What I Learned from My Mom

(And What I Hope My Kids Learn from Me)

There are moments in motherhood when I hear my own voice and realize — it’s hers. My mother’s words, her cadence, her wisdom, slipping from my lips as effortlessly as breathing. It is in those moments that I understand the weight of what she gave me, the lessons she taught without even realizing it.

A woman with salt-and-pepper hair, glasses, and a petite stature, my mother is a woman of quiet strength. As a child, I didn’t fully understand the sacrifices she made, the burdens she carried, or the way she quietly built a life where I could thrive. But now, standing where she once stood, I see it all with a clarity I wish I had sooner.

She taught me that resilience is not about never falling but about always standing back up. That kindness is not weakness, but the most powerful force we have. That being true to yourself, even when the world tries to tell you otherwise, is the greatest act of defiance.

She never told me to be strong—she simply showed me how. She didn’t lecture me about perseverance, but I saw it in the way she kept going, even when she was tired, even when life was unfair, even when she doubted herself. She taught me that love is in the details — the way she remembered the little things that made me feel seen, the way she stood up for me when I was too young to stand up for myself.

She made me believe I could do anything, not because she fed me empty words of encouragement, but because she lived it. She showed me, through her actions, her sacrifices, and her unwavering belief in me, that I was capable. And that belief became a foundation that carried me through the hardest moments of my life.

Now, as I navigate motherhood myself, I find myself wondering: What will my children carry from me? What lessons will take root in their hearts and shape the people they become?

I hope they learn that curiosity is a gift, that questions are worth asking, and that wonder is something to be nurtured, never outgrown. I hope they understand that strength is not about being unbreakable, but about embracing vulnerability and finding courage in the face of fear. That they can be both soft and strong, that emotions are not a burden but a guide, that they never have to hide parts of themselves to be loved.

I hope they learn that kindness is a force — one that can change the world. That the way we treat people, especially when no one is watching, is the truest reflection of who we are. I hope they know that their voices matter, that they deserve to take up space, that they should never shrink themselves to make others comfortable.

And I hope they understand that failure is not something to fear, but something to learn from. That every mistake is a step forward, every setback a lesson in disguise. That they do not have to be perfect to be worthy, and that their worth is never measured by their achievements.

But more than anything, I hope they feel what my mother made me feel every single day: loved, completely and unconditionally. Not just in the big moments, but in the everyday ones — the way I tuck them in at night, the way I listen when they speak, the way I show up, over and over again. I hope they know, deep in their bones, that no matter where life takes them, they will always have a safe place to land.

Because that, I now understand, is the greatest gift a mother can give.

And it is the one I hope to pass down, in every word, in every action, in every quiet moment of love that they may not fully understand now — but will one day carry with them, just as I carry my mother’s love with me.