25 Years of Motherhood, 25 Years of Becoming - Part 6, The journey continues

By Dr. Anupama Vaidya (hc)

With an outpouring of wishes, blessings, and countless memories gathered over the past five days, we now find ourselves on our return journeys. Ishita on her flight to London, and I on mine to Mumbai. The celebrations have been deep and meaningful, the memories still tender and vivid - laughter echoing across beaches, waves splashing at our feet, endless chit-chats punctuated by comfortable silences that spoke more than words ever could, experiencing one of the most amazing hospitality we could have asked for at JW Marriott JW Marriott Maldives Resort & Spa. And through it all, a quiet pride lingered.

The kind that comes from watching your child not just grow, but evolve. 

As I sit here waiting for my flight, I choose not to dwell in the ache of parting, but in the grace of what these days have meant. A time of connection, reflection, and gentle realization.

That motherhood, even after twenty-five years, continues to grow with her. Each phase teaching me not how to mother her better, but how to understand myself deeper, through her becoming, her wisdom, her light.

And with that thought, I pen down Lessons 21 to 25, a continuation of this beautiful continuum of motherhood, where learning never ceases and love keeps finding new ways to express itself, every single day.

25 Lessons from 25 Years of Motherhood: Reflections on Growing Through Love

• Learning 21: When She Taught Me to Care for Myself
• Learning 22: When She Became My Safe Space
• Learning 23: When Roles Blend into Friendship
• Learning 24: When Her Becoming Completes Mine
• Learning 25: When Motherhood Learns to Evolve

21. When She Taught Me to Care for Myself

In the busyness of doing everything possible for our families, especially when raising a growing child, we often blur the line between love and self-neglect. For me, my world has revolved and still does, around her.

Schedules, meals, assignments, everything aligned to her orbit. I wasn’t a helicopter mom, but making things easier, smoother, and more joyful for her felt instinctive, almost second nature. And with work demanding its share of me, I constantly juggled to maintain that elusive “balance.” Every spare minute, found or created, was devoted to her. My joys, my pauses, even my self-care quietly waited for “after Ishita’s needs are done.”

And as she grew up, she began to notice it too, while I hadn’t realized how much it had quietly consumed me. 

When we started life again two decades ago, I started from near scratch, with a minimal balance in my bank, a little girl beside me, and a heart full of dreams for both of us. I knew I had to be the breadwinner, the anchor, and the nurturer – all at once. Every paisa earned carried purpose: either invested in her today, or saved for her tomorrow.

I measured my own needs in terms of utility, not joy. Every purchase was weighed with a sense of responsibility, “Does she need something more? Should I save this instead?”

I remember one of my well-wishers once suggesting I buy myself a good branded handbag, a small indulgence I could easily afford by then. I smiled and quietly told myself “Someday. When my little one is taken care of, I will.”

Over time, this discipline became devotion, and devotion turned into habit, until caring for myself felt almost like an indulgence I hadn’t earned. Doing things for myself became a matter of necessity & utility, never joy or expression. And on the rare occasions when I did indulge in something just for me, it came wrapped in a quiet guilt, as if self-care needed justification. A guilt that served no one, least of all me.

I still remember that day, she must have been in her teens. We were shopping together when I paused, admiring a dress on display. “You should try it,” she said. I smiled and brushed it off, “Not needed.” She looked at me, that knowing twinkle in her eyes, and said softly, “Maa, it’s not about needing. It’s about deserving.”

That moment stayed with me. Somewhere along the years, the giver in me had forgotten the receiver within.

Through her gentle insistence, I began rediscovering what it means to nurture myself, not as indulgence, but as gratitude. Lunches with friends I hadn’t met in years, long walks without purpose, unhurried evenings spent reading or watching a film. They became small acts of self-connection. Buying a few things for myself, going out for dinners with friends, a visit to the salon to take care of myself beyond the necessities…  … I hadn’t realized that my choosing joy for myself gave her joy too. When I picked up a new dress or planned a short getaway, her happiness was unmistakable. It was her way of saying, “I want to see you happy, Maa. Not just proud, but peaceful.”

Her words still echo in my ears. With a growing sense of maturity, she began to nudge me, “Maa, you’re always telling everyone to take care of themselves. When will you start taking your own advice?” I laughed it off then, but her words have lingered long after… …, settling somewhere deep, as a gentle reminder from the very child who had once needed my reminders. Right from my physical care to mental well being … …

What I didn’t realize was that my self-care gave her reassurance. That I was happy, whole, and fulfilled beyond my role as her mother. It made her feel free, not responsible for my joy. Even today, she reminds me, “Maa, when I see you spending time with your friends, it makes me feel lighter — like we’re both learning to live fully.”

Some lessons of motherhood arrive not through words, but through gentle reminders from the very child you once taught. Transitioning through motherhood taught me that caring for yourself is not selfish; it’s sacred. It shows your child that love, to truly last, must also include oneself. “The child you once nurtured feels safest when she sees you nurturing yourself.”

22. When She Became My Safe Space 

There was a time when I was her safe space. Her constant, her comfort, her anchor in an unpredictable world. Every scraped knee, every disappointment, every restless question came running to me. And I always knew what to do, or at least, how to hold her till she felt okay again.

That part hasn’t changed; it never will.

But somewhere along the way, almost imperceptibly, something beautiful was added. Without either of us noticing, the rhythm quietly reversed. She began to hold space for me too.

While there have been many such little moments over the years, one such incidence remains etched in my heart. It was an emotionally heavy time. I had just lost a dear friend who had taken her own life. She had been so full of life herself, vibrant and strong; her sudden absence left behind a quiet shock that I didn’t quite know how to process.

I thought I was coping, holding on as I always did. Keeping my composure, staying busy, carrying on. But grief has a way of seeping through the spaces between words, and I hadn’t realized how much it was weighing on me until that evening. We were on a call. She in her world, me in mine. When she asked, “How was your day, Maa?” 

I paused, the usual instinct to say “All good” ready on my lips. But something in her voice - gentle, attentive, without expectation – softened my guard. And instead, I found myself saying quietly, “It’s been… a bit hard.”

There was a pause on the other end, but not the uneasy kind. It was the kind of silence that holds you. Not to fill, but to comfort. Then she said softly, “I can imagine, Maa… you don’t always have to be strong, you know.”

Her words landed like a whisper and a balm, both at once. In that moment, I realized I was being seen. Not as the mother, not as the leader, not as the one who always knows what to do. But simply as me. And it was enough.

It’s strange, isn’t it? How one day, you look at your child and realize she’s grown roots deep enough to hold you steady too. The same emotional strength you once nurtured in her - empathy, sensitivity, grace -  returns to you quietly, wrapping itself around your fragility like sunlight on tired skin.

Through moments like these, I’ve learnt that the circle of care never really ends; it simply reverses direction. We now speak not in lessons or instructions, but in reflections. Her words are often wiser than mine; her silences more understanding than my advice ever was.

There are days when I find myself sharing. A worry, a frustration, a hope and she listens, with the same presence I once offered her. I no longer edit my emotions to protect her from their weight.

I’ve realized that honesty is its own quiet language of love and a form of intimacy;

it doesn’t burden; it bonds.it doesn’t overwhelm; it opens.

it doesn’t expose; it empowers. it doesn’t weaken; it weaves.

it doesn’t separate generations; it strengthens souls.

it doesn’t create distance; it deepens connection.

it doesn’t make you fragile; it makes you real.

it doesn’t pass pain; it passes truth. It doesn’t lessen love; it lets it breathe.

Motherhood has taught me that vulnerability before your child doesn’t weaken the bond, it deepens it. It tells them, “You’re not just loved; you’re trusted.” And that trust, I’ve come to see, is perhaps the most sacred inheritance we can pass on.

Because one day, the child who sought comfort in your arms will become the quiet strength that holds your heart steady. “The child you once shielded now shields you. Not with answers, but with understanding.”

23. When Roles Blend into Friendship 

As I transitioned through my own life, so did my conversations with my own mother. From the certainty of instruction to the ease of exchange, from mother–daughter to friends. I never really noticed when that shift happened; it unfolded quietly, naturally, like dusk turning into evening light.

And then one day, I realized, the same transformation had been happening between Ishita and me.

Our vacations, long drives, unplanned coffee stops, even the difficult nights of tears and talks - all became threads in a fabric of companionship quietly woven over the years. Somewhere between managing life and living it, the relationship began to evolve.

The role of motherhood gradually began to soften. Conversations no longer began with advice; they flowed with laughter, curiosity, and shared wonder. They began with what do you think about this?

I didn’t need to guide every step anymore; I found myself walking beside her instead.

It was so subtle that I can’t recall when it began, only that it did. Our discussions shifted - 

no longer about permission, but about perspective;

not requests for guidance, but exchanges for growth;

not parent and child, but two individuals in dialogue.

Thoughtful, equal, and real.

We became sounding boards for each other, mirrors reflecting not hierarchy, but harmony. Simply transforming from guiding to grounding, from protecting to participating, from love that leads to love that listens.

Today, I don’t just see her as my child; I see her as my chosen companion for life’s journey. The one who knows my chaos, matches my laughter, and understands my silences.

And steadily as this journey evolved, there came that gentle realization: I was no longer the centre of her world, but a cherished part of it. Not the director of her story, but a character she deeply valued. The one she chose to share her world with. 

Now, we talk of life, people, dreams, and fears. Not as mother and daughter, but as two women connected by love, respect, and shared evolution. 

There are moments when I seek her counsel and others when she seeks mine. We don’t fill the silence between us; we honor it. Some days, we speak of books, boundaries, politics, and dreams. We laugh over the most ordinary things - memes, musings, moments. We debate perspectives, and yet at times, just sit in shared silence.

Somewhere along the way, motherhood found its rhythm in friendship. Not the kind where roles vanish, but where respect, love, and space coexist with honesty, humor, and trust.

I still smile at how naturally it happened. Like water finding its flow.

There are days she teases me about my “to-do lists,” other days she calls for advice on a career dilemma or a life decision. And there are evenings when I find myself asking her what she thinks about something that’s weighing on me.

Our friendship isn’t about equality of age or experience.

It’s about equality of heart.

It’s about knowing that the bond we built on care has now ripened into companionship. 

I’ve come to understand that this phase of motherhood isn’t about giving up authority, it’s about gaining authenticity. 

We talk, not because we must, but because we want to.

We share, not because we need approval, but because we trust understanding.

I’ve come to understand that motherhood doesn’t end when friendship begins.

It simply finds its purest expression. Where love needs no instruction, and connection needs no permission. 

Friendship doesn’t replace motherhood; it refines it. It’s,  not about losing roles; it’s about gaining resonance. Not about stepping back, but about standing side by side. Not about being needed, but about being known. 

The relationship matures when love stops defining what should be done, and starts celebrating what simply 'is'. Motherhood taught me that the most beautiful friendship is born when love learns to stand shoulder to shoulder. A friendship of love that listens without judgement, laughs without reason, and stays without condition.

And most of all, motherhood taught me to be sensitive and sensible enough to observe these changes and to adapt to them with grace. “When roles fade and evolve, what remains is connection; equal, effortless, and eternal.”

24. When Her Becoming Completes Mine

I still remember when Ishita was born. One of my mentors shared something that has stayed with me ever since – a thought so profound that it kept me on my toes, constantly introspecting to ensure I never fell into my own well-meaning traps.

“Let your child flourish into who she is meant to be. Not as an extension of you, nor as a reflection of your dreams. Don’t look for yourself in her; look for the light that is uniquely hers. Your role is not to shape her in your image, but to give her the space to unfold into her own.” 

Those words became both my compass and my caution.

They reminded me that motherhood is not about replication. It’s about revelation.

About allowing another soul to find her rhythm, even when it differs from your own.

At that time, I nodded politely not realizing the depth of what was being shared. But over time, I began to live their meaning, in small, countless, everyday ways. 

By providing her with platforms to explore freely, not just to perform. 

By letting her to drop what didn’t resonate and linger where curiosity called. 

By learning to celebrate what came naturally to her, even when it was far from what came naturally to me.

It wasn’t easy. My strongest subjects, the ones that once defined my success, were her steepest climbs. And the spaces where I struggled, she seemed to glide with ease and joy. But that, I came to realize, was the true beauty of motherhood.

She wasn’t meant to mirror me; she was meant to expand what I could never be. 

Motherhood began as an act of nurturing her growth and somewhere along the way, it became an expansion of both of us together. As I watched her unfold into herself, layer by layer, I realized that her becoming was, in many ways, my becoming too - 

When she stood tall in her convictions, I learnt courage.

When she chose kindness over judgment, I learnt grace.

When she faced the world with quiet strength, I learnt faith.

When she chased her dreams with determination, I rediscovered possibility.

Each phase of her life revealed another facet of mine — the mother, the woman, the learner, the human. I was watching her grow, yes, but also watching myself evolve in the reflection of her choices, her clarity, her compassion.

There’s something profoundly humbling in seeing your child grow into their own essence, a moment where pride turns into peace. You realize they no longer need your guidance to rise; they carry your essence within, even as they create a life entirely their own.

What stays alive between you are not instructions, but values - the silent compass that guides her through choices and dilemmas, helping her decide not just what is right, but what feels true and fair. 

What once was guidance had now become inheritance. Not of possessions, but of perspective.

She doesn’t walk in my footsteps; she walks beside them, widening the path with her light. Her becoming is not separate from mine. It completes it.

Motherhood taught me that raising a child is not about shaping them into your image, but about holding space for them to shape their own. And in doing so, discovering the unspoken parts of yourself. Not your reflection in form, but your continuity in essence.

Somewhere between her first cry and her confident voice, something sacred completed within me. It didn’t happen overnight. It unfolded quietly, across years of shared laughter, honest conversations, tears, and turning points deep rooted in values that formed the strong foundation to hold us together.

Each phase of her growth became a mirror to my own. Her independence didn’t make me redundant; it made me relevant in a new way — as her silent cheerleader, her trusted listener, her forever home.

There was a day, not long ago, when she said, “Maa, I hope I can live with the same balance you’ve held through everything.” 

And I smiled, because balance was never something I taught; it was something she saw, absorbed, and made her own. I realized that the cycle had come full circle. The lessons I had once sown were now returning to me, ripened by her experience and softened by her compassion. 

Her strength carries my stories. Her empathy refines my faith. Her authenticity renews my purpose.

It’s humbling and beautiful all at once, to know that your purpose didn’t end with her birth; it continues through her becoming.

Motherhood, through these years, I’ve learnt, is not about creating a version of yourself. It’s about creating space for someone to become wholly themselves. And when they do, you find a part of yourself you never knew was waiting. She has become my reflection, my reminder, and my renewal. All at once. Through her becoming, I find my own completion.

In motherhood we don’t just raise children; we raise our own souls. And one day, we meet them again, shining through the ones we nurtured. “She became the chapter I didn’t know I was writing — the proof that love, when shared selflessly, finds its way back as grace.”

25. When Motherhood Learns to Evolve

This 25th October was special. 

Not just because it marked Ishita’s birthday, but because it also marked my own milestone: twenty-five years of motherhood.

It still feels like yesterday or perhaps just a few years ago. That I held her tiny fingers for the first time, awed by the quiet miracle of life resting in my arms. The memories haven’t faded with time; they’ve only softened around the edges, like sunlight through morning mist. 

Time has flown by. Not in grand leaps, but in heartbeats.

Between school runs and bedtime stories, first steps and fearless flights, laughter and lessons, twenty-five years have somehow gathered themselves into a blink. And as I stood there this year, celebrating her birthday, I realized that motherhood is, in many ways, a reminder to live inside the moments, not just through them - 

To pause between the milestones; 

To breathe in the everyday ordinariness that, one day, turns into extraordinary.

Because life doesn’t really announce when you’re living your best days. It just lets them pass quietly, wrapped in the simplest of moments: a conversation over coffee, a shared silence on a car ride, a look that needs no words.

Motherhood, if anything, has taught me that the years may rush by, but the moments - the ones you truly live, not manage – are the ones that stay.

As we celebrated together, laughing, reminiscing, celebrating each other about how far we’ve come, a quiet thought found its way through my heart: What lessons will motherhood bring me next?

Because if there’s one thing these years have taught me, it’s that -

Motherhood doesn’t end at milestones. It evolves.

Motherhood doesn’t have a single form. It is multi-dimensional. 

Motherhood isn’t a role we play; it’s a relationship that keeps revealing who we are.

These 25 years have taught me that motherhood keeps reinventing itself. 

From the days of holding her hand to learning when to let it go; 

From teaching her how to walk, to walking beside her in silence; 

From guiding with words to guiding through presence.

Every phase of her life has asked something new of me.

To love differently.

To understand deeper.

To hold, yet not hover.

To be near, even when far.

What began as care has matured into companionship; What once meant protecting has transformed into witnessing; and What once demanded effort now flows as ease. 

A quiet knowing that love doesn’t need direction to endure; it simply needs space to breathe.

There are moments now when she teaches me what patience feels like, what grace looks like, and what strength sounds like. Her calmness grounds me; her wisdom humbles me; her laughter reminds me that joy never grows old.

In her becoming, I continue to learn, not how to be her mother, but how to be me, through her ever-changing seasons.

Motherhood has been my most humbling teacher. It has taught me that the relationship doesn’t end when she finds her wings; it evolves when I learn to trust their flight.

The future of motherhood, I believe, lies, 

Not in control but in connection;

Not in shaping, but in sensing;

Not in instructing, but in intuitively growing together.

And as I stand here, looking both back and ahead, I know this truth with quiet certainty – that love, like life, is never complete; it only becomes more refined through every passing phase.

Even after twenty-five years, I realize, “Motherhood isn’t something I’ve completed; it’s something that keeps completing me. Through her, I continue to discover my untapped strength, grace, and becoming”

The Bridge to future of Motherhood... the next 25 and beyond

And so, as I bring this series to a pause, not an end, I find myself smiling at the truth that has quietly accompanied me through every phase: motherhood doesn’t conclude; it continues.

It flows like a river, changing landscapes, deepening with every bend, yet carrying the same source of love within. From the first cry that made me a mother, to the quiet conversations that now make me her friend, each chapter has been a lesson. In love that liberates, in strength that softens, and in presence that evolves.

I no longer see motherhood as a journey of raising a child; I see it as a journey of rising together - her into herself, and me into who I was always meant to be through her. As she keeps discovering her world, I keep rediscovering mine.

Because the truth is simple. Motherhood doesn’t age, it transforms. It learns, it listens, it lets go, and then begins again… every single day.

And even after twenty-five years, I know this with quiet certainty - Motherhood is not a story I’ve finished writing; it’s a heartbeat that keeps echoing through her... ... 

For the story of motherhood is never finished, it simply unfolds, one heartbeat, one lesson, one dawn at a time and continues through every moment of life. 

25 Years of Motherhood, 25 Lessons of Becoming, continuing on my journey of evolving...

6-Series Blog. Links to refer to

• Part 1: For details on 1 and 2, refer to link:   https://anupamav3010.blogspot.com/2025/10/25-years-of-motherhood-25-lessons-of.html
• Part 2: For details on 3, 4 and 5, refer to link:  https://anupamav3010.blogspot.com/2025/10/25-years-of-motherhood-25-lessons-of_20.html
• Part 3: For details on 6, 7, 8, and 9, refer to link:  https://anupamav3010.blogspot.com/2025/10/25-years-of-motherhood-25-years-of.html
• Part 4: For details on 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, and 15, refer to link:   https://anupamav3010.blogspot.com/2025/10/25-years-of-motherhood-25-years-of_23.html
• Part 5: For details on 16, 17, 18, 19, and 20, refer to link:  https://anupamav3010.blogspot.com/2025/10/25-years-of-motherhood-journey-of.html
• Part 6: the current write-up