I've been watching Lizzie McGuire recently. Growing up we didn't have cable, and I don't think I was allowed to watch that show anyway... But every other girl around my age learned some all-important life lessons from Lizzie and her animated other self back in the early 2000's. In every episode, in less than 20 minutes, Lizzie learns how valuable her friendships are, that her parents truly love her, but sometimes screw up anyway, that she is an asset to the rest of the world- even if her world only exists within her school and family.
As I've watched Lizzie interact with her mom (who is kind of a nut-job), and the similarities between them, I've also been noticing the differences. And I realized something.
Yes, Lizzie is like her mom. But she is not her mom.
I'll say it again.
The lesson that I've learned from Lizzie McGuire is that I am not my mother.
Don't get me wrong- I love my mom. She's awesome and has done the best she could with me and my little brother. She's an awesome cook, her baked goods could kill, she isn't afraid of what people think and speaks her mind.
And I have grown up my entire life thinking I have to be all of that, just like her.
And being sorely disappointed.
I can cook and bake, but more often than not, it comes out as a disaster that I don't want to let anyone touch. I am so scared of what people think of me and if they're judging me that I struggle to not spend all of my time trying to not act like someone else, but just accept myself. I don't speak my mind, but rather tend to stay quiet and pretend that I agree with everything that is going on.
I realized... I am not my mother, and I'm not supposed to be. My family, my friends, my future husband- none of them look down on me for it, nor are they constantly comparing me to her.
She is her, I am me, and life goes on.
|First family picture.|
|At the 40th birthday party I planned for her|
|Saying good-bye right after helping me move into the House O' Bricks|