In a small playground, I find myself seated on an oversized rock designed to resemble a chair, positioned just a few paces from the house I recently departed. This peculiar structure stands out in a space meant for children, presenting a potential hazard for toddlers. As I absentmindedly trace the etched names and sentiments—“Tom loves Sarah” and “Jake was here, March 1990”—I am transported back to my own childhood.
At the age of 12, I experienced a prolonged wait for my mother to arrive after my math tutoring session. While my peers were promptly whisked away by their parents, I remained isolated, grappling with feelings of disappointment and abandonment. I spent nearly two hours in the teacher’s house, contemplating whether to call my mother but ultimately choosing to remain silent, fully aware that she likely wasn’t home. This was a time before the convenience of mobile phones and social media, so I was left with no option but to wait.
Upon finally spotting her black SUV in the distance, I felt a strange mixture of resignation and frustration. “Sorry, I lost track of time,” she said, to which I replied, “It’s okay.” Yet, I couldn’t help but wonder: Where had she been? When I expressed my desire to wait outside for fresh air, she insisted I should have stayed indoors for my safety, unaware that her absence had left me feeling invisible.
As the third of four children, I often felt overshadowed, longing for the attention and validation that seemed reserved for my siblings. Was my time spent waiting a subconscious plea for recognition? Throughout my childhood, I often felt like an outsider, rebellious and eager to voice my opinions, striving to advocate for myself. Despite my mother’s love, expressed in her own way, it lacked the nurturing warmth I craved—a tenderness characterized by daily hugs, heartfelt conversations, and emotional openness.
Since becoming a parent myself, I have made a conscious effort to foster a different environment for my children. Daily hugs and constant affirmations of love have become my norm. I eagerly anticipate the moments when they will confide in me, ensuring I am always present and engaged. I arrive 20 minutes early for preschool pickups, determined to create a safe space where my children never feel the need to seek attention through drastic measures. My parenting philosophy embodies a departure from my own childhood experiences; I strive to be a steadfast source of support.
In this journey of motherhood, I am committed to crafting a new narrative, one that diverges from my own upbringing. I am not my mother.
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In summary, my experiences shaped a deep desire to create a nurturing environment for my children, one vastly different from my own upbringing. I am dedicated to ensuring they feel loved and supported in every aspect of their lives, fostering a connection that I yearned for as a child.
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