Making Mama Proud

I think about you

in the quiet moments—

not the loud ones

where everyone’s watching,

but the in-between

where it’s just me

and the weight of who I am.

I wonder

if this is what you hoped for.

If the person I’m becoming

is someone

you’d recognize with pride

or with worry

you wouldn’t say out loud.

I carry your voice with me—

in the way I second-guess,

in the way I try again,

in the way I don’t quit

even when I want to.

You taught me

how to stand up straight,

how to be kind

even when it’s not returned,

how to hold onto something good

in a world

that doesn’t always give it back.

But you didn’t teach me

how to feel like I’m enough.

So I chase it—

in work,

in love,

in the way I keep pushing

like there’s a version of me

just ahead

that finally gets it right.

I want to make you proud.

Not in the ways people measure—

not in titles or applause—

but in the quiet knowing

that I didn’t give up on myself.

That I kept going

when it got hard.

That I stayed

when it would’ve been easier

to walk away.

And maybe

that’s what you wanted all along—

not perfection,

not some polished version of me—

just someone

who kept trying

to be better

than the person they were

yesterday.

I don’t know

if I’m there yet.

But I’m still trying.

And I hope

that somewhere

in all of this becoming—

that counts.