As a child, you only see your mother for what she is to you. A caretaker, a chef, a medic, a confidant, sometimes even judge, jury and executioner. It takes perspective to see the whole woman, in all her beautiful facets.
I could describe my mom 100 different ways and never capture her. Some people can’t be weighed down with words. Descriptions will always diminish them. But I’ll try.
My mom is like sunshine. Warm and enveloping as soon as you step outside. With the playful dare of the beautiful adventures the day will bring. She is so immediately friendly—so sweet and accepting—that you might think, “Leslie wouldn’t hurt a fly.” And although she’s the family pest killer, your sentiment would be right. She may have trained at a boxing gym for years, but she’s a lover, not a fighter. But don’t be mistaken, she’s a fighter. We’re taught to equate strength with violence and power. It takes maturity to recognize the strength of love.
My mom is silly. She laughs until she cries and can’t breathe. But she’s also tough. Not tough like a tough guy. Tough like a woman. Tough like a mom.
I’ll never forget the day she kicked my older brother out of the house. You could feel the tension in the air. She stood her ground with her famous “mom look”, but when the door closed behind him, she crumbled to pieces. I was only twelve years old, but even then, I knew what I was witnessing. She would do anything for her kids, even the hardest, scariest thing. It broke her heart, but her strength changed the entire trajectory of his life for the better. That’s real courage. That’s mom tough.
When I was in 5th grade, I started a new school. It wasn’t an easy transition. I was the chubby, straight-A’ed, goody-two-shoes new kid still coping with a new post-divorce reality. One spring day, our parents were invited to join us at lunch for a picnic. I was so excited. My mom was the best and now everyone could see. But as we sat there on the grass, the “cool” girls talked about me, pointed and laughed. To this day, my mom jokes that she wanted to “rip their faces off”. She has always stood up for me. What she didn’t realize was that it didn’t matter. She made me strong just by being by her side.
Sometimes we think of strength as withstanding pain. Well, my mama is also tough-tough. I mean, she gave birth to five large humans, and raised six. She once broke her wrist while dirt-biking and kept riding for hours. The fact that she broke her wrist again playing flag football with my friends and I on 4th of July and broke her back waterskiing on a family vacation just adds to the mystique. Okay, so she’s a little accident prone—but I’ve never once seen her cry from an injury. I’ve hardly even seen a wince! She just bears it. No matter what she may be struggling with.
In fact, like many moms, I think our pain hurt her worse. And trust me, we’ve put her through it. From one son falling off a balcony and breaking his back when he was just two years old, to another suffering an inexplicable heart attack at 34 (he’s okay!), to seeing her heart break every time mine did… but she disguises her own fear behind a comforting smile.
But above all, she fights for her happiness. She had the fortitude to imagine a new life for herself. She went back to school at 50 and didn’t stop until she had earned her Master’s degree. She gives back every single day, pouring into kids who don’t have many opportunities and fewer people who believe in. She’s diving into yoga teacher training in her early 60s. My mom refuses to settle or be confined. If she wants it, she goes after it. She can be a boxing, dirt bike riding, waterskiing, weight lifting, rock climbing, yoga-teaching Grandma who bakes the best Christmas cookies, teaches art & ESL Chemistry and takes care of everyone. She is loving and warm and strong as hell.
My mom taught me that “fierce” isn’t being a bad bitch like Beyoncé or slaying it on a runway. It’s doing anything for the ones you love. Strength isn’t just lifting heavy weights. It’s carrying on even when your heart is broken, or you’re terrified, or you’re so depressed that you don’t want to get out of bed. Real strength can be soft like a mom hug and hard like the hardest thing you’ll ever do—all at the same time. Because real strength is having the courage to be whatever kind of woman you want to be.
For my mom, Leslie Arave. Thank you.