My mother reminds me of all the things I could become—and all the things she could have been.
She walks like she carries the secrets of the universe in her palms. She struts like the weight of her enemies rests quietly beneath her feet.
I like to imagine the day she met my father. A cold evening, heavy with the promise of a storm. The kind of night the world agrees never means anything good.
I imagine meeting him changed the entire course of her life. He walks like the world owes him something. Like people kneel when he speaks. Like God shares his voice with him sometimes.
….
If I met my mother before I was born, I would remind her of the brilliant girl she once was. I'd take her back to her boarding school days. Back to the promises she made to her late father. I’d tell her to stay focused on the path she once mapped out so clearly.
But even then, I think I’d be helpless. Just as confused as she must have been. Burdened by a situation that neither of us could control.
So, maybe I wouldn’t want to meet her at all.
Maybe everything that happened was meant to happen.
Even if I don’t fully understand why yet, maybe that’s okay. The past already had its moment and I don’t need to live there.
If I could choose, I’d rather meet my future daughter.
If I ever have one.
I want to know what it feels like to be mothered by someone like me.
To feel the love I’d pour into her. The warmth and peace my presence would give. The quiet confidence of knowing I’d always show up for her, no matter what.
And maybe the most beautiful part: to be loved by two people who are deeply in love with each other.
Because in the end, the most important thing any of us deserve to feel in this life is love—real love—wrapped in the safety and security of being truly seen, heard, and protected.
Icl, I miss being here😔
Until next time🧚🏾♀️