We Didn’t Get the Same Mom

The oldest child’s perspective on a mother divided by time

Every woman shifts with the seasons of her life.
And every mother becomes a different version of herself in each one.

First, she’s just her.
Then she enters a relationship—or a marriage—and something in her shifts.
Then comes her first child… and that’s a whole new version.
And with every child after that, another version of her unfolds.

Because motherhood doesn’t just grow children, it grows layers of the woman.

That’s why every child ends up with a different version of the same mom.

And we’ve got to be real careful with that truth.
Careful not to act like one child’s story cancels out another’s.
Careful not to compare pain—or deny what someone else lived—just because we didn’t see it ourselves.

I’m the oldest of six. My mother had me at 20.
To her, I was a reminder of everything that didn’t go right.
Of everything she couldn’t become.

The version I got? Whew…
She was young. She was unhealed. She was overwhelmed. And she was angry.
I was raised more by her pain than by her parenting.

By the time my younger siblings came along, she had changed.
Not healed, don’t get it twisted.
But changed.
The wounds had new packaging. The behavior had a new shape. But the root was still there.

“I was raised more by her pain than by her parenting.”

They got someone else. Still broken. Still performing. But different.

And I understand that now. I really do.
But even with understanding… it still hurts.
Because I never got the soft version. The safe version. The present version.
And she still isn’t that today.

She’s still somewhere in between—who she was, who she pretends to be,
and who she never really had the space or healing to become.

I didn’t grow up with a soft mother. I grew up with a surviving one.

Take this with you:

As you sit with your memories of your mother,
try not to compare them to what your siblings say they saw.
You were given your version of her.
They were given theirs.
And all of it can be true at the same time.

📝 Ready to Reflect?

Before you scroll on…
Grab your journal.
Find a quiet moment.
This isn’t something to rush past—it’s something to sit with.

Let what you just read breathe a little.
Let it speak to the version of you that needed this today.

When you’re ready, reflect:

• What version of your mother did you receive?
  Try not to justify it. Just name it. Describe her as she was to you.
• What season of her life were you born into?
  What was she navigating—emotionally, relationally, or spiritually—at that time?
• What season of her life were you born into?
  What was she navigating—emotionally, relationally, or spiritually—at that time?
• Can you honor your truth, even if no one else shares it?
  What would it feel like to accept your story without needing agreement?
• What healing do you still need from the version you got?
  And are you willing to begin (or continue) that work—for you?