More than a mother

A few days after my daughter moved out, my grandmother appeared in my bedroom. I was giving my friend, a master energy healer, a tour of my house when she exclaimed: „Oh look, your gran is standing by your bed, smiling! She is trying to tell you something.“ Even though I lack my friend’s second sight, I could envision my dear grandmother clearly. Robust and lively, she was the one I was named after, the one with the same fire burning in her eyes. Yet while I had used that fire to fuel my ambitions, my grandmother had been a lifelong housewife. Had she been frustrated about her unfulfilled potentials? About the fact that she could never be more than a mother? And why did she show up today?

When my daughter Zilver was born, I fell. Deeply. It was love, of the purest kind, but at the same time a tremendous sense of responsibility. How to protect and raise this tiny miracle? How to be the best mother I could be? Growing up, I had seen women give up everything once they gave birth: their careers, their passions, themselves. In family portraits I saw the frustration in my female ancestors‘ eyes. If I lost myself, how could I teach my daughter to become a strong, independent woman one day? So, I decided to be more than a mother. I kept chasing my dreams and conquering the world, even if that meant I couldn’t always wait for Zilver after school with tea and cookies. I kept my fire alive, for her and for me.

Then, in a blink of an eye, Zilver had blossomed into a beautiful woman. The kind of woman who finishes business school, lands an excellent job and buys her own apartment. A woman with fire in her eyes. One moment, I watched her toddle off on her tricycle, the next I was waving goodbye as she drove off in a moving van.

Always trying to find that exquisite balance between nurturing and letting go, my ultimate goal had been Zilver’s independence. Well, mission accomplished, right? Bravo for her and me! My mind knew this, but why did my heart have trouble adjusting? The day of my clairvoyant friend’s visit, I had actually woken up in a sweat, thinking of all my missed moments as a mother: the long meetings, the business trips. For the first time I wondered: in my aim to be ‚more than a mother‘, had I been a good-enough mother? That night, my grandmother visited me in my dream. „You did well,“ she whispered reassuringly. Suddenly, I saw them so clearly: the women who came before me, the ones that would come after Zilver. Some of us, housewives, others, professional powerhouses, but all of us steppingstones for the next generation. All of us filled with love, and yes, some regrets. All of us mothers. I smiled at my dear gran. I was ready for the next step.