Did I Ever Know my Mother?

Parenthood transforms us. It reshapes our priorities, deepens our emotions, and often sparks profound reflection on our own childhood. 

The general rule is that the parents need to be the best versions of themselves for their children.

This noble goal emphasizes the importance of being fair, consistent, and present – qualities that are crucial in fostering a healthy and nurturing environment for our kids. 

But as I embrace my own role as a parent, I realize that understanding our past is just as essential as shaping the future. 

I find myself constantly contemplating the enigma of my mother – her choices, her sacrifices, and the layers of her identity that I never truly understood.

This is the story about my mother and one big question – Did I ever know my mother?

A Mother’s Hidden World

My mother was 44 years old when she gave birth to me, making her the oldest woman in our country at the time to give birth naturally. 

To me, she was a woman wrapped in fear – afraid of heights, reluctant to drive, and always finding flaws in those around her. Her world revolved around my father, whom she feared losing.

But beneath this exterior was a woman of remarkable depth. Her parents, both military officials, had extraordinary histories – her father, a national hero; her mother, a double agent who saved Jewish families in Rome during World War II. 

My mother was their extraordinary daughter, though I never truly grasped the weight of that legacy until much later in life.

Discovering a Life Before Me

It wasn’t until I began asking questions that I uncovered the depths of my mother’s life. Before she met my father, she had traveled the world, living in cities like London, Cairo, New York, and Moscow. 

She spoke four languages fluently and had once driven a motorcycle – a symbol of the boldness she possessed before fear took hold.

She was an accomplished lawyer, excelling in her field. At just 27, she was offered a prestigious position as the head of a juvenile detention center – a role she declined to choose my father instead. 

Beyond her career, she taught Braille literacy and helped disabled children, displaying a compassion I rarely saw at home.

A Mother’s Watchful Eye

My mother was a master of vigilance. I remember skipping a math class in high school to smoke at a café, only to have her approach me, disguised as a stranger asking for a lighter. 

Her eyes were always watching, her mind always two steps ahead.

She set traps to catch my father’s infidelities, always succeeding but never leaving him. 

Friends she disapproved of mysteriously vanished from my life – her judgment, as much as I resented it then, often proving correct.

A Journey of Rediscovery

Ten years have passed since my mother’s death, yet I still find myself piecing together her story.

Each new discovery leads to more questions, revealing the complexities of the woman I thought I knew. 

I wish I had asked her about her dreams, her fears, her past.

Now, I am on a quest to understand who she was beyond the fragments of my childhood memories.

The Selfishness of Love

In our final conversation, as she lay in bed in excruciating pain from terminal cancer, I pleaded with her to fight for me – to see me graduate, to witness my future milestones. 

Looking back, I realize how selfish my plea was. I never asked about her dreams, her unfulfilled desires, or what she wished for herself.

If I could turn back time, I would ask different questions: “Mum, don’t you wish to ride a motorcycle again? To travel the world? To be yourself once more?” 

Perhaps such questions would have given her a reason to fight harder.

Honoring Our Parents’ Legacies

My mother was much more than the sum of my memories of her. 

As I strive to be a better parent, I am driven by the desire to honor her full story and ensure that my child will one day understand mine. 

By being fair, consistent, and present, and by fostering open communication, we can bridge generational gaps and truly know and appreciate one another.

From Reflection to Recovery

Her story leaves me with a lingering question: “Do we ever truly know our parents? Or do we remember them based on the few crucial moments that shape our memory of them for a lifetime?” 

As I sift through memories and uncover pieces of my mother’s untold story, I realize that healing isn’t just about grieving what we’ve lost – it’s about understanding what shaped us and reclaiming what was never truly spoken. 

So many of us carry emotional legacies we didn’t choose. We inherit silence, wounds, and unanswered questions.

But we don’t have to pass them on.

That’s why reflection matters – and why having the right support system matters even more. Enter Chaptly – the world’s first gamified healing app for emotional recovery. 

Built for real life, not perfect circumstances, Chaptly turns emotional healing into a 90-day adventure, with just 8 minutes a day.

Whether you’re on your lunch break, waiting for a cab, or curled up in bed – Chaptly meets you anywhere, anytime. 

No therapists to schedule, no pressure to overshare. Just daily mini-missions designed to help you break toxic cycles, process emotional pain, and rediscover who you are.

It won’t bring my mother back. But it’s helping me understand her – and myself – in a way I never thought possible. And maybe that’s how the cycle begins to break: with small, honest steps forward.

Chaptly launches very soon.

If you’re ready to start over, heal better, and write a different story for yourself – join the waitlist today. Your next chapter is waiting

Be the First to
Get Chaptly App

Join the Waitlist