Thirteen years ago, I held you for the very first time. I’d already come to know you while you grew inside my belly – I talked and sang to you all the time, read you stories, and promised I’d always be your safe place to land. Still, I couldn’t imagine what lay ahead for us – for you, and for me.
I was scared. Truly terrified that I wouldn’t be the mother you deserved; afraid to make mistakes, and afraid I’d somehow, inadvertently, scar you for life. Anxiety runs like blood through my veins, so I often see catastrophe and worst-case scenarios everywhere I turn. When things go well, it feels like a happy accident – something I can hardly believe.
Those first few years together were marred by panic. I was fueled by worry and lack of sleep, and couldn’t fully appreciate the sweet beauty right in front of me. But you were there all along – steadfast and true – loving me simply as your mama.
I learned so much from those early years, and even more from you. I still do, nearly every day. You are easy-breezy. You don’t let things get under your skin – and if they do, they fall away quickly. You move on. You embrace life. You are deeply motivated by challenge, never focused on what could go wrong, but on what might – or rather, will – go right. That’s what drives you forward, conquering one challenge after another, like when you joined a top-tier soccer team mid-season and dove headfirst into a full-time goalie position.
Marissa Bader (left) with her daughter, Harper, and mother Cheryle Kristal z’l (submitted).
There are moments when I see hints of my anxiety flicker in you, and it breaks my heart. But I also know the gift in this: I can help you work through it. I can offer you tools to manage the worry and reclaim your calm and joy – things I never learned growing up. I buried my fears deep inside until they grew stronger than me, eventually engulfing me again and again.
A mother-daughter relationship is a fascinating thing. It ebbs and flows. Sometimes the mama teaches; sometimes she learns more from her daughter than she ever thought possible. And when that happens – and it happens often – I’m humbled and grateful.
We started out together, you and me, surviving those early years in the trenches, and our bond grew stronger for it. I certainly did. You’re not the same child you once were, and I’m not the same mom. We’ve both grown and transformed in so many ways that we’re almost unrecognizable from who we were all those years ago.
But that’s life – a constant evolution of growth, learning, mistake-making, and moving on. We turn over and over again, becoming new versions of ourselves, each one a little wiser, a little braver, a little more whole.
And now, here we are – days away from a huge milestone in your life: your Bat Mitzvah. I find myself mourning my own parents, missing them deeply, especially during this momentous occasion that would have meant so much to them. Unlike your dad’s family, with parents and grandparents still here to celebrate, my family’s generation ends with us. It’s a heavy truth.
But we’ll return to our roots — the two of us, me and you. I will focus on you, my love, not on what’s missing. I will choose not to see the world through catastrophes or worst-case scenarios, but through the beauty right in front of me. The most important thing in the world: you.