I’m not my mom. That seems quite the obvious statement, but it has taken me years to realize this. When she passed I had this strong sense to step in and fill all the rolls she once had. I desperately grasped onto how things were before she died, and tried to do that by doing all the things she did. Masking them as ways for me to feel connected to her. But I was really just not letting go of her yet.

Tears are falling as I write this. Because it’s excruciatingly sad to let someone go whom you loved with your entire being. But if I continued to hold on, I would stay in that moment of her death until I too passed.

After she died, it became more apparent of the many “people” she was to her friends and family. Shelterer, Counsellor, Mentor, Listener, Organizer, Centre. And I struggled trying to become each of those things. It was exhausting. I so desperately didn’t want things to change. But now I realize that they need to change. Wouldn’t it be worse had she died and we all carried on in the exact same manner as we had when she was alive? It would mean that she didn’t affect us at all.

So I am stating now, not just to myself, but to you all, that I’m Not My Mom. Please don’t take this as a hidden meaning to anything of you whom I am now closer with since her passing. That is not my intent. It makes my heart so very happy to hear of how similar I am to her. In the way I speak and my mannerisms and my outlook on so many different things. That is different. I am how I am, because of her. And that I am forever grateful for. And I cherish our new friendships.

Instead I am stating this to be held accountable and declare that I no longer take on the previous responsibilities or role of my mom. She did things for our family that I cannot try to do anymore. And won’t do. Because that’s not my burden to take on. Our dynamics have changed, and so should they. Our mother, wife, daughter, sister, cousin died. It’s not going to be the same anymore. And I am done trying to keep it so.

This isn’t ideal, but neither was my mom dying. And I am at a place where I truly believe that she understands my view on this and hold no guilt onto no longer trying to be her for others.

I Am Me. And my mom wouldn’t want me to be anyone else.

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