I Use To Listen To Mother’s Story But Now I Feel My Mother’s Story

 “Betty ihat, wok blo lukautim pikinini ino isi.” I recall my mother’s words replaying in my head as I comforted my sick son through the night.

I have always been a kid who enjoyed story-telling time, and my mother’s was often my favorite. I would beg her to repeat her stories, from the one about the giant who lived on an island to the one about the morning she gave birth to me. And as I got older, her stories about motherhood were told to me more frequently. More often than not, she told me these stories like life advice. But mostly because I was the youngest and wanted to listen to stories about my older siblings. My mother is the kindest person I know, and, in order to be the kindest, it automatically makes you the bravest person.

Before I became a mother, I aspired to become like my father; educated, well-traveled, and with a thriving career. Yet, within me, I knew the moment I became a mother, my mother was the ideal role model for me. She is present, she is reliable, she is supportive, and she will always arrive at the airport, even before the airport opens. And that was the way my mother was—attentive, organized, and never late. When she knows her home is clean and tidy and everyone is fed, you’ll find her at her favorite spot in the house, either weaving her Manus basket or knitting. She was always giving me random life advice as I was growing up. I didn’t realize my brain had it stored away, and whenever I found myself at a juncture in life, I would hear her guiding voice. Naturally, when it came to motherhood, it was no different.

There is nothing that will prepare you well for motherhood, and it is a journey that we grow through. The gratitude and empathy I felt for my mother when I became a new mother overwhelmed my heart. At the same time, it empowered and strengthened me. I knew that if my mother was able to live through those days, I could too. All her stories, which I once took delight in listening to, were becoming more relatable to me. It was my reality and a glimpse into my mother’s past. For the first time, I connected with her as a mother to a mother, and all I wanted to do was hug her. For the nights she stayed up by herself when her baby was sick. For the long lines, she waited at the clinic with her baby. For those days, she forgot to take care of herself. For the loneliness she felt when she had to do a lot of things, often on her own. For the first time, I felt her stories and her pain. Nevertheless, the strength that is born through a mother’s love will always outweigh the challenges of life. This love that she had for me is now felt for my son. In that moment, my love and respect for my mother deepened.

The journey of motherhood is like a catalyst for self-awareness and self-growth. My baby demands that I be present and attentive to him, and this experience is teaching me to live in the now. This love that I experience for my son is like God’s tangible assurance of showing me that I shouldn’t let my personal struggles overcome me. Instead, I must use it to show me where I need to heal and become better. I’ve learned that stress and anxiety are the result of worrying about the past and being nervous about the future. When neither one is my reality but only my present, which is me paying attention to my baby and vibrating love and affection as best as I could. This is an important lesson that being a mother is currently teaching me. I am very grateful to my mother, who gave me an example of the kind of mother I aspire to become. In doing so, she also helped me find my path to becoming a better version of myself.