Don’t Come for My Motherhood
The quiet kind of courage. The kind that raises generations.
People think courage is about big leaps.
Mine started with little ones, four of them, to be exact.
I got an early start at it, but looking back, they gave my life purpose and direction.
My mother taught me, after I surprised her with the birth of my first (a story for another day) to make decisions based on what’s best for your children, and you’ll never go wrong.
Never mind that ours was one of the most strained mother-daughter relationships you could imagine. It was definitely not an episode of The Cosby Show but more like a master class in survival for every young, single Black mother on Chicago’s South Side.
Still, her advice stuck. It reminded me to take my personal wants out of the equation and make my children my focus. I can’t say it was the formula for perfect decisions every time, but it was the formula that taught me to pause, to seek another opinion, or to lay it at God’s feet for guidance.
Some of my biggest choices were made that way: buying a car, switching from Catholic to public school, moving to our own apartment, choosing a faith, and eventually leaving America.
Could I have done some things differently? Probably. But I have no regrets. I was doing the best I could with the resources and information I had.
I was a single mother, I’m not looking for pity or special recognition. I worked a good job from the time my oldest was two weeks old. The only man my kids ever saw me in bed with was my husband of twenty years. I didn’t have much to give in material things, but I had more than enough love and affection, and I was never stingy with that.
Of course, there were bumps along the way, especially during their young adulthood, right when I was finally making some big decisions for myself. I imagine it was hard for them to watch me put Joi first after a lifetime of putting them first.
Now, three generations deep, hindsight feels kinder.
Grandchildren give you a second chance. I’m finding that I’m far more patient than I thought. I want them to remember doing things with me: playing Uno, speed-shopping at Dollar Tree, dancing to K-Pop, letting them use my face for makeup practice, and eating Checkers in my car.
I did my best. I did it with all the love I had.
To my children I say:
You are my message to the future.
Take what I gave you and build on it. Don’t dwell on what you think you missed so much that you forget to pass on what you received.
So… don’t come for my motherhood.
That chapter was my courage story. And I’m pretty damn proud of the fruits of my labor.
Three generations later, I’m still learning what courage looks like in every season. And if any part of my story sounds like yours… stay close. There’s more where this came from.
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