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…