I had a pretty normal childhood for being a statistic. And I am successful considering all the factors stacked against me. You see, I was a child of a teen mom. My very early childhood was surrounded by uncertainty, instability, verbal violence (not directed at me), and stress. My mom, a survivor of her own tumultuous childhood of chaos, was determined to make life different and better for me and my little brother. How does a child raise a child? How does a woman who experienced very little of the type of love all of the experts say we should bestow upon our children and humanity express that to her kids who look to her for everything?
She fought for our future by sacrificing her own and defeated the demons of her past.
When she married our step-dad, he led us to church. He prayed for us and helped my mom lay a spiritual foundation for us. He supported us in all ways a father should and he made it so my mom could stay home and do the things good moms do. Birthday parties. Dinner on the table. Carpool to sports. Baking. Vacation planning. Pets. Holiday traditions. School conferences. Halloween costumes. Walks to the library. The list goes on.
I lived a normal life. Parties. Proms. Homecomings. Student council. Sports. Sleepovers. Holidays. Vacations. Camps. Sibling wars. Family photos. Home cooked meals. The list goes on.
If you didn’t know the dark stories of the generations of women before me, you’d never guess them. The demons that should have followed me, ruined me, destroyed me, and pushed me into repeating the mistakes of those generations, well, those demons couldn’t touch me, because my mom wouldn’t let them.
My mom fought and still fights for us to have a better life than she did.
She fought in prayer and continues to pray over us and fight her past.
She is a warrior.
Warriors are strong. Broken at times. Tired. Discouraged.
Warriors keep fighting the fight.
My mother, my warrior, fought hard to break the chains over our family, so I could walk in freedom.
And I take that freedom for granted. I want my life to be comfortable and wrapped in a pretty little bow. I want my family to speak kindly and love the way I think we all should. I want linked arms and girls weekends and laughter and peace. But warriors aren’t always capable of laying down the fight for frolicking and fun. Warriors are always on guard and forever protecting and fighting for what is theirs.
If my warrior ever feels ashamed of her past, regretful in her mothering, or disappointed in who she is, I’ll tell my warrior those are all lies. Lies from hell.
My warrior, my mother, is my hero.
Thank you for breaking the chains that bound my heritage and thank you for showing me love in all the ways you know how. Thank you for teaching me what a strong woman looks like.
My warrior. My mother. My hero.
Think about your mom today and how you can bring a little love to her home. If she has passed on, how can you honor the good memories you have of her in your home?
Happy mother’s day. High five for home.