In my formative years, I am sad to admit that I was the most critical of my mother. We suffered from what experts would identify as ‘mutual incomprehensibility’, and I believe at times we still do; however, as I grow more and more into woman hood and our bond has been strengthened with experience, I have had the amazing opportunity to gain a true sense of my mother and have come to admire her in many ways ( though she probably doesn 't believe me). For whatever reason, I once found solace in reducing all my problems as some fault of my mother’s inability to prepare me for adulthood. Instead of seeking advice and wisdom, I rebelled! Looking back, I now realize she only wanted to protect me, to help me, but as a teen that felt like control …show more content…
In reality one can not string gold, instead she works hard and she makes sure that she is paid accordingly. My mother is not the girl that goes in the interview and is just grateful to be considered. No, she goes in the room knowing that she is an asset and that the relationship is mutually beneficial. No-one tells her how much she will get paid, she negotiates her pay. This skill is one that I try to remember in all aspects of my life. Your value is not defined by anyone but you and everything is negotiable.
2. Treat Yo
…show more content…
As a child I had the great fortune of watching my mother grow, mature and embrace the constant change that life brings our way.By watching her pursue life this way, she has taught me never to fear the future.I admire her for this, she is always looking for opportunities to better herself, whether it be physically , financially, spiritually or mentally.She never says ‘its to late’ or ‘if i had known sooner’ , there is never a better time than the present time when it comes to setting goals and reaching milestones. And if for some reason, it doesn 't go her way, she just tries
I dont really know what im doing, seems like i never have. From being in grade school and not knowing why God put me here to being in high school and still wondering the same thing. You said you wanted something interesting, yet not sad, but those two things are like best friends.
My mother, I felt, was not to be trusted. She was kinder than my father and more easily fooled, but you could not depend on her, and the real reasons for the things that she said and did were not to be known. She loved me, and she sat up late at night making a dress of the difficult style I wanted, for me to wear when school started, but she was also my enemy. (272)
My brothers and sister and I constantly worried about our future and ways we could make things easier for our mother. I remember the day our mother told us that we would be
When I was born, my mother breast fed me for two weeks, I stayed in the hospital room with her instead of going to the nursery, and she was home with me for the first five years of my life. My father worked and my mother tended to the home, with the help of her mother and grandmother. I ate Gerber baby jarred food and my mother read to me every night. My family did not adhere to many other cultural norms however. It was culturally expected that a husband and wife would have a home, with stable jobs and an established relationship before having children. My father was eight years my mother’s senior, and my mother was only 18 when I was born. My mother never earned her high school diploma. My parents were married the month before I was born. My father worked in construction and had a criminal record. Every single one of these descriptions violates the cultural norms of where I grew up in North Carolina. Although my story starts to sound a lot like a Lifetime movie, my mother defied all odds to provide a safe and secure haven for me. “When they sense that a parent is consistent and dependable, they develop a sense of basic trust in the parent” (Crain, 283). I could rely on my parents and trust that they would be there to take care of me which lead to my development of “the core ego strength of this period: hope” which emerges from the child developing a favorable balance of trust over mistrust. “Hope is the expectation that despite frustrations, rages, and disappointments, good things will happen in the future” (Crain, 285). My mother is the living embodiment of that sentiment. As early as I can remember, I can remember her insistence that as long as we were together, we were
She’s one of those old souls stuck in the fifty’s and refuses to see the 21st century. She is a good mother, it 's only when it came to me she lacked. I met my mother when I was four. She adopted my little sis and me. Through my younger age I hated her I absolutely hated her and she failed to understand why or explain to me so I could understand whom the lady was that I was staying with. Where my real mother was. She failed to help me see what was going on and with me only being four I thought she kidnapped me and I hated her. As I grew up I learned precisely what was going on and I no longer had a heart for her it dwindled down to more of a dislike. I understood why was with her, but I expended most of my early youth wondering why did this have to happen to me. And why did I have to be with her. My mother wasn’t a bad mother she only lacked the nurturing a love I needed. She held my early years against me and we’ve been stepping on thin ice ever
The memory of that Christmas Eve years ago still lingers in my mind. Who would have known that a simple candle made of wax and wick would change my way of thinking forever...
When I was younger, my mother would always tell me, “Do not worry, your children are going to wind up just like you, just wait.” My behavior as a child was mouthy and disrespectful. At the young age of six years old, I remember sitting on the floor in my three-story house in Smithtown, New York. I recall curling my long legs into my body, sobbing; my mother yelling at me for something that is not crystal clear to my older self. My grandmother opened my door, throwing a roll of paper towels at me to wipe my tears.
I can’t see my mom! Where is she? I can 't hear your voice, Mom. I try to find you, to see you, to hold you, but I can 't find you! Why did you leave me mom? Porque te fuiste Mama and left me alone in this world?
As the contractions began to grip my stomach, I realized that my life would forever be changed. Knowing the old me had to die in order for me to become a new me. After being abandon at the age of five, I grew up feeling lonely and unloved. I was filled with so much anger, malice, hurt and unforgiveness that I held against others. I didn’t have the luxury of living in a stable environment, because growing up I was always living from home to home. I had no intentions to strive for better, I had begun to allow my upbringing to be my excuse. Years of disappointment resulted in me caring less in others desire. I couldn’t love anyone because love was never shown to me, but
My mom is very strict and growing up none of my family, including my dad, tried to disobey or upset her. When I was living at home, I was extremely afraid of my mother. Before I did anything, thoughts like, Will she get mad? Will I get caught? went through my mind for hanging out with my friends after school or going to 7-11 on my way home with people. I love my mom and I’m not in constant fear of her hiding in a corner, but since my mom was to such a degree, me and my brothers never did crazy things and rarely acted up. Winter break of my senior year, my mom allowed me to sleepover at my friend’s, Joanna’s, place. In the past, she would claim how she doesn’t trust other parents rejecting my request to sleepover other places. She only let
I lost my mother at a young age, when I was 10--old enough to have memories to remember her and miss her, but too young to have a clear idea of who she was. Her absence completely disrupted our family. Waking up and having breakfast made, clothes ironed and washed, and all of the little things that we took for granted were gone in an instant. But this isn 't the story of how I lost my mother or about how I was devastated by her death. My mother’s death was the reason why I became exposed to the business world, and this story is really about how I came to share my father’s love and passion for business.
Even before my first tear hits the ground, my mother is there to wipe it away. My mother feels my pain before I can even realize it. She understands my needs before I can even think of them. That’s why we call her a mother. My mother has been an extraordinary influence on my life and always will be. She’s the kind of mom who would always take time out and care for her four children and the mom who would never let her hardships in her life distress her kids. My mother has always been a very strong role model to me, and growing up with someone like her to look up to has changed my life in many ways. She has helped me grow physically, intellectually, and considerately. She taught me to always love, care, and give back to the people I am grateful for.
To begin with, I would like to describe my mom’s ambition. She wakes up every morning with the positive attitude, and a smile on her face. She is always searching for ways to improve her persona, and live a happier life. About five years ago my mother, my sister and I moved from Ukraine here to the United States. The first year in the United States was tough for us because we did not know English, however, we all worked hard and today we speak English fairly well. Since we moved from Ukraine, my mom has worked really hard to give my sister and I the lifestyle we have. My mom’s ambition to succeed in life has allowed her to grow into a wonderful person full of kindness and knowledge. Ambition is a great virtue to have, and that is one reason why my mother is my role model. My mother is a hard worker, she never...
Has anyone ever asked you: “Who is most important to you”? To me the most wonderful mother in my life, no one can replace her in my heart. My mother, who is very nice and gentle, helps me and has always been there for me when I need her. My mother loves me very much. She is strict and educated me to become a good person. I can’t say how much love her. I am grateful to her because she gave me birth, brings me love and helped me grow up. But you know she just takes care of me a lot. Every day she tells me the same words. If you were me, you would feel very tired. I am a very happy child having my mother. I feel too tired to listen to her words, but imagine one day I don’t see her any longer and listen to her voice. What would I feel?
...; I like to believe that I've accepted my self-induced isolation from her with grace, but I must admit that I do hold the hope of bridging the gap between my mother and I. I also hold the hope of amending myself for all the times I've knowingly and purposefully hurt her. Although she is not a god, as I originally assumed, she is a good woman. She has raised me, sheltered me, and loved me for over seventeen years without asking for more than casual chores in return. I believe that the greatest compliment I could ever give my mother is to grow up to be exactly what she wants me to be. I want to make her happy. My gift to her will be my success in life, so that when she's old and gray, and she's knitting me a hideous sweater in her creaky rocking chair, she can sigh, and mumble to herself, "Wow, it was worth it."