Thahabu

My family loves telling me that I am the spitting image of my mother. I take great pride in being likened to her beauty, because I truly do believe she was one of the most beautiful women to ever walk this earth—and I’m not just saying that because she’s my mom! But lately, I don’t think I resemble the smiling, lipstick-clad woman making divaesque poses in the photos around my house. Though I know we’re all human and don’t always look or act our best, my idea of my mother is that she was the perfect woman. The best mother, wife, friend—a generous human being who embodied womanhood. I chose to make this idea of her a standard I should work toward every day of my life, something I can only dream to achieve.

It wasn’t until this week when my sister posted a close up of my mother beside a picture of me with the caption “I tell you my sister is my mother’s twin!” that I stopped having this finite view of her. This was the first photo I had seen where my mother wasn’t smiling—in fact her expression was almost the opposite. She wasn’t made up, or sporting lustrous jewelry and her classic red lipstick. She looked tired, her almond eyes surprised, and her mouth slightly open in a “I know you not taking a picture of me right now, while I feel like this” kind of way. I found the uncropped version of the photo: In it my mother is brushing my sister’s hair, and my sister is a baby, maybe seven months old. My mother didn’t look any less beautiful than she does in her more glamorous pictures. She looked like she was in her everyday state—in her home where she was happiest, wearing her night scarf, a big white T-shirt, with hoop earrings, and a short Nefertiti necklace—happy to be an exhausted mom and just trying to brush her baby’s hair until someone decided to take an off-guard shot of her. There was beauty in her weariness, in being done and relaxed. That was probably the only peace she’d be getting for the day as a stay-at-home mom.

Before seeing this photo. I related to my mother’s personality more than I did her appearance: When people described her I realized where I got my giving nature and hunger for fun from. Looking at that picture, I suddenly knew what people were talking about when they called me beautiful or complimented my looks. I have a similar expression to the one my mom had in the picture, when I’m writing or just sitting down deep in meaningless thoughts and someone decides to do or say do something ridiculous around me. That’s how I look when I’m trying to find tranquility, but can’t get all the way there so I’ll just accept a fraction of it and savor it while I can.

All of my softest features come from my mother. I have a love-hate relationship with my big lips, but I really did inherit them from my mother, and for that I’m thankful—she is beautiful and that means I am also beautiful. For the first time I saw the twinkle in my eye in selfies that I thought were ugly. I get it. I shouldn’t be so skeptical of people who appreciate the way I look. They don’t all have ill intentions, and I should be pleased that they see the gifts that my mother blessed me with. It has taken me such a long time to notice them for myself.

This year has worn me out and I know I haven’t been looking my best, but this picture showed that there’s nothing wrong with that. I’m still beautiful and of value when I feel like I want to rip the world in half. It’s totally fine for me to take time for myself and look on in “what the hell are you doing” awe when someone jokingly disturbs my peace.

My anxiety is very much connected to my being a perfectionist, and after seeing that old photo I’m not so obsessed with being perfect. I’m not sure why I ever thought my mother was perfect, when I love the imperfections in everyone else around me. My sister wants us to go visit our relatives on my mother’s side of the family—I hope they have more pictures of her looking like that. ♦