To the Woman I Dearly Love

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Thirty-seven years on this earth, and if there’s one kind of love that has never wavered, it’s a mother’s love.

Growing up, I didn’t always understand it. At times, her overprotectiveness felt suffocating — like I was being held back, kept small, wrapped too tightly in a bubble of concern. But now, looking back, I see that it came from a place of deep, unwavering care. She was doing her best to protect me from a world she knew could be unkind. And within that protection were values she passed down without words — strength, responsibility, perseverance, discipline.

To my young, teenage eyes, my mother was conservative, old-fashioned, and strict. She never let me wear anything that showed my curves. Her idea of proper clothing was oversized t-shirts and long pants — which, of course, I rarely wore. I’d sneak a tiny singlet and mini skirt into my bag, get changed at the mall, and pretend I left the house exactly the way she wanted me to. She did the laundry — I’m sure she knew, but she let it slide.

Then came the dating years. There was no such thing as privacy in our house. She’d eavesdrop on the home phone line, and my diaries were never safe from her curious eyes. At the time, I felt invaded. But now, I smile at the memory — not because it was right, but because I can see her fierce love woven through every boundary she tried to place around me.

Long gone are the days when I was a rebellious teenager trying to be the cool girl who did everything her way. Now, I find myself returning to the very wisdom I once rolled my eyes at:

Don’t chase a man. Let him court you.

Hold your value. The right man will love you beyond your beauty — he’ll love your personality, your brains, and accept your flaws.

At the time, those lessons felt outdated. But now, at 37 — after years of dating experience, of heartbreak and healing — I’ve learned to regulate my emotions and stand in my worth. I can see now just how profound her advice was. My mother was teaching me how to honor myself like an empowered, feminine woman would, even when she didn’t say it in those words.

And then there were the little rules — the kind that used to drive me mad. Like how she insisted I must practice piano for 30 minutes before I could watch TV. Or how TVs and computers were never allowed in the bedroom because she didn’t want me to zone out for hours or watch something inappropriate without her knowing. At the time, it felt overly strict. But now, I see how those boundaries shaped me.

The piano is now my best friend — something I turn to for comfort and inner peace. The no-TV-or-computer rule led me to fall in love with books, reading, and writing. I had to learn how to be with myself, how to sit with my thoughts, and how to deal with restlessness when boredom crept in. These small, strict rules — which once felt like limitations — quietly led me to develop a deep love for learning.

They say you often become like your parents — even the parts you didn’t like. The way they swear when they’re mad, or raise their voice when upset — patterns we spend years trying to unlearn, unaware we adopted them at all.

But then there are other parts — quieter ones — that we don’t even realize we’ve inherited until much later.

Like this part of me that can’t stop working. That doesn’t know how to rest. That always needs to be building, creating, achieving. Maybe… I picked that up from my mother.

My mother was always working. Even after my father’s business succeeded and he told her she could finally rest, she couldn’t. She didn’t know how. She had worked since university, tutoring math on weekends. Even when she had a full-time job and two children — me & my sister — she still found time to teach.

I rarely saw her rest. Her mind was always active, her hands always busy. And now, I see that I inherited that too.

We don’t always realize how much of our mothers we carry until we look in the mirror one day and see them — not just in our faces, but in our strength, our fears, our love, our fire.

So this is for her.

For all the invisible labor.

For the worry that came from love.

For the boundaries that came from fear.

For the strength I never understood… until I had to become strong too.

This is for the woman I dearly love.

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🌷 Here’s a little gift from us to you…

My Mother & I — A guided Mother’s Day reflection journal, designed to help you explore your relationship with your mother, the values she passed on, and the ways she lives on in you.