Families are weird. DNA and experiences tie you together in a messy ball of weaknesses and strengths. Although I have inherited my mom’s insecurity and self-doubt, I have also inherited her gentleness and kindness. I admit that at times I have resented my mother for being human, but I am learning to be grateful for the ways she has shown grace and courage in being my parent.
She is committed to loving me unconditionally, whether I’m challenging her beliefs or moving halfway across the world. She makes time to visit me, and she buys my groceries when she does, even though I am in my mid-20s. She supports my decisions even when I change my mind, and she listens to me rant about all the ways I would change the world if only people would do what I say. I know that no matter what happens or what I do, she has my back.
My mom raised me to love myself and to put other people first. I was a weird kid, and I felt weird about it. I was introverted, shy, and nerdy. I went through a truly hellish puberty. Throughout all the emotional and physical changes, she assured me that I was beautiful inside and out. She modeled sacrificial love, both in the home and in service at our church. And she taught me to have fun and to enjoy life. She laughs often and quickly and, although it takes a little convincing, she is usually delighted to act like an idiot. I love her, and I’m so glad to call her my mother.
Happy birthday, Mom!