Hey everyone! Happy Tuesday! In my recent post, I mentioned my mom, so today I wanted to share a special entry about her.
My mom is 62 years old this year. Alhamdulillah, Allah has blessed me with the chance to be with her. She is someone I deeply love and care for, but I sometimes struggle to express it. I think about her often, and talking about her brings a whirlwind of emotions—sadness, anger, happiness, and love.
When I was young, I was always scared of my mom. Her temper was unpredictable; she could be calm one moment and erupt the next. When she was angry, she'd bring up everything, from the current issue to things I'd done years ago. The only thing to do was stay quiet and busy myself with chores, hoping that would calm her down.
My mom always wanted her children to have good grades. As a slow learner, I struggled with this. Sometimes, especially during middle school, she'd hit me with a hanger when I brought home bad grades. Report card days were my worst nightmare.
The hitting stopped in high school, but the yelling continued. My mom remained fierce, and I was still scared of her, particularly when she was angry. This fear, combined with my desire to avoid her anger, led me to make some questionable choices. I learned to lie. I'd go to the mall with friends after school but tell her I was in an after-school activity. I even skipped class sometimes just because I felt like it. On report card days, I'd forge her signature. I hid most of my life problems from her because I knew she'd add them to her list of grievances and bring them up later. This made it impossible for me to ever truly share my thoughts and feelings with her.
I used to tell my friends, "My mom is a fierce person." That's why I still had a curfew, even at my age. That's why I didn't hang out with friends regularly and mostly stayed home. I had so many complaints about her. Her angry words really hurt me, and I sometimes cried, thinking I would never be good enough for her.
To be honest, I didn't like my mom when she acted that way, but I never hated her. Instead, I sometimes thought it would be better if I had never been born, that she would be happier that way. I even wondered if she regretted having us, because she often complained that we didn't make her as happy as other children made their parents. I felt like the ungrateful child.
As I grew older, so did she. I began to notice changes. She yelled less, and her voice, once so loud, softened. Her figure, once so robust, thinned, and her body, once full of energy, seemed weak. She couldn't walk far without getting tired, and her appetite decreased. She also suffered from frequent headaches and nausea. Her health was clearly declining.
I began to see beyond the facade she'd maintained for the sake of our family. Now, we can talk heart to heart. I can speak my mind, and so can she. I understand her situation better and am beginning to see the reasons behind her fierceness, her yelling, and her constant stories.
I feel sorry for her. She went through so much, all alone. She couldn't confide in anyone and endured everything silently. People judged her, but no one, including me, understood her situation. She hid it all so well.
She was so upset about my studies because she never had the chance to continue her own education. Seeing me squander the opportunities she never had made her sad. She felt I was wasting time, opportunities, and money. All she asked for were good grades, and I couldn't even give her that. The pressure she put on me wasn't just for her; it was for my own future. I also didn't realize that she was under pressure from my dad about our grades. She had to answer to him for our poor performance. That explains why she was so strict about report cards.
On top of everything, she was exhausted from doing all the housework. With six people in the house, it was difficult to keep things organized, especially since no one helped much. She felt more like a nanny than a mother.
The curfew, even for adult children, was because we were still living in her house. She didn't want us treating it like a hotel. She wanted us to respect her, not just as a mother, but as a homeowner. Also, as a mother of daughters, she worried about our safety at night.
Learning about everything she had to do, the reputation she had to maintain, the heavy responsibilities as a wife and mother—it's overwhelming to think about. She had a very limited social circle, her twin sister being her only close friend. She had no other outlets, so when she was frustrated, letting it all out was her only way to cope. I forgot that she was a first-time mother, too. She didn't have all the answers. She had her own thoughts, feelings, and judgments. She got tired and needed rest, just like anyone else. I'm ashamed that I only considered my own perspective and not hers.
I focused on the bad memories and forgot the good things. She always cooked for us, never forgot our allowances, and always tried her best to give us what we wanted, within her means. She always thought of us, secretly. All she wanted was the best for her children, a better life.
She seemed hard on the outside, but she's a soft-hearted woman doing her best for her family. She sacrificed her youth, her sleep, her time, her energy, and her money, hoping her family would reciprocate. All she wanted was for her hard work to be recognized, appreciated, and loved.
Now that i know, I hope she could get the love and happiness that she deserves as I'm learning to express my love to her, helping her more and try to spend as much time with her as I can.
Dear Mama,
You did your best with what you knew. You carried worlds on your shoulders and asked for nothing but our success. I see you now—the girl who dreamed of an education, the woman who hid her tears, the mother who loved fiercely in ways I couldn’t understand. Thank you. I’m here. Let’s heal together.
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