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Mothers and daughters and daughters and mothers

The opinions expressed in this article are the writer’s own and do not reflect the views of Her Campus.
This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at CU Boulder chapter.

My mom held me tightly in her arms. “I love you, Mom, more than anything in the world.” I was safe at last, and I drifted off to sleep. Except this time, I wasn’t a little girl whispering affirmations of love to my mom. I was 20 years old and needed my mom more than ever. Except at that moment, I think she needed me too. Tears streamed down my face, knowing she would wake up early to catch a flight home and I would be left in her hotel room on my birthday with a heavy feeling in my heart.

My relationship with my mom has been a battle in my mind. Sometimes, we want to punch each other in the face, screaming, “You’re acting like a b***.” Other times, we can talk for hours about everything and nothing all at once. I hate it when we fight. It took me a long time to learn that fighting in any form of a relationship is normal. 

The first love most people experience is their mother. They gave birth to you and then coddled you with the most selfless type of affection. Mothers teach us how to love so that we find that same deep affection through friendships and romantic relationships. Fighting occurs with the ones we care about the most. Fights allow us to realize and work on our differences, but it’s not actually about the battle. It’s how you solve your issues and come back together to find unexpected hugs, sorries, tears, pain, happiness, and excitement. 

My mother’s beauty enamored me as a child. I wished for longer legs, luscious blonde hair, and perfectly straight white teeth. I wanted to write like she did. Well-written sentences that flowed together like water in a soft stream. She told me I was her beautiful daughter. I didn’t believe her saying she sounded like Beverly Goldberg from “The Goldbergs,” an overbearing Jewish mother who thought her kids were perfect.

My mom subconsciously made me into her best friend. She sprinkled bits of her personality into mine. We laugh at the same things. We could spend New Year’s Eve together inside, making brownies and smoking a joint. One summer, we were in between houses and lived in an apartment in Snowmass. We were belly-laughing when my mom had to pick a random oversized booger off the wall.

A quote towards the end of the “Barbie” movie struck me unexpectedly. It said, “We mothers stand still so our daughters can look back to see how far they’ve come.” I think it’s up for interpretation. However, I believe that at some point, my mom had to end her nurturing and let me grow up independently. I’ll still seek her advice and look to her in hard times, but I’ve found my footing. I write like she does, except in my voice and style. I’ve become my own person, but she guided me here, and now I’m ready for her to leave me. Like she did when she dropped me off at school, except this time, I don’t need her to pick me up; I can drive myself home or to any destination I believe I can go.

Everyone’s relationship with their mother is unique. One day, I plan to become a mother and show my children the same love my mother gave me. Then, one day, I’ll drop my children off at school, and I’ll be ready to pick them up whenever they are ready, even if that’s at 20 years old and they just want to be held like they were as children.

Taylor Gurtman

CU Boulder '24

Taylor is a senior at CU Boulder and is majoring in journalism. Besides writing articles, Taylor enjoys hiking, listening to podcasts, and laughing with her friends.