Why I’ll Always Feel Grateful to My Mom (and Not for the Reasons You Think)
It’s not mother’s day, but I woke up with a newfound appreciation for my mom, and I think you would for your mother, too, if you think beyond what you know.
I’ve recently been married to a wonderful man. At 28 you probably feel the readiest for the responsibility that is marriage. And it’s at 28 that I was engaged to be married. Soon after, (I mean, very soon after; specifically, 4 months later) my husband and I were steadily embarking on our new life as newlyweds, and I was filled with gratitude the whole time because he had made the transition much easier for me.
Before I got married, I was constantly grappling with two seemingly conflicting emotions. On the one hand, I wanted freedom and independence (which involved spending as much time as I wanted with my family, making travel plans at any given time, going out with friends or engaging in social activities without worrying about a partner’s needs, or simply just not being expected to manage domestic chores). On the other hand, I harbored a deep-seated desire for simply finding love, starting a family of my own, and having a partner for life. In retrospect, I am grateful that I followed my heart and married the love of my life.
I’m now a few months into my marriage, and I’m 29. I realized I’m gradually starting to behave like my mom — at least in some aspects (but who doesn’t gradually transform into -at least- some version of their parents as they get older anyway?). I found myself spending a good chunk of my day mentally planning for meals, asking my husband the undying question of “what do you think I should cook today?”, and exerting time in the kitchen trying to turn his and my wishes into a reality, and seldom does that happen exactly as planned!
Sadly, not every day does one has an appetite for cooking. In fact, as adults, we all know that it’s very rare that you just wake up one morning with the true desire, enthusiasm and physical ability to take on a whole list of household chores. The stars just don’t align like that at all times.
Today was one of those days when I woke up feeling a little less than okay, as my hormones — in a very literal sense — were getting the best of me, and I felt overall drained from what felt like pretty much doing the same thing over and over again.
I stepped into my [unfortunately] poorly-ventilated kitchen not wanting to go through the hassle of chopping yet another onion, stir-frying yet another chicken breast, or inhaling the unpleasant smell of uncooked garlic; especially with my worsening asthma, but as a wife (and perhaps a mom one day) duty calls. I reached out to my mom, for the millionth time since I got married, to ask for her guidance on cooking a new dish. This time I’m targeting her perfect Piccata recipe. But since she wasn’t available, feeling a bit lost, I had to resort to my good old friend “the internet” looking for a recipe that actually tasted good in reality, not just on the screen of my phone like most internet recipes I have tried.
Two hours later I was done with a less-than-perfect meal. I told myself it’s alright that I can’t cook “gourmet food” just yet. After all, I’m still pretty new at this. Those were only two hours, and I have many more hours to learn the proper techniques of professional cooking in my life as a married woman. And although I spent the two hours making a meal that wasn’t what I’d hoped for or expected, the quality and the taste weren’t what occupied my mind when I was done. These two hours in the kitchen were surprisingly enlightening.
In the middle of the vapors and heat coming out of the four pots on my stove in the middle of July, it occurred to me: this is what I’ll be doing for the rest of my married life!
It doesn’t matter how many days we, as a family, decide to order food, or opt for eating out on some occasions. I’ll be the one mostly in charge of cooking, even despite my husband’s kind attempts to be cooperative in the cooking department. I cook for two people now, but in the future I’ll probably be cooking for a lot more. Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I’ve never cooked at my parents’ house, but it was never that necessary or something anyone’s life depended on, and it certainly didn’t happen often enough for me to start thinking that it’s probably something I’ll have to do for a long time.
The first person this got me thinking about was, of course, my mom. A women who has been generously cooking for over three decades for an entire family, at least five days a week. The thought seemed out of this world. That woman spent hours of her life making food; and not just any food. It’s food that had to be edible, not too routine, and even creative at times. She did that when she was nine-month pregnant, busy with work, feeling under the weather, or after a fight with dad. Bad days can come in a lot of forms and she did her best to get through them, all the way to this very day.
I asked myself “Did she have bad days where she didn’t want to set foot in the kitchen?”. The answer was yes, she definitely had many days like that throughout 30 years of marriage. What did she do on those days? She set foot, got to cooking, and made delicious food, without any of us even realizing the sheer volume of the mental pressure on her and the little demons she had to fight to get through the day.
How did she just not give up? How did any of the mothers and wives I know not just give up? How do parents and caregivers not just quit under all that never-ending pressure? Especially if they’re fighting with anxiety and depression (like I know, now, that my mother probably was but was never aware of it)?
Although I spent two hours making a meal that wasn’t what I’d hoped for or expected, that wasn’t the thought that occupied my mind when I was done. These two hours in the kitchen were surprisingly enlightening.
I believe I'm a lucky daughter to have such a loving, giving mom who has spared no effort her entire life to make us feel the best possible way. I sure enough feel grateful that she did that, but I'm more grateful that she continued to do it, because as it turns out, when things get overwhelming, giving up can be pretty easy.
When you’re a parent, or a spouse, other people depend on you. And I don’t just mean financially or emotionally, I mean on many other levels too. This means that sometimes you’re faced with the choice to either keep going, despite how bumpy the road is, or to just give up.
It took me 29 years to understand that all the things that my mom did that I didn’t like so much were probably the result of some level of anxiety she had. Yes, I had to approach my 30s to forgive my mom and see that she has been struggling to feel alright a lot of the time when I was growing up. In 2023, I realize I’m truly my mother’s daughter, and that, on many days, I have to drag my feet to get through a day, too.
My mom, along with many other women and mothers everywhere in the world, have had the worst days, but showed up for their families nevertheless. They were available even when they practically weren’t. They were there to make sure their spouses were nursed when sick, ate good food, were emotionally content, had the safety of being vulnerable as men, and always had a lover whose arms they can throw themselves into when the world was far too mean to them. And when they became mothers, those women were there at every school pick-up, every heartbreak, every meal, every doctor appointment, every day.
Being a young woman who grasps what even slight levels of anxiety and depression can do to a person, having struggled with them herself, and being a new wife now, I can finally see things from a new perspective.
I can easily see why a lot of wives and moms break down. I understand the women who end up falling into terrible clinical depression, the women that ended their own lives, or those who ended up abusing drugs. I understand them but I do not want to be them. I do not glorify the paths they took, but I see and acknowledge what an endless series of “not being alright” can do. I hear all those sad stories that didn’t end well, and I do wish they had received the help they needed, but many mothers and wives weren’t these women. Many struggled but never gave up. They were luckier, indeed, but they’d also done their share of hard work to be where they are.
Powering through responsibilities for three or four decades in one’s life is not really the norm. That’s what our minds trick us into believing. Many people stop halfway in their lives. Many run off. Many quit. It’s important to recognize that being the child of a parent who didn’t is something worthy of respect.
I'm grateful that my mom fought everything that may have ever lured her into walking out on us when things got too hard (and they inevitably do). I deeply appreciate her persistence and will to gather her resources, arm herself, and keep going; some days at 50%, other days at 100%, but always trying, just so we could grow up in a kind, loving home.
It might be wise to look out for what the women in your lives could be struggling with (and even the men, but that’s another story). Extra emotional support from spouses and families on the bad days could be their one salvation. It could be the kind pat on the back that keeps them going. It could be the “I’ll help with the dishes” or “I’ll pick the kids up from school” or even “I got you flowers today, just for the heck of it” that makes them continue to be generous givers of love for 30 or 40 more years.
My mom is a wonderful woman, no doubt. Today, tomorrow and every day I’ll feel this gratitude towards her. Every time I cook a meal, or do the dishes, or run an errand, I’ll remember that she has been through this journey before, and has always chosen us, her family. She chose us every day, chose dad every day. And dad was the partner that helped make her journey a bit more bearable.
In some years’ time, maybe my daughter will read this in her 30s, and appreciate the things I was willing to do for her relentlessly, and perhaps forgive me for the times when I wasn’t 100% there for her. It may be in her kitchen while she’s cooking a meal for her loved ones, or in the middle of her child’s recital beaming with pride.
I hope she finds it in her heart to feel gratitude and understanding towards her mother; and realize that I was only a simple woman who loved fiercely. I hope she always has the capacity to use the love that was given to her as a child, and the image of her loved ones, as her fuel and strength when all else fails in the face of hardships.
