Something that will always baffle me is this:
People who have mothers. Not just in name, but present in every sense of the word. A mother who poured wisdom into them. A mother who showed up. A mother who held their hand, wiped their tears, and gave them the kind of guidance I used to dream about.
And yet, they move through life like none of that mattered.
Making choices that show no trace of the lessons they were given. Stumbling through relationships, money, purpose, fumbling like no one ever cared enough to teach them.
Do you know what that feels like to watch?
To see someone waste what you never had?
Because I do. Every day.
And here I am
No mother to call when life feels too heavy. No voice telling me, “You’ll be okay.” No map, no instructions, no blueprint. I had to learn everything on my own. From how to love myself to how to survive heartbreak, how to chase dreams when no one ever told me I could.
I didn’t get the privilege of leaning on someone else’s wisdom.
I didn’t get to crumble and be caught.
I had to be strong even when I didn’t want to be.
So tell me, does that make sense?
That someone could have every ounce of guidance and still act like they’ve had none?
While someone like me had to claw her way to stability, stitch her own wounds, and build her own foundation without so much as a hand on her shoulder?
Life doesn’t make sense. But maybe it’s not supposed to.
Maybe that’s the point, having a mother doesn’t guarantee wisdom. It doesn’t guarantee success. Growth is a choice. Accountability is a choice.
And here’s the truth I’ve had to swallow:
What they had and wasted has nothing to do with me.
What I lacked but still fought to build, that’s everything.
Because strength born from emptiness? That’s a power no one can take away.
So while they fumble, I rise.
And maybe that’s the difference.
