I was visiting my grandparents recently – my mum’s parents – and showing them some pictures from our holiday when they both commented on how much I reminded them of my mum.
I can’t really see it myself, but I’ll happily take the compliment.
What I hadn’t expected was how proud it would make me feel. It wasn’t the first time somebody had told me how alike we were, but somehow it landed differently this time. Years ago, I’m not sure I would have felt quite the same way because I was a difficult teenager, and I could find her incredibly frustrating. I didn’t always understand why she did things the way she did, and I definitely didn’t appreciate some of the things she was trying to teach me.
Then, as tends to happen, I got older and became a mum myself.
And suddenly, I got it.
These days, rather than worrying that I’m turning into my mum, I find myself actively hoping that more of her comes through in the way I live my life and raise my children. Every now and then I’ll hear one of her little phrases coming out of my mouth and realise I sound exactly like her. Apparently, some things really are inevitable.
It’s not just the things I say either.
My mum was very home-focused, and I’m beginning to understand the value in that in a way I probably didn’t when I was younger. She took care of her home and made it somewhere her family wanted to be. I’m finding myself doing the same now, putting more thought into our home and trying to make it feel like our sanctuary rather than simply the place we live.
Her values are finding their way into my everyday life too.
Kids first, absolutely. But me too.
That second part is the one I still struggle with.
My mum adored her children and grandchildren, but looking back, I can also see that she understood the importance of enjoying her own life. There was music, laughter and good food. She cared deeply about family, but she also had boundaries. She expected respect – for other people, for our home and for ourselves.
The older I get, the more I appreciate all of those things.
I don’t want to become an exact copy of my mum. I’m still very much myself, and our lives and circumstances are different. But I do hope I can take the parts of her that I understand so much better now and carry them forward in my own way.
The warmth. The family focus. The laughter. The boundaries. The pride she took in her home. The way her children always knew they mattered.
Maybe turning into your mum isn’t such a bad thing after all.
In fact, I hope I become more like her.
Just in my own way.
And perhaps one day, when my daughters catch themselves doing something that reminds them of me, I hope they feel the same little burst of pride I felt when my grandparents told me I was turning into mine.
