I recently had coffee with a successful author in town, introduced by a mutual friend who thought this witty lawyer-turned-writer might be helpful to me as I’m gaining my sea legs as a blogger. It caught me completely off guard when she, herself a mother of two, asked, “What does your mother think of your writing?”
Rarely at a loss for words, the tears that suddenly welled in my eyes spoke for me. Behind my emotions was the reminder of the indelible connection between my mother and me (pictured above on a sightseeing adventure in Alaska), my life the next chapter of the journey of the lineage of women in my family.
As I’ve traversed the twists and turns of my healing journey and the exploration of what I’m here to do in this lifetime, I’ve become increasingly aware of the mirror that I am for my mother, a newer model in a more modern world. The hopes, dreams, fears, all the idiosyncrasies that shape who I am as a woman, are borne of the amazing woman who gave me life. In some way, every triumph and every disappointment in my life belongs to her.
A much younger me with my mother, who dedicated her life of hard work to providing my siblings and me with opportunities she never had.
A dear wise friend, also a mother of two, bestowed upon me the profound wisdom that as women, we are not inventing new lives but really carrying forth the work and dreams of our mothers and their mothers and all the generations preceding us. This especially resonates with me as the first-generation daughter of Chinese immigrants who found their way to American soil with few possessions and a lot of fear for the unknown.
As the truth of my friend’s wisdom has sunk in with me, I feel a sense of urgency to achieve a life of purpose in honor of my mother’s desires, dreams she may have secretly wanted for herself but were impractical and unattainable for her generation. Yet in the same moment, I feel the depth and power of my mother’s love, and I know that I am enough now, exactly where I am and who I am. This urgency is not an extension of her; it’s my ego, my need to prove something for my own self-validation.
I know Mom wants the same things for me as I desire for myself – to be safe, to be loved, to live a life of service and above all, to be happy and fulfilled – but the endless possibilities for how this shows up in my life are very different from what was possible for her generation.
This doesn’t relegate me to reliving her version of these dreams.
When I look at our relationship through the lens of connected but separate, I see that, as entwined as our stories are, I alone own my chapter of our story. I’m not bound to continue ascribing to the beliefs and limitations of what it has meant to be a woman in my ancestry nor do I have to own the limitations that have been a part of this story.
This is the grace of being the next generation, to have awareness of where the ancestral narrative stops and where our empowerment begins to redirect the storyline.
Are there places in your life where you’re repeating history that doesn’t truly serve you, where familial expectations are so strong that they’re second nature, but not your true nature?
You are the sole author of your chapter in your lineage. Embrace your birthright to live a life that honors the legacy of who you truly are, not those who came before you.
