Mother: one’s female parent; of, relating to, or characteristic of a mother; to give origin or rise to.
Today is my mom’s birthday. The past 2 years, it has been difficult for me to celebrate her because I am so acutely aware of what meaning the following week holds for me. I recognize that sounds selfish, but depression doesn’t care. And my state of depression made it difficult for me to move through even those important moments. But this year is different. This year I am celebrating her.
My mom is a mother in every sense of the word. Yes, she “gave origin to” me, but she has nurtured me, supported me, taught me, and loved me. Having a daughter spiral into a year-long (if not longer) depression isn’t easy, and yet she has been next to me the whole time. She listened to me talk about it when I needed to, but didn’t press when I didn’t want to think about it. Though rough at first, she became gentle and let me move through and making meaning of (or not) it on my own. There were times she wasn’t sure how I would turn out and days neither of us were sure if I’d ever recover. But she didn’t give up on me. When it felt like everyone else had, she didn’t.
And for that, I am forever grateful.
We have had our share of arguments and discontent. There was a point in high school where I didn’t want to see her. But she was also the first example I had that seeking counseling can truly help. In fact, at one point, we went to counseling together to work to repair our relationship. Honestly, I credit the relationship I have with her now to those few months.
God knew what He was doing when He chose her to be my mom, and I am so grateful. I know the fireworks aren’t really for her (nice try, mom and dad), but she deserves fireworks.
So today I celebrate the woman who not only gave birth to me but has been an example of a strong, independent woman who can love both career and family and what being a parent truly means. Today I celebrate that God made me her daughter.
Happy birthday, mom.