I’m a mother to a two-year-old girl. A lot of the time I think about how important it is that I just stay alive for her, that I don’t die before I am forty like my mother. I delight in her joy, her freedom, her exploratory curiosity.
Authenticity and courage, two words kari m. said applied to my blog yesterday. After all the voice lessons, worries over the language of mothering, and awkwardness of standing out as a foreigner abroad, authenticity and courage seem something I aspire to. The fact that I can aspire, though, is a result of the fostering of independence that I was raised to believe was my right.
I only want the same for every other girl in the world.
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