photos by:  JODIE BRIM CREATIVE

I truly can’t think of a better compliment to receive. And it’s funny how the older I get, the more true it becomes. I guess that’s inevitable, right? Becoming like the person who raised you?

My mom is full of passion in everything she does. Her excitement for life is contagious, and her commitment to always be learning is something I’ve always admired.

Over the years, I’ve had a front-row seat to what that really looks like.

I watched her care for my papaw—her dad—through dementia. It was one of the most emotional seasons of my life, but also one that deepened my respect for her in a way I can’t fully put into words. Her patience and compassion were unmatched. And what made it even more powerful is that patience doesn’t come naturally to her—meaning every bit of it was a choice. A daily, intentional choice.

I watched her start a brand-new magazine from scratch at 63 years old. Sixty-three. Most people are thinking about slowing down, and she was just getting started. When she sets her mind to something, she is going to make it happen—come hell or high water. I am so proud of her I can hardly stand it.

But some of the moments that shaped me the most were the quieter ones.

As a young child, I remember a woman in her twenties who would come to our house. My mom would sit with her, listen, offer advice when asked, and simply be there. That’s one of my earliest memories of what it looks like to show up for someone.

As a teenager, I watched her do the same for another woman—someone older who was facing health, financial, and family struggles. At the time, my mom was the busiest person I knew, building her business from the ground up. But she always made time. She answered every call. She brought meals. She supported her in any way she could.

She wasn’t sitting me down and telling me to be kind. She was showing me—over and over again—what kindness looks like in action.

As a young adult, I watched her walk through breast cancer with a kind of grace that never made me question the outcome. Somehow, she carried strength in a way that made the people around her feel strong, too.

And later, when I went through one of the hardest seasons of my own life—a divorce—she became my safe place. My constant. My shoulder to cry on for months. They say a mom is only as happy as her least happy child, and that year, I know I tested that. While it was incredibly hard for me, I can only imagine how hard it was for her to watch her daughter hurting.

So… am I just like my mom?

In some ways, absolutely. In others, we are complete opposites.

But the older I get, the more I realize—it’s not about becoming exactly like her. It’s about carrying forward the pieces that matter most. The way she loves people. The way she shows up. The way she keeps going, no matter what.

And if one day someone tells me, “You’re just like your mom,” I hope I’ve earned it.

Because if I can be even half the woman—and someday, half the mother—that she is, I think I’ll be just fine.