Motherhood is one of the most selfless paths a woman could take in her lifetime. The path is a chosen one that she willingly begins at one point in her life. Some can’t handle it. Some refuse to stay on it when shit gets hard. Then there are some that put on hiking boots and pull up their sleeves as they continue down the path. No matter how rocky it gets, what weather comes to torment, or how steep the path becomes at certain stages of this journey, she refuses to get off the path. There are occasional stops, where she finds a fresh patch of grass along the way where she can reset and recharge, but then she gets up and continues on. If it wasn’t for these selfless mothers, so many of us wouldn’t be who we are today. There is a certain type of gentleness about those who were raised by good mothers. These mothers create strong gentlemen and women. 


But then there are people who did not have a good mother. Their mother left the path for a flat sidewalk and left their child alone on that path where they should have been together. Instead of having a hand to hold along the path, they had to learn to survive on their own, thus acquiring an extensive amount of scars at a young age. When these women become a mother who chooses to hike the path of selflessness, those are the ones of legends. My mother was such a woman. She chose to put her children first and begin to heal the generational curse. Her path was harder than many because she chose to take on a path that had never been forged. 


As I continue down my own path of motherhood, I oftentimes think about my mom who passed away in 2015. I oftentimes ask myself what would my mother do in this situation? I also often don’t do what my mother would have done if in the same situation. She taught me what to do and what not to do, purely by being a raw and honest woman. She was transparent. She would say sorry when she was wrong. She would try to understand even when she knew she couldn’t. 


My mother wasn’t a perfect mother, but the one thing she succeeded the most in teaching me was to be strong and steadfast, not give up, and to stay the course. She taught me the one word I used to despise the most growing up…..perseverance. I no longer look at that word as a negative thing, but rather, I look at it as being physically and emotionally prepared for the parts of the path that are harder than others. 


Life is full of seasons, as is the path we are all walking on. Sometimes there are hills. Sometimes there are valleys. Sometimes it’s winter, and sometimes it's spring. Regardless of the time, being prepared and willing is the key to getting through anything. 


As I continue on the path my mother began many years ago, I follow in her footsteps and occasionally make my own. I slash through the new overgrowth trying to cover over the path she had already created, and establish it even deeper, so by the time my daughter chooses to be on it, it will be that much easier to walk on.