Mothered by the Love I Give

I will die knowing the warmth of a mother’s love, not because I received it but because I have given it.

Carrie Mae Weems, Untitled (Putting on Make-Up), Kitchen Table Series II, 1990-1999 © Carrie Mae Weems.

My mother and I were close friends, but I could never get close to her as her child.

We were just over twenty years apart, and when I became a teenager, we had so much fun together. We laughed (she’s still the funniest person I know), shared dinners (my favorite thing to do with her), and went shopping (she did most of it while I pointed out what was cute). I loved knowing her like that. Though I never got the closeness I craved as a child, being her friend still brought comfort.

But underneath the fun, something was still missing.
I could laugh with her, but couldn’t collapse into her when life got hard.

I’ll never forget calling her one night, sobbing. I was exhausted—flying around on tour, Vegas one day, New York the next. It all sounded sexy on paper, but it was wearing me down. When she heard me crying, it was like it scared her. Wrong number. That night, I learned that in real distress, I’d need to find someone else to turn to.

---

While she was still here, I couldn’t fully articulate the gap, but I felt it. What I wanted was softness, tenderness.

I’d try to sit on her lap or hug her growing up, and she’d push me away. It didn’t feel mean at the time. It felt more like, “I can’t handle this.” I used to try, playfully, but eventually I stopped.

I wanted to be one of those girls in college whose mom came to visit, cooked for the whole apartment, or took the roommates to dinner. My mom was cool as hell, but she didn’t do that. She didn’t even come to my college graduation, which still stings. I wanted someone who showed up visibly proud, beaming even. Someone who burst through the door with a big hug and a face full of joy just to see me.

For a long time, I thought I’d succeeded in spite of her. But a few weekends ago, I sat in a quiet room with tears streaming down my face and realized I succeeded because of her.

I silently thanked her for insisting I prove my value. I spent years trying to show her I was enough, and that drive became a factory setting that has carried me through life.

She always said she was preparing me for the world. Now I know: she was preparing me for one without her in it.

---

She taught me how to survive, not how to soften. While I didn’t grow up being mothered that way, I’ve learned to mother that way, and something that gives me so much solace is knowing I will die knowing the warmth of a mother’s love, not because I received it but because I have given it.

---

Whenever I offer my children something I didn’t get, something softens in me. I don’t remember being cuddled, hugged, or kissed, but something inside me settles when I do it now. The more I practice, the more natural it becomes—a mother’s love.

My daughter is four. She often asks, “Mommy, do you like me?”

And I remember wondering the same thing, well into adulthood. Does my mother even like me?

To answer her, over and over again, is to answer a question I was never brave enough to ask.

“I like you and love you,” I tell her. “You are the best girl! I love you so much.”

God willing, I’ll spend more time giving her what I once yearned for.

---

As Mother’s Day nears, I think about the many years I’ve honored my mother, some years harder than others.

Now that my mother and grandmother have become ancestors, I feel a spaciousness, an unexpected freedom to be fully present in my own role as a mother.

---

Here’s what I know:

My mother gave me something she never got—deep friendship, camaraderie, and a relentless push to try—to try new things, to try again, to try at all.

She believed in me and made sure I knew it. I still hear her voice when something big happens: “I know that’s right.” “That’s what I’m talking about.”

Sometimes, the love we didn’t get is the love we learn to give best. And that, too, is a kind of inheritance.

Maybe that’s why Mother’s Day still feels complicated. Love rarely fits in clean lines.

---

About Me

I’m Myleik Teele, an entrepreneur, coach, and community builder. Over the past decade, I have built, scaled, and closed CURLBOX, creating a blueprint for modern brand-building and cultivating thriving communities both online and in real life. Now, my focus is on helping people—from high-level entrepreneurs and executives to those simply trying to create a life that feels good—play bigger while actually enjoying the journey.

If you’re ready to grow without the pressure to be perfect and build a life that truly feels like yours, you’re in the right place. You can also find me on Instagram and my podcast, where I dive into life, business, and everything in between.