Last week, it hit me like an epiphany. I am my mother. Not my mother exactly, but I do have many traits that she possesses that I have fought hard against. I literally ran from. I love my mother to death, but I have never wanted to be like her. I have tried the utmost to become the very opposite. I have tried to learn from her mistakes and make myself an even better me. Isn’t that what most children do? I know there are some of you that want to be like your mothers, but that wasn’t my case.
However, every now and then I would see parts of her pop in my life. In the way I would respond to things and even in some cases, how I processed those things. And it scared me. Not to say that it didn’t inherit some interesting traits from my father’s side. I am over-analytical. I like to have everything organized in a precise way… Yet, maybe those are my own individual quirks. Not attributable to any side of my family. However, I do think we do develop a little bit of our own craziness over the years.
But I digress. I when I made the realization that I shared more in common with my mother than I thought last week. I panicked for a second, but then a wonderful calm came over me. So what, I thought? Is there anything wrong with being like her? Yes, she has her flaws, but who doesn’t? I would like to think that I have inherited some of the best parts of her along with some of the bad.
At the end of the day, it is my choice how I let those inherent traits manifest. We all carry our individual baggage, but at some point we have to let it go. And piece by piece, I am dropping mine off.