Loving My Mom. Again.
How I Learned to Love My Mom in a Way I Never Expected | I Am What an Intellectual Property Attorney Looks Like.
Hey Fam,
A few years ago, I wrote that I didn’t have the greatest relationship with my mom:
The dynamic wasn’t picture-perfect.
It was complicated. Layered.
Tangled in unhealed trauma passed down like a worn-out family heirloom.
I meant every word at the time.
But today, things look different.
Because while we may not have always known how to love each other in the same language, we’ve learned to meet each other in the space between who we are and who we’re becoming.
And honestly?
I’ve fallen in love with my mom again.
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Believe it or not, your parents are still growing up, right alongside you.
In the years we’ve lived in different states, countries, and cities, we’ve experienced our own sets of trauma, oportunities for growth, and grace for internal shifts and changes.
I was at Berkeley, she was still in Brooklyn. And for the next decade, our worlds would rarely meet or overlap:
In a sense, we had to leave each other to come back to one another, equipped with the knowledge, faith, and understanding that we were just two women in a world of so much richness, trauma, and life, just trying to figure it out.
Have you ever felt this way?
In surrendering to the status quo of what was, I went through several months of therapy to learn to navigate this newly realized normal.
And here’s what changed:
As a lawyer and a first-gen daughter, I’m used to moving in the world with strategy. I wanted answers. Action steps. Solutions.
But my mom?
She offers unwavering faith and spirituality.
She offers prayer.
And instead of resenting that, I now lean into it.
When I’m overwhelmed—when there’s nothing left but to let go—she’s the first person I call.
She reminds me that even when I don’t have control, God is in control.
And that I will always be okay.
My mom will send care packages filled with Café Bustelo, New York snacks, and candies from my childhood.
No matter how grown I get, she always finds a way to remind me:
“I see you. I’m thinking of you.”
And her food?
No one—no one—makes better jollof rice.
And that’s a fact.
My mom is from a generation that didn’t talk about trauma.
A Nigerian immigrant who raised a first-gen kid in a world she was still trying to understand.
And now that I’ve had to mother myself, I can finally see:
She was doing the best she could with what she had.
And that?
That deserves grace.
For my fellow first-gen professionals:
Have you had to shift how you receive your parents’ love now that you’ve earned the degrees, started the business, and done “the thing”?
Because I know I’m not the only one.
Mother’s Day is here.
And this year, I celebrate the love that didn’t always look soft—but has softened over time.
The love that taught me strength.
The love I’ve learned to see with new eyes.
Thanks, Mom. For your prayers.
Your fire.
Your jollof.
For loving me the best way you knew how.
And for letting me love you back, fully, in return.
If you could give your mom anything this Mother’s Day, what would it be and why?
Drop your thoughts in the comments—I’d love to hear from you.
Need Help Protecting Your Creativity?
If you are unsure—or if you know you need to take action—reach out to us.
We have helped countless founders and creatives safeguard their intellectual property, and we would love to do the same for you.
If you need further guidance, reach out to me and my team at Firm for the Culture.
We’re here to help you navigate the copyright, trademark, and thought leadership journey.
Can’t wait to help you protect your dynamic impact.
And #ThatsAWrap
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Thanks for reading.
See you next time.
Beautiful, heart-felt, courageous story, Ruky.