As my mother’s birthday approached, falling conveniently on a Thursday, I thought it would be a wonderful opportunity to share a nostalgic photograph of her from the 1970s on my personal Facebook page. I had a specific image in mind—one I’ve seen countless times—of her basking in the sunlight in our backyard. With several dusty childhood photo albums stashed under my bed, I eagerly opened the first one and, sure enough, there it was.
The album contained numerous snapshots of my mother: lounging on a woven aluminum chair at the beach, relaxing on a brown tweed couch against wooden paneling, or sharing a moment with my father in front of his Harley. Each photo radiated a sense of beauty and tranquility. Where were we kids during all this? Likely playing unsupervised down the street—yes, you read that right! In her era, parenting was less about hovering and more about allowing children the freedom to explore. How refreshing!
As I prepared the birthday post, filled with love and humor, I wondered if my sons would ever find a picture of me in a similar light years from now. I glanced at the twelve scrapbooks lining our living room bookshelf, each filled with cherished memories—first steps, birthdays, and holidays. Yet, in these volumes of family life, I realized there was a glaring absence of me.
The only image I could find of myself was from my hospital bed, cradling my newborn. What about the journey of motherhood that followed? While the baby grew and I documented every milestone, I remained behind the camera, the family’s unofficial archivist, capturing moments but missing from them.
Though I’ve taken my fair share of selfies—mostly post-run with a red face or celebratory shower snapshots—most of my social media is filled with images of food, nature, and my children’s activities. Yet, there are virtually no photographs of me, the woman navigating this chaotic yet fulfilling life of motherhood.
The last carefree image I could find was from my honeymoon nearly 18 years ago. Since then, I have dedicated myself to parenting—cooking, organizing, and striving to create memorable experiences for my children. But in doing so, I’ve neglected to capture my own essence.
As I reflect on my mother’s birthday and the lessons she imparts, I recognize the importance of documenting my own journey. Inspired by her, I asked my 11-year-old son to take a picture of me on our front porch. “Just you?” he queried. “Yes, just me,” I affirmed. “In thirty years, I want you to have this memory of me.”
To all mothers reading this, I urge you to step into the frame of your life. Capture your essence not just as a mom but as a woman. You deserve to be remembered, too.
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Summary:
This article emphasizes the importance of mothers documenting their own lives alongside their children’s milestones. It reflects on the tendency for mothers to remain behind the camera and encourages them to step into the frame, capturing their essence for future generations.