The Village Teacher
An Introduction of My Mother's Daughter, a creative nonfiction series.
I love to write. I also love to talk. Anyone who really knows me, knows both of these things, but many more have no idea. So here I am, talking in words on Substack, trying to fill a need in my soul that my fiction writing can’t satisfy. Creative writing has long been a passion and this platform feels like the place to throw it. I hope you agree and hit that Subscribe option.
I found Substack through several writing friends – and enjoy their content so much. It varies a ton, with some posting their fiction stories and others writing nonfiction articles. It’s such a fun space that has won me over and I’ve spent a few weeks trying to decide how to start, what to write, and when to post. I’m still unsure if I’m starting out well or if I’ll maintain a regular posting schedule, but I have decided on a theme for my articles: Me. My Mother’s Daughter.
I grew up with my mother and one sister two years older than me for most of my life. There was no father in my life. In the early years I had some of my older siblings nearby and later, at age 10, I was introduced to aunts, uncles, and my only grandmother after a big relocation. My family is HUGE, but not really.
I don’t know any of them, and they don’t know me. The details of our lives end at political, religious, and humanitarian views, which are in harsh contrast to one another.
I’m on an island with my husband and my young son. We have a boat to visit my mother (100 miles away) and my adult daughter and her children (700 miles away). That’s it.
And maybe I had a big hand in that with setting boundaries against toxic world views, but it can’t all be on me – since I can’t recall a single birthday party with any family around except Mom and my sister (We’ll call her Leigha). I can’t recall any Christmas celebrations at Mom’s with more than just the 3 of us. And only one Christmas at any other place. There were no Thanksgiving gatherings during my childhood AT ALL.
I grew up in the 80’s. I was a latchkey kid with a single mother, and life wasn’t always easy.
Living life without a village is complicated, depressing, and daunting. And my mother lived a similar life as I live a now. One cycle unbroken, maybe.
Being the age I am now (Old af), I can look back at my mother’s life and her choices as a mother, a woman, and a human of the era, and understand them. I see the flaws as clearly as I see the wins, and I love my mother for all of those things together. I love her with my entire soul because she loves me with hers. Constantly. Never a day without it.
She was the entire village and she never let me realize how empty it was.
And that’s powerful.
So are the lessons she taught me. Some on purpose, some unintentionally, and others the hard way. And not everything I am or everything I know is because of my mother, but without her, I’d not be who I am today.
I hope you enjoy the tales of my life mixed with my views and insights.
