Everything I Know About Love, I Learned From My Mother
My mother is a firework of a person. As such, her love isn’t subtle. It’s raw, and honest, and loud, and sometimes pushes boundaries. For those of us who have been lucky enough to be loved by her, we’ve received a love without judgement, and one that is intent on helping us cultivate our own joy.
Sometimes I laugh to myself about how much closer me and my mom are now that I’ve moved 2,500 miles away from her. It’s not that we weren’t close before, but being far away has forced us both into a sort of honesty that I’m not sure we would’ve achieved if I still lived 40 minutes away in Brooklyn. We call each other with our good news, and we’re a safe space for each other to express our fears, challenges, and disappointments.
For so long I’ve wondered about what the burden must’ve been for my mom as I was growing up. She had to navigate professional success as a young Black woman in predominantly white Long Island with the added responsibilities of a husband, and children, and a larger-than-life extended family. Sometimes, when I have the courage, I ask my mom how she felt at different times in her life and I ask her about love.
What I’ve learned from our conversations is that love, for my mom, has always been about choice.
Her love for her large family runs deep. But for me, especially in recent years, the people who she’s chosen to love — my father, her sisterfriends, the young women she mentors — have intrigued me most. For a woman born into a support system with so many people (over 50 first cousins if I’m not mistaken), she still makes a conscious effort to choose her own tribe.
The older I get, and as I navigate both platonic and romantic love myself, I’ve become almost fascinated by how my mom has been able to maintain. She’s shown me that choosing the people we love doesn’t make love any easier, that it requires grappling with imperfections, forgiving tiny little wrongs, and, when they’re gone, grieving their loss.
I’m not sure anyone acknowledges it enough, but for my mother the sacrifices were many. Choosing our family unit sometimes undermined her own needs as a woman, as a human being. She never had the opportunity to truly live alone. She came into womanhood with her only daughter watching every step of the way. Somehow she’s managed to develop an innate self awareness that I’m not sure I would’ve been able to achieve under her same circumstances. She’s had to learn how to navigate her own internal battles with so many people watching and relying on her.
I think the blessing of this season in my mother’s life and our closeness during it, is that she finally has the time and space to do things her way and on her terms. Now retired, she can spend summer days outside in the backyard bungalow she’s created as a haven for herself. She can sip wine and do karaoke and plan random Zoom parties with our extended family. She can sleep in on weekdays and watch sermons from her favorite preachers on her mobile phone.
My mother is a whole woman, who finally has the opportunity to love on herself and receive love from us in the way she deserves. Watching her grow into that kind of power has been so healing for me as her daughter. She’s lived through it all and survived to tell me her story in waves when she feels safe enough to share. I’m honored to occupy this space in time with her and to have witnessed the evolution of her journey with love.
My mother has taught me that love is a choice. Love may seem unremarkable at times. Different seasons in your life will require different choices, sometimes ones you won’t quite understand. But in the end, if you’re lucky, you’ll be able to dance offbeat to your favorite Mary J. Blige songs and the people you’ve chosen for so long will be alongside you cheering you on every step of the way.
