A Note to My Mother and Daughter

This week, as I contemplated my next blog post, it was really a no brainer as to what the content would be. It’s Mother’s Day – a special one for my family because my niece, Madison, is celebrating her first Mother’s Day as a mother, and it’s no secret that all of my family members have fallen head over heals in love with Audrey Marie Winter. So, I wanted to acknowledge this first for Madi, while also paying tribute to my mother, who is the reason for so much of who I am, and the young woman who made me a mother, my daughter. I’ll get to that soon.

But, as I was preparing to write this blog, I saw a Facebook post that my best friend had shared. It was a column written by John Pavlovitz, a pastor that I’ve also been following for the past couple of years. Pavlovitz acknowledged that while Mother’s Day means “celebration and resting fully in all that is good about loving and being loved,” for many people, it can mean hurt for what is missing or never was for so many others.

I have several friends who did not have loving relationships with the women who gave birth to them. Yet, these women have also used that pain to become strong and caring mothers, ensuring their own children know the depths of their love. I hope they know how much I admire them.

I recently read an interview with Tara Westover, the author of the book Educated, where she said, “I think it is hard to believe you are a good person if your mother does not believe you are a good person.” I was one of the lucky ones. I was the first child born to 21 year-old Yvonna Moore Stephens. My mother was an only child (my maternal grandmother suffered multiple miscarriages), so I was showered with love the instant I took my first breath. I have always felt safe in that love, and there was never a time that I questioned it or felt that it was conditional.

When I’m asked who has had the biggest influence on me, it is without question my mother. While there were times that it was “easier” to be my father’s daughter, it really was my mother that has had the greatest impact on the person I am today. It was my mother who challenged me to be “more than average.” There were times when that felt like a heavy burden, yet, it is the catalyst that propelled me to “try harder.” When I think about the professional success that I’ve enjoyed (and I have enjoyed it), I have to give credit to my mother.

My mother is the person who insisted that my sister and I take dance and piano lessons. She is the person responsible for our out-of-state family vacations, which undoubtedly contributed to my wanderlust gene. Whether she realizes it or not, she inspired my social justice activism.

During the early 1980s, my mother was active in trying to get the Equal Rights Amendment ratified in Oklahoma. The Equal Rights Amendment (ERA) passed the U.S. Senate and then the House of Representatives, and on March 22, 1972, the proposed 27th Amendment to the Constitution was sent to the states for ratification, with a seven-year deadline on the ratification process. For the ERA to become a Constitutional amendment, 38 states had to ratify it. As the 1979 deadline approached, only 34 states had ratified the ERA. Congress granted an extension until June 30, 1982, and there was a huge push to get the four remaining states necessary. There was opposition to the ERA organized by fundamentalist religious groups across the country. My hometown was no exception. As we know, the ERA wasn’t ratified before the deadline, but that didn’t stop my mother from working for ratification.

While sex was a taboo topic in the households of my friends, it wasn’t in mine. When I was in high school, my mother very clearly told me she hoped that I would wait to have sex. But, she also said that if I decided not to wait, she would get me a prescription for birth control. Not surprising, when my daughter was born, my mother gave Staley anatomically correct dolls and told me never to use “silly” words when describing body parts to her. One day when our daughter was 2 years-old, she toddled in to our living room where my husband and I were entertaining a guest, and announced that “I like having a ‘gina better than a penis.” My husband looked at me and said, “I think we can thank your mother for that!”

I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to please my mother, and I’m glad that I was able to make her proud. I don’t regret a single thing about my childhood. My mother was a good mother. But, I have a different relationship with my daughter than my mother had with me. And, that’s fine, too.

My mother grew up in the 1940’s and 1950’s. I came of age in the 1970’s and 1980’s. My daughter graduated from high school and college in the 21st century. My daughter’s young adulthood looks different than mine.

I know there are a lot of people who look longingly to the past, but I’m not one of them. My definition of success is different today than it was in my teens and 20s. What I want for my daughter is not a prestigious title or wealth, I want her to be happy, in whatever form that is. I want her to be curious and to challenge the status quo. I want her to never tire of seeking knowledge. I want her to be able to always find wonder and awe. I want her to treat others with kindness and empathy. While those are my wishes for her, what I really want is for her to feel no judgment from me. I want her to feel safe in making her own decisions, to know that I’m always there when she needs me and when she doesn’t, and to know that she is loved more than I can ever articulate.

Several years ago when my parents were moving out of the house that I had grown up in, my sister and I found that our mother had saved an old Mother’s Day gift we had given her when we were in elementary school. It was a cheap ceramic collie and a plastic blue flower that we had purchased at a “five and dime” store. When we suggested she discard the trinkets, she balked. I understand why now. For 25 years, I have kept a post-it note with the words “I love you” written in Staley’s 6 year-old handwriting that she had left on my desk at work.

This week, I saw an Instagram post from Beth Silvers, one of the co-hosts of the podcast, Pantsuit Politics. It said, “Happy early Mother’s Day to all who mother out there!” I thought that was beautiful, and it reminded me that there are many who fill in and “mother” our children, whether they are related biologically or not. There were times when my daughter was in elementary school that she probably spent as much time at my sister’s house as she did our home. It was “Sonz” who sewed all of Staley’s Halloween costumes. I have no doubt that Audrey will have the same relationship with McKenna.

There are also people in my life that I’ve had the privilege to “mother.” Last weekend, several of us gathered to celebrate at the wedding of my friend Stewart and his new bride, Mary Alice. I’ve known Stewart since 2011 and have witnessed him suffer heartache. Stewart, who is from Pennsylvania, has often referred to me as one of his “Texas moms.” As someone who loves Stewart, I’ve longed for him to be happy for eight years. Last weekend, I got to see that dream realized when he married his love, a young woman that I’ve also come to love. I also got to meet Stewart’s “real” mom and to thank her for “sharing” her son with his “other” moms. I hope that my daughter has “other” mothers in her life, too.

So, whether it is a noun or verb, my wish is that all will feel the love of a mother!

And, to my daughter – these Abba lyrics seem appropriate: “I'll always want you near. Give up on you my dear, I will never.” Happy birthday, Staley. You are my reason for being.