Women are incredibly strong. Often times, some women's stories gather more support and sympathy than those who make the same sacrifices in silence because not all lives are in the limelight or demand the same degree of attention. Women are often held to unreasonable expectations because for centuries, we have lived up to them. I am a believer of rebelling those expectations since I neither have the grit nor the desire to please. As for the overshadowed lives of women that raise the bar with no intentions to do so, their tales ought to be told.
There are stories you can share with the world and some that you take to the grave with you. My mother has seen them both and with great courage. Silent battles that don't make it to a blog are the hardest to fight since there is neither an outlet for expressions nor a call for empathy or support.
I know a lot of different kinds of mothers, including myself, who make sacrifices for our families. Over time, these sacrifices manifest into self-pity, or in some cases, self-care by means of investing in our own interests and the strong will to do what we like that makes us happy - travel, shopping, treachery or whatever else we as women desire to compensate for our sacrifices.
My mother was 9 years old when she witnessed her mother's horrific fire accident. She had nowhere to run because this happened at home, in the kitchen. 90% of my grandmother's body was burned, but she survived. She was a fighter with a strong will to live for her four children.
While my grandma recovered, the onus of taking care of the family was on my mother. She cooked her first meal for the family on the same day that she watched the kitchen blow up. The incident scarred her innocent heart and left behind a memory forever but she was left with no choice but to be brave enough to enter the cursed kitchen that tried to kill her mother.
She grew up in a financial crunch, always sacrificing her portion sizes to her younger siblings at meal times. She loved them deeply and cared for them like a mother. In her early twenties, she birthed her daughters and became a mother all over again, continuing to do what she did, for a different set of humans now.
Like most teenagers, I was a wreck and showed no love or affection towards my parents. She tried to mend my ways with more love, expecting absolutely nothing in return. I enjoyed taking them for granted. I came home to ask dad for more money and for my laundry to be washed and folded by my ever loving mother.
They got me married at age 24 (24 is the magic number!) and my husband and I continued to enjoy the same lifestyle, at the expense of my parents in our formative years. They gave us a car, jewels, a gala wedding and paid for shopping long after I had moved out. My mother took on the additional responsibility of sorting out my marital grievances, stepping in and bridging the gap in the love that suddenly seemed inadequate as a newly married woman in an entirely different family.
She continued to care for my sister, father, and my aging paternal grandmother. She was a great daughter to my grandmother. She performed her duties meticulously from dawn to dusk while the rest of the family was away at work, studying, or just dining out with friends. It exhausted her, but she did it anyway. My grandmother was loved by everyone and she had the highest regards for my mother so the love was finally returned to my mother through goodwill.
A few years later, I needed my mother again, more than ever. My husband and I decided to start a family far away from habitat - in the suburbs of America. She was elated with the news of becoming a grandmom and planned to live with us for as long as we wanted her support. She became our only support system. We relied on her for everything from food to parenting advice.
My uncle, my mother's brother was battling illness throughout my pregnancy and a few weeks after I had delivered my daughter, he passed away. My mother celebrated the birth of a daughter with her daughter and mourned the loss of a son with her mother at the same time. She took care of me and my maternal grandma like we were the newborns, feeding us, bathing us, counseling us, and giving us the strength to adjust to our new lives.
She continues to endure pain and emerge stronger every day, with great love. I've often wondered if she has ever wanted anything for herself and then I remember - she is a mother like no other.
