You Look Like Your Mother!

In recent years, various people have told me, with great enthusiasm, how much I look like my mother. It's taken me awhile to settle into this fact. When I was a child, everyone agreed that I looked just like Dad, so I became accustomed to thinking of myself in that way. Now there's a new reality to which I must adjust, and it's been interesting to observe my own reaction to this.

Mom has always looked young for her years, and she's always been attractive. I've never considered myself attractive, just passable, and so I did not consider that I bore any resemblance to my mother. Now that she's in her seventies and looks older--although still attractive, in my opinion--when people say I look like her, I don't know if they're noticing my signs of aging or if I do in fact have some of her innate characteristics. There are moments when I'm quite proud to be seen as resembling her. But other moments, not so much. Why is that?

I know that I'm not the only woman to feel uneasy about being identified closely with her mother. It goes much deeper than looks. A friend and I were talking about how we have tended to wear clothes like those our mothers wear, and how embarrassed we are when we realize this, especially if someone else points it out. On Mom's recent visit, I found myself attentive to her gestures or the way she placed her arms across her lap, and I checked my own gestures and positioning to see if I mirrored her; at times I did. I would adjust immediately, all the while asking myself, Why does this even bother me?

And how many of us have been somewhat horrified to hear, coming out of our mouths, the phrases, verbatim, that we used to hear our mothers say?

Perhaps a daughter is especially and naturally critical of her mother, who is her first model of womanhood. As children we accept that model without question. But when we become older and attach ourselves to peer groups, one of the first people to suffer our newly formed judgments is Mom. We are desperate to fit in, and Mom represents our earlier forms, our baby-ness and our dependence. We may feel very close to Mom, but we also feel obligated to put distance in that relationship; otherwise, how can we become ourselves?

Well, I'm fifty-six years old now; I don't think Mom is going to embarrass me in front of my friends. Yet, I'm not sure I want to look like her. Maybe I'm afraid that if outward appearance is any indication, I will become like her in other ways, too. That wouldn't be a bad thing, because Mom's a wonderful person. But the insecure adolescent who still lives inside me wants to be her own person. The need to be special takes a lifetime to die, I guess.

And is it possible that my life is so easily predetermined and predictable, that so much of what I do and say and believe is the result of my years in close proximity to this particular adult? Do I fear that, thanks to my mother, my father, and others, my fate was decided long ago and I don't really determine much about who I am? Can people look at Mom and know immediately what I will be like in a few years?

Another possibility: seeing my mother age reminds me that I, too, will grow old if I don't die first. I cannot avoid this progression any more than I can avoid the physical resemblance.

I made sure Jim took this photo while Mom was visiting last week. Despite my ambivalence about looking like my mother, I want everyone to see.