I swore i'd never be like my mum

Womanhood is the process of understanding your mother - and realising you're a lot alike

Growing up as a Muslim Indian woman, there is an unspoken contract between my mother and me. The expectation is clear: be a respectable woman of the family, someone who enhances its name. Every choice, from what I wear to who I marry, even the decision to post a picture online - isn’t just about me. It’s a statement about the kind of family I come from.

As I get older, I take pride in defying the norms my mother embraces. She is the embodiment of tradition, expectation, and duty. I often feel like we live in two opposing worlds - her orbit rooted in culture, and mine a free-falling rebellion, choosing solo travel over family gatherings, embracing isolation rather than community, and putting my life on display instead of hiding away.

I think I’m being bold.

I think I’m being different.

But womanhood has a funny way of humbling me.

It humbles me when I realise that, despite all my efforts to carve a path outside the confines of tradition, I am, in so many ways, my mother’s daughter. It humbles me when I find myself standing in the kitchen, chopping onions for a meal I’m too tired to eat, only to recall how she always had dinner ready, no matter how drained she was.

It humbles me when I understand that the discipline she shows every day - though often harsh in my eyes - is the very backbone of the person I’ve become today, and necessary to become the person I want to be.

That same discipline she has, though misdirected in my eyes, is what gets me through running 100 days straight, completing difficult challenges, and pushing myself to bounce back after a failure and say, “Maybe this wasn’t meant for me after all.”

The difference between my mother and me isn’t just about lifestyle choices; it’s about the sacrifices we make for those choices. I vow never to sacrifice the way she did, never to put others before myself the way she so selflessly has done for years. But somehow still, as I navigate life, I find myself saying yes when should say no, putting others' needs before my own.

That thread of sacrifice connects us across generations. I used to view it as a flaw, a trap I vow never to fall into. But now I see it as a powerful bond, the thing that ties me to her, and, in a way, will always tie me to the women who came before her.

Maybe, like me, you find yourself caught between honouring your heritage and pursuing a path that feels more like yours. How do you navigate those spaces in your life?

For me, I see womanhood as an ongoing journey of embracing the complexities of both tradition and freedom. It's not a matter of rejecting the past, but of understanding it, acknowledging the sacrifices, and deciding what to carry forward.

One day, my mom says to me, “I don’t recognise you. You’re as good as an alien to me.” I think her words were meant to pull me back, to remind me of the life she and the family expect me to lead. But instead of feeling guilty, I felt relief. I don’t want my life to feel familiar to someone whose life I don’t want for myself.

As much as I try to break free from the traditions that shaped her, I also know that my independence, and my choices, ripple through the identity of the women who raised me. It forces them to confront a world they don’t understand. And that’s the cost of my freedom - the independence I exercise forces them to face their own choices and confusion.

I sometimes wonder what my mother could have become if she had my choices -choices that weren’t available to her, that she can’t even imagine. And I think about what I’m trying to be: a bridge between the weight of tradition and the lightness of possibility. The struggle is real. The tension is heavy. But in that space, we create something new.

Womanhood isn’t about rejecting the past, becoming or rather avoiding the woman our mothers were. It’s about navigating that space between who they are and who you want to be. It’s about finding a balance where we honour the sacrifices they made without losing ourselves in the process.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s about understanding the sacrifices they made, not as burdens to carry, but as stepping stones that lead us to where we stand today. It’s about looking at the generations before us and seeing their struggles as part of our story, not just theirs. In doing so, we don’t just honour them; we honour ourselves.

The space between tradition and independence is where growth happens - it’s where we discover who we are and who we want to become.

How do you balance the expectations of those who raised you with the person you're becoming? Share your thoughts in the comments - I’m curious to hear your perspective.

And if you’re not wrestling with imposed expectations, what does freedom feel like? Or is the weight coming from somewhere else?