A Mother’s Day Reflection on Love, Legacy, and Liberation

I love my mother deeply. She is the strongest woman I know—resilient, sacrificial, and devoted. But growing up in the village, I knew early on that I didn’t want to be like her.

She got married at 18. Not by choice, not after a courtship, not with dreams of a white dress and a walk down the aisle—but by force. It happened on a quiet Sunday afternoon while she was walking home from church. In our culture, this practice is called suria, but by today’s standards, we would call it what it is: kidnapping.

After the act, her family was informed. The dowry process followed, and suddenly, she was someone’s wife. A girl who had not yet lived was handed over to a man she didn’t choose. That was her beginning.

Their marriage lasted from 1973 until 2014—over four decades—until my father passed away. She stayed, she endured, and she raised her family with strength and grace. Today, my mother is still alive. Though an illness has left her unable to walk, her spirit remains unshaken. Even now, she teaches me something new about courage every day.

But as a child, I saw the way the world worked against women. How men were served first, how they were allowed to leave for the city while women stayed behind. It was considered normal for a man to have mistresses or children outside the marriage. It was a world where women were expected to bear everything quietly.

I made a vow early on: I would not be complacent. I would get an education. I would speak my mind. I would not marry into that kind of culture. I would be different. I had to be.

And in many ways, I have been. I’ve taken a different path—one with choices, with voice, with resistance and reinvention. But now, as a mother myself, I sometimes wonder: does my daughter look at me and think the same thing?

“I love my mom, but I don’t want to be like her.”

If she does, I’m okay with that. In fact, I hope she does. I hope she chooses her own path, questions the systems that try to define her, and reclaims her life on her own terms—just like I did. That’s the beauty of generational growth. We are not here to be copies; we are here to evolve.

This Mother’s Day, I honor my mother not because her life was easy or perfect, but because she survived, she endured, and she continues to live with dignity and strength.

And to my daughter: May you love me, may you learn from me, and may you also be bold enough to be your own kind of woman.