#mothersdaughter
I Am My Mother’s Daughter
Growing up, I used to say I wasn’t my mother’s daughter.
I saw the resemblance between us, and I hated it.
I hated it because I never got to know the younger version of her.
To me, she had always just been “my mother”.
I never imagined her as a young girl.
Never once thought she had been my age before.
I acted as if she had never been
”just a girl”
as if she hadn’t had friends the way I do,
as if her life had begun the moment I did.
But growing older has taught me something I was too young to see.
My mother was not always just my mother.
She was Kate. Not just Kate she was called Kate olafemi oju ni face.
She was a woman whose beauty turned heads,
who could walk into a room and leave men breathless.
Now, in my late teens, I see it clearly.
The more I grow, the more I become her.
The way I dress.
The things that catch my interest.
My sense of style.
And whenever I go somewhere she was once known,
my face is traced back to hers before my name is learned.
I have her smile.
Her voice.
The way she frowns at the smallest inconvenience.
The way she dances to every song
even when she doesn’t know how.
I see her in myself when someone says something tacky,
when I cover my mouth and laugh without thinking.
She does this too,
and for the first time, that realization brings me comfort.
The way I analyze things
it is exactly like her.
People used to say, “you’re becoming more like her”,
and I would argue.
But growing up has humbled me.
It has shown me how ungrateful I once was,
and how unfair it was not to appreciate what she gave me.
She gave me her life.
Her soul.
Her happiness.
And I regret not honoring that sooner.
I am strong today because I inherited her strength.
I carry her resilience in my bones.
Maybe I don’t say this enough,
but she will forever be my one and only.
So let it be known
I am, and will always be,
my mother’s daughter.
Mar 19
Mar 19, 2026 at 9:55 AM UTC