acting it out

the art of learning to live

my mothers daughter

I am my mother’s daughter

Or at least I hope to be.

The older I’ve gotten,
& especially now,
I’ve realized more & more who my mother is.

But I’ve also realized how much I don’t know her.

I know that she is smart.
I know that she is beautiful.
I know that she is funny.
I know that she is kind hearted.
I know that she is talented.

& I know that she is strong.

But was she always so strong?

I wish I could know all her moments of weakness. All her struggles. All her defeats, failures, & short comings.
But also know her comebacks, her revivals, & her survival of her life this far.

Because our lowest moments are what defines us. How we handled it. What is was that broke us down to that level.
& most importantly:
how we rose above it.

Because how can we measure a person with only their good qualities & still gain a wholistic understanding of that person.
A knowledge with breeds:
sympathy, empathy, apathy.
Patience. Respect.
Full, unbiased love.

Because how can I truly know my mother without knowing these things?

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