My mama and I are separated by exactly 32 years, 7 months, and 19 days. She’s what you would call a baby boomer, born October 20^th, 1959, and I’m a millennial, born June 8^th, 1992. Despite the generation gap between my mom and myself, I can tell you that I am her made all over, and I don’t just mean in appearance. Her name is Sherry, but I call her “mama”, and I’m her “shug” which is pronounced like the first part of the word “sugar”. I have to say, the more I spend time with my mama, the more I see myself reflected in her movements, way of speaking, and the presence she carries about herself. From the way she laughs and cries, to the way she styles her outfits and loves her animals (even little turtle or squirrel rescues), I mirror her, and that gives me confidence.

From an early age up until my current age at 24, I have always been what some people call rail thin and what others call “lucky”. Now, I appreciate my body and embrace my petite frame, and it's because of her encouraging words. From elementary school to high school, my weight had always been something that people pointed out. I remember once in middle school on our way to lunch, two girls snidely whispered behind me: “she’s anorexic,” and to my defense, my best friend butted in and stated that was not true. They responded to her comment with a snide giggle, not even realizing how comments like those they had just made are what pushed me to stare in the mirror as a teenager and beg for a few pounds to appear when I woke up the next morning. In high school, the same things happened to me over and over. My mama always said, “Shug, you’re little, just like I was. You’re just petite, and there is nothing wrong with that. You will fill out more later, but you are beautiful. There is nothing wrong with how you look! Those people are jealous.” She was right. I never did put on much weight, but the 10 lbs I have gained since high school have filled out in places that have boosted my confidence. When I see pictures of my mom and my current size, I think she looks amazing. That’s why I know I do too. She teaches me self-worth every day.

The saying goes that the eyes are the windows into a person’s soul. Well, my mama’s eyes are bright blue and give away her every emotion. I’m proud to have inherited this asset. In theory, because we have the same eyes, we must have the same soul, and we both have an artist’s soul in many different ways. From an early age, I have been a sketcher, drawer, and a painter (not the best by any means, though), and my interests have always gravitated towards the other arts, even if I did not directly participate in those areas, such as music and theater. I remember when I was younger, my mama and nana would encourage my interest in art, and we would find new ways to create expressive designs with paint, and I could always (and can still always) count on an available canvas, paint, and sketchbook at their houses. Once, we dotted acrylic paint onto sketching paper and folded it down the middle. The design inside would always be a surprise after being opened up—a spectrum of colors forming its own shape that could look like anything from a butterfly to a multi-colored blob (depending on your perception, of course). In my mama’s house, one room in particular is currently flooded with artwork from myself, mama, and nana. In college, I eventually earned my B.A. in English, so writing has quickly evolved into another form of art that encompasses a large part of my life. Years ago, before I discovered my own interest in writing, my mama began writing a romance novel set in the Civil War era; I believe that by embracing her talents, she has subconsciously guided me into pursuing my own.

As mother and daughter, we absolutely treasure anything unique & antique (unintentional rhyme). Simply put, we embrace the oddities and adore the items of eras long-gone. One thing that we enjoy more than we probably should is thrift and antique shopping, one of the only ways a person can find genuinely vintage, one-of-a-kind items. The only difference between us is that my mother’s main era of interest stays pretty concrete; the Victorian era has always been her primary source of inspiration for writing, art, reading, and antique shopping (I just mention that she was working on a Civil War era novel, right?). While we do share the same general interest in antiques and oddities, my interests are dynamic—always shifting around with gradual beginnings and endings. I can always feel an obsession starting up or coming to a close. Keep in mind that any specific era or time period that I have been interested in does remain back in the archives of my mind—I just tend to pull out and kind of fixate over specific areas from time to time. I went through about 6 months of obsession with the Dark Ages and Middle Ages. I was absolutely in love with the works of literature that I was reading in college at the time that focused on this period. This quickly turned into an obsession with the myths and mythical worlds inspired by the Dark and Middle Ages like Middle Earth and King Arthur’s Camelot, and everything, from my art to my reading choices, was affected by it.

While I may be my mother’s reflection, I am very much my own person. We have been born in different generations, witnessed different events, and met different people. We have led different lives and expressed our passions in very different ways. Regardless of this fact, being so close to her gives me a lot of inspiration and guidance on how to live my own life. It’s kind of like rewriting the first draft of an essay, not to correct the errors, but to create a different version for a different time all together.