Two Mothers in One

I remember looking up at my mother as a little girl and seeing a superhero. She was strong, and she never failed to speak up for what she believed in. She encouraged me to be inquisitive, to learn about the world around me, to be kind, but never settle for anything less than what I deserved. Through her, I learned what it meant to stand against injustice and care for those less fortunate than us. Through her, I learned to treat those who didn’t look like me or act like me with respect, even when we disagreed.

As an adult, I look at my mother and wonder, “How can this be the same woman who raised me?” Sometimes, I see an identical person, the strong woman who stands up for what she believes in. But often, in the space that surrounds the outline of her familiar image, I see someone I barely recognize. She still seems like the intelligent, fact-seeking woman I remember, but she mindlessly follows fools without question. The mother who supported organizations that helped the stranger, the foreigner, the refugee, now votes for policies that hurt them. The woman who spoke of the importance of kindness and love now voices hurtful comments about people whose looks or beliefs differ from hers.

But the moment that lets me truly see the difference between the mother who is familiar to me and the stranger who somehow takes up the same space is when she determines that I am also not the person she believed me to be. When I am finally brave enough to confess that I don’t agree with many of her opinions, she asks me, “Where did you get those convictions?”

“You!” I want to shout. “I learned from the woman who raised me!”

But instead, I just stare back at this person who is somehow, impossibly, two women at once.