⚠️ Trigger Warning
This blog contains references to childhood neglect, trauma, and difficult family dynamics. Reader discretion advised.
As a teen, I had the pleasure of meeting some incredible moms—kind, open-hearted women who were both parents and friends to their daughters. Later, I worked with amazing women bosses—strong, wise, ambitious, and inspiring.
But I never saw my mother that way… not until I was 33 years old.
In hindsight, she was all those things and more—but I couldn’t see it then. Our relationship was strained for most of my life. Here’s how that started—and how I finally saw her for who she really is.
The Story Begins
My mother says I weaned myself off breastfeeding before I turned one. She was shocked at how easily I detached. What an irony, right? That became a pattern.
We lived in a small 400 sq ft home during the first ten years of my life. When I was about five, I asked her where my sandals were—and without looking up, she told me exactly where to find them. I remember being so impressed with her at that moment. That was the only moment I remember wanting to be like her. All knowing…
My Sister, Elsa
At age six, my little sister was hospitalized with meningitis. I didn’t see any of it—because I was sent to live with a neighbor while she stayed in the ICU.
When she came back home, she was changed. Quiet. Distant. Very Elsa. Our relationship, too, faded into silence. After 30 years, we’re still learning to connect. But we’re closer now than we’ve ever been—Praise God for that healing.
What I Couldn’t Speak
While everyone focused on her and my newborn brother, I felt invisible.
This was also the time I was exposed to unsafe situations in our neighborhood—experiences no child should ever go through. I didn’t tell anyone. I thought my parents would blame me, or worse, not believe me.
When I finally did speak up at 14, my father’s response confused me. There was no “movie-style” confrontation, no outrage. In my mind, that meant he didn’t care. But looking back now, he did take action quietly. I just didn’t understand it then.
The Silence That Followed
I withdrew completely. I buried myself in books and movies. I consumed so much English content that it became my inner voice. Language became yet another wall between me and everyone else in my Indian family.
By 16, I had spiraled into substance use and was under the influence of someone older—a story I’ll share another time.
But then… Jesus.
At 27, I found faith. Or maybe, faith found me. God gave me a brand-new life. That’s the me you see today.
Re-examining My Mother
Becoming a mother changed everything. I wanted to break the cycle, be everything she wasn’t. So I picked up a self-help book gifted by a close friend. I couldn’t do most of the exercises—they were too intense—but one question caught me:
“What are the most positive things you remember about your mother?”
I froze. I had spent years focused on the negative.
No outings. No hugs. No talks about protection or growing up.
But then I remembered…
The Love I Overlooked
Hot meals, served to me without asking.
Fresh bedspreads.
Pressed uniforms. Driving an SUV on scary Indian roads like a champ!
A home that ran like clockwork.
She expressed love through acts of service.
How did I miss that? I thought all moms did that. But now I realize—not all do. She loved me in the way she knew best. Tirelessly. Selflessly. Voluntarily.
I often argue with my husband about chores, but she never once complained about the work she did for our home. That was her love language—service. And I didn’t speak it.
Healing Through Revelation
Books and movies painted perfect moms—affectionate, playful, expressive. I thought that’s how all moms should be.
But I’ve since learned that love speaks many languages.
She didn’t express it through hugs or “I love yous.”
She showed it through consistency. Through food. Through order. Through presence.
Reading The 5 Love Languages helped me decode her language. There’s one version for adults and another for children—I highly recommend both.
A Full Circle Moment
I see it now.
I love her now (my love language happens to be gifts!)
Because she loved me first.
I was blind, but now I see.
And I thank God for giving me the eyes to finally witness my mother—not as the woman I thought she failed to be, but as the woman she always was.
Final Reflection
This blog is not just about motherhood. It’s about reconciliation, awareness, and healing. It’s about learning to see the people who raised us—not just through the lens of our pain, but through the grace of understanding.
If you’re healing from a strained relationship, I hope this encourages you to explore the possibility of peace—even if it’s just within your own heart.