’d have a daughter that would grow to be like her, with the same ever-changing blue-green eyes and dry hands in the winter and stubborn, hardheaded attitude. I wonder how she did it, how she raised me, and most importantly, how she put up with me.

When I was sixteen, I knew everything. I wore just a sweatshirt to school in 20-degree weather, because the cold never bothered me. I was picky with my wardrobe, with what I ate, with how I looked, because what sixteen-year-old wasn’t? And inevitably, I picked fights with my mother. I was never an early riser, so waking up before the sun for school resulted in mornings of bickering and talking back and the most awful of attitudes. Maybe it was because my mom and I were so alike in our stubbornness, or maybe I was just a mean, irritated teenager. Whatever the case, growing up, my relationship with my mother was defined by these tumultuous ups and downs.

But I’ve learned that we challenge the people we love most. My mom sees me at my best and at my worst; she not only knows every tear that slides down my cheek, but also wipes them away as they fall, whether I’ve stumbled off my bike, or whether I’ve had my heart broken by a boy. And through it all, she has painted a lovely and true image of what being a mother is.

Motherhood is holding your daughter’s hand, both when she learns to walk and when she experiences her first heartbreak. It’s loving your daughter even when she yells, even when she slams the door in your face. It’s staying up late to make sure your daughter arrives home, only to wake up early the next morning to bake her breakfast, chocolate chip muffins topped with extra syrup. Motherhood is writing notes to sneak into lunchboxes, ending each message with a sincere "I love you." It’s knowing that your daughter’s tears are temporary, knowing that she’s stronger than she thinks, and telling her all of this. But motherhood is ultimately watching your daughter grow into someone who wishes to be exactly like you.

My mom is the strongest, happiest, most fulfilled, and most selfless person I know. When my older sister was born, my mother sacrificed her job as a nurse to care for her daughters. Because of that, I am overwhelmingly thankful. I would never have been able to pursue extracurriculars in high school, maintain straight A’s, hang out with friends, and even go to college. This kind of selflessness makes me wonder how my mom herself lived. How could she be so loving? How could someone have the power to raise another life? How did she do it all in the past twenty-some years?

There’s a lyric from one of my favorite Taylor Swift songs—"Never Grow Up"—that refers specifically to motherhood and nostalgia: "Remember, that she’s getting older too." As children, we tend to look at our parents as frozen in time. We grow old, from jubilant toddlers and kids to angsty teens and matured young adults. We live freely and joyously in our youth, because when we’re that young, the world is just beginning. It’s colorful and beautiful and ripe and has everything we’ve ever hoped for. But seldom do we realize how our parents age with us. They watch us take our first steps, send us off to kindergarten on the bus, and then in the blink of an eye, sit in the audience at our high school and college graduations. How could someone possibly go through all of that? How could they find the courage and wisdom to not only care and provide for a human, but also give them wings to fly into the world? In mother-daughter relationships, moms especially possess such strong and empathetic hearts during all of this. There are tears and fights and attitudes and bickering, but at the end of a long day, they know how to love more than ever, and they never stop loving. It’s unceasing and abounding.

It’s a feeling I certainly cannot explain, but someday hope to. I hope I can possess even half of the selflessness, of the strength and beauty that my mother has. I hope I can clearly and thoroughly express how thankful I am for what she gave up and continues to give up for me. I hope I can somehow make up for all the sleep she lost just to make sure I got home safe, and I hope I can be a light to her like she is to me.

Now I come home from college on the weekends, and I can’t wait to hug my mom. To sit down and tell her all about my day, while trying the new cookies-and-cream peanut butter she bought off Amazon. To order out dinner and watch an episode or two of "Big Little Lies." We moved houses a couple of years ago, and our new home has a big chalkboard in the kitchen. Each week, my mom writes a quote on the board, so that when my sister and I come home from college, we "feel inspired," as she says. But I just hope she knows that I don’t need a quote or a song lyric or anything to feel inspired. All I have to do is look at my mother, look at how beautiful and strong she is, look at how she smiles with such gentleness and love—that is what inspires me, and will continue to inspire me, for as long as I live.

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