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The last post was the 21 things I KNOW at 42. At the end I said I'd consider writing 21 more things to make it 42 in total & then ...


Shoe Personality of the Week: 5/09/2011

When I was a little girl it was my mother's shoe collection that I loved the most. There were a few things about her that I wanted. She wore a nose ring (handled that 1) & beautiful bangles, had pretty silk stockings (can't stand them now), & shoes I wanted to inherit when I grew up. My mother's shoes always came from department stores, sold to her by people who measured her feet and brought out multiple options. She would leave with the extra large shopping bag that held 2+ boxes at a time. & I'd sit in her closet & marvel at them, & try them on when she wasn't looking.

If you'd asked me as a little girl if I wanted to be like my mother when I grew up, I'd have told you NO! with all seriousness. When I reached my late teens/early twenties & friends began calling me Jr. I was #siggaboutdit. As a child my mother was this mean, hard woman who didn't know when to be soft. As a softie, I kinda needed cushiony places to land from time to time. My mother couldn't be that for me.

Many of us, depending on our experiences arrive at adulthood looking for apologies for the ways we were diminished, overlooked, under-nurtured, or downright abused in our developing years. For years I was keeping a tally of all the things I felt like my mother had to have known hurt me, cut me deep & altered the direction I felt like I should have been going in. I kept a tally of the years I felt like I was swallowing myself in depression with no acknowledgment & therefore no rope help. The Guru told me that parents never see what we experience the same way, our perspectives are too different. My boo boos scarred over & I released the notion that my mother would ever tell me that she was sorry for any of it...all of it...

Prior to Mothers Day, by weeks or a couple months--only my journal recalls which, in response to a crisis I was suffering from, my mother tearfully expressed to me her deepest apologies for anything she's EVER done to hurt me. Stunned & overwhelmed, blinded by my own tears, I didn't know what to say. She broke down for me just how similar to her I am, where my pieces & parts come from & the fears they reminded her of from her own childhood. As I type this, I realize that after receiving my mother's gift, I didn't take the time to say the words, "I forgive you." Besides the time we spent today, I suppose that's the Mothers Day gift she deserves.

The similarities we share are obvious to me now, no longer always requiring someone else to point them out. I'm still all about being my own person & don't easily admit these similarities to others, but in my mind I'm in quiet agreement. The thing is, as we both age, Mommy & I, I'm more & more proud of the woman she is & the model she's provided. My mother's incredibly driven. Her head is above the clouds. She's sophisticated & intelligent. Her laughter is infectious. Mommy's fun & funny. & she's done a good job with her children.

My mother is also beautiful. Due to the nature of our once tumultuous relationship, I was late to recognize that. But I know it now, very well. I am thankful for the ability to see past the past, not living in the bitterness of resentment, & having an opportunity to enjoy my mother as she evolves into yet another stage of womanhood & giving me yet another example. I hope that when it's all said & done, that I have been at least as much as she is now. & she would tell you she wants me, us, to be more. & so I shall try.

Still trying on my mother's shoes...


Happy Mothers Day!!

Watch me move.


  1. Thank You MISS BUG! I can't think of a better Mother's Day gift. Thank you for your forgiveness. And thank you for becoming such a phenomenal woman. Our ancestors are satisfied, I think, with your and my continuing growth.


  2. *blushing*
    It's so nice to see your stamp here, Mommy!

  3. The beauty and goodness of individual, collective and mutually beneficial growth abounds. Only women and men can see and sense the value of it and therefore seek ways to ensure that it is endless. May it never end for y'all and the one named Safidi. May it never end.