mothers and daughters

I Wish My Mother Would Stop Googling Me

Photo by Kaitlyn Baker on Unsplash

My cyberstalker is my mother — but it wasn’t always this way.

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I Want To Be Like My 12-Year-Old Daughter When I Grow Up​

My daughter moves unabashedly through this world taking up as much space as she damn well pleases.

My daughter moves unabashedly through this world taking up as much space as she damn well pleases. I want to be like my 12-year-old daughter!

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Becoming A Mother Helped Me To Forgive My Own

Because like my mother, I’m not perfect. I’m just not that type of mom.

I didn’t see similarities between my mother and I until years later, after I became a mother. The constant conflict hid how my mother and I are alike.

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Looking Like My Mother Is The Closest I'll Ever Be To Her

Untitled Watercolor by Anthony Diecidue

She was a mother who couldn’t mother. Mental illness absorbed my mother’s maternal soul and left a hollow shell that morphed her.

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How Binge-Watching The Golden Girls Brought Me Closer To My Mom

Image via YouTube

Thanks to The Golden Girls, I was able to see those mother/daughter dynamics play out between two adults.

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After My Mom Died, Drinking Made Me Feel Closer To Her

Did my mom feel alone, as if she were blamed for what happened to her? Like nobody could understand what she was dealing with?

When my mom died, I made a list of things that made me similar to her: My favorite color was purple, I liked to write, I loved reading, I adored cats, I didn’t wear makeup, my favorite soda was Pepsi, I lived in oversized sweaters. I was 11, so I didn’t add “I love to drink” to the list, but it crosses my mind now whenever I’m at a bar with friends, and I decide to order a cocktail.

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Mothers And Daughters At The Chelsea Hotel

Image: Instagram/ roseganggg

My mother and I may never see eye to eye on politics, and our value systems may seldom align. Sometimes it feels like we try to breach this divide; other times we dig a deeper rift.

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A Magic All My Own

When I read, I imagined the characters gathered together in that backyard.

Don’t you all see how fun this is? I wanted to cry out. Instead, I whispered, “Yeah, b-b-books are weird,” and hid Junie B. Jones in my backpack. My classmates treated books the way I sometimes treated Girl Scout girls: with cold, eight-year-old contempt.

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My Mom Will Always Be My Valentine

There is no one who would go to the same lengths to make me smile.

A breakup, Mom, a cheerleading competition, and Valentine's Day...

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