We're All Mothers for a Moment

What if all women were mothers, even without having children? Even the people who choose not to have their own children have experiences in being a motherly figure to others, whether they've noticed or not. Growing up with a mother I didn't feel I connected with, I learned to seek motherly wisdom elsewhere, desperate to gain some sort of motherly attention that many kids are privileged enough to experience. Of course, there is no actual replacement for the woman who tried her best to raise you as a child of her own. However, I found bonds in places I never expected, and these served as mother moments for me.

If you Google definitions of what being a mother means, you'll see a lot of repetitive comments about people who give birth or otherwise raise a child. In my opinion, this is incorrect. As women, we have an unspoken understanding to lift each other up and create comfort, understanding, and growth amongst one another. I feel these are qualities of a mother, and the spirit of a mother is within all of us. The Spice Girls weren't necessarily wrong when they promoted "Girl Power." There's a certain comfort and acceptance in being a woman, knowing that when you're down, you can message your best (girl) friend and have her go out of her way to make you feel loved, understood, and okay for being you.

I didn't have a Boss Mom. I had a mom who was learning and unable to cope with a child of my demeanor. Throughout years of torment and questioning myself, I recently came to peace with the fact that in the absence of one single woman I expected more from, I've had mothers for a moment throughout my entire life. They're not mine, but they've done for me the types of things that a mother would do, and I feel that is the most empowering aspect of being close with and loving other women as one or more of my Mothers for a Moment.

Mothers for a Moment in Childhood

"It's Dogg Feet. D-O-G-G-F-E-E-T."

Lesson One: Don't let society define your identity.

I was about eight years old when my older sister's best friend, Erin (may she rest peacefully), spent a week with us at our home due to troubles at her own home. The night she arrived, I could sense that she was disheveled from the trauma of an abusive mother and stepfather, but she gazed at me and smiled a glorious smile that somehow lit up her freckles like Christmas tree lights. She greeted me casually, as an equal, before she retreated to the room I shared with my sister. Having just received a special necklace making kit for Christmas, I had it out and ready to create something for Erin. I entered the bedroom and hesitantly asked her, "Can I make you a necklace?"

Her enthusiasm was overwhelming. "Yes, dude! That would be the absolute coolest!"

"Okay!" My heart raced with excitement; she thought my idea was cool. "How do you spell your name?"

Without missing a beat, she spelled out the words, "Dogg Feet."

Bewildered, but happy to be tasked with something unusual, I skipped off and carefully crafted her necklace. When I returned with it, I noticed her socks didn't match, and I giggled.

"You didn't match your socks!"

Erin looked at me before bursting into an enormous grin. "Who actually says you have to, though? It's cool, dude, you're still you."

I laid in bed for a while that night thinking about Erin's boldness. This wasn't supposed to be normal or okay, yet she was proud of it. If someone, anyone, could be proud of a defiance against what everyone says has to be, that meant that I could be who I wanted, too. If Erin didn't care, I didn't have to, either. She never knew what that experience did for me, and I have spent a great deal of my life mismatching my socks for her.

Erin was my mother for a moment. She helped open my eyes to the possibilities of having my own identity, and not the one everyone else expected me to have. She was my first Boss Mom.

By the way, until she passed, I never saw her once without the Dogg Feet necklace on.

Hang on, let me roll down the window real quick.

HEYYYYYY! ROAD KEEEEEEEEL!

Lesson Two: Living life to the fullest means everything, even if the world is laughing at you.

Another mother for a moment (that lasted several months) was my beloved Aunt Becky. She battled Hodgkin's Lymphoma and breast cancer, passing away in her early 30's, but I was gifted with the time we spent getting to speak and be close. For the duration of her chemotherapy, she transferred from her home in Georgia to my home in northern Indiana, where she stayed to receive promising treatments. I lived in consistent awe over the bold, outspoken woman I knew as my aunt.

My parents kept language conservative in my presence, but Aunt Becky was something else: she spoke with strength in a loud volume, with a beautiful twang that contained a level of passion unheard in most humans. She had no filter, and she spoke her mind because she knew time was limited and she had no excuse for keeping anything held in. I can recall multiple times she blurted out something awkward.

The best part of this personality she had while battling cancer was that she lost her ability to be concerned with embarrassing moments. She needed to live, and she intended to do it in every which way.

As we returned from an out of town shopping trip for my aunt, we passed an early evening baseball game happening off the side of the road. My aunt leapt up in excitement before declaring, "Hang on! Let me roll down the window real quick!" Being the nineties with a slightly out-of-date car, she cranked the lever as fast and hard as she could before throwing her head out the window and screaming, "ROAD KEEEEEEEEL!" (In Georgian, this means "road kill.")

I laughed so hard I cried. In that moment, I discovered the freedom of being goofy and unashamed. My Aunt Becky always liked to tell us to live and enjoy life without worrying what everyone was going to think, and she demonstrated it in the most ridiculous way that I couldn't help admire her confidence. She exuded a certain power in the process of her fighting a life-threatening illness, and in turn, it shared a strength with me I didn't expect to have.

Although I wasn't present for the other event, I recall my Aunt Becky sharing enthusiastically how a group of young girls mocked her balding head in a grocery store. Her gleeful response was to inform them at the other end was just as bald before proceeding to moon them.

She was a mother to me for several moments in that time, and her passing took a piece of my heart with it, but she taught me to live and enjoy every moment (even if her methods of doing so might have been a little off the wall.)

My Teen Years Defined by Strong Mothers for a Moment

I don't know how I'm going to make it through this, so please bear with me, but I can't imagine not being here teaching you.

Lesson Three: There is no shame in lifting others up.

One of the best high school teachers I had was my high school geometry teacher (we will simply call her Ms. W). She approached her students with compassion and patience; one of those rare math teachers you truly look forward to seeing. I was at peace in her classroom most often.

A few months into the school year, she broke down in front of the classroom and confessed that she would be battling ovarian cancer. She was young, terrified, but couldn't think of anyone besides her students. "I don't know how I'm going to make it through this, so please bear with me, but I can't imagine not being here teaching you."

I'd lacked a lot in the love department, and I felt her love through her tear-stricken confession. It weighed in my heart daily after that, watching her remain strong and as "normal" as possible as she taught us. This continued on through the Christmas season, and during break, my mother brought home a card for me that read, "Nominate a Teacher of the Year." The nomination required a short essay about your nominee.

"I didn't know if you'd want to do that." She left me at the kitchen table to examine it, and I grabbed a pen, knowing immediately who I wanted to nominate. Ms. W was on my mind and heart daily, and I just wanted something to cheer her up. I didn't expect her to win, but at the very least, I could share her journey with people who might be inspired by it.

A couple of months later, a group of men in suits arrived to present her with her Teacher of the Year award, and my nomination was pointed out specifically in front of the classroom. I was promptly mocked, called names like "ass kisser" and accusations of wanting a good grade began to fly. I grew red in the face, my tomato expression radiating heat as I hated the executives and Ms. W for sharing my role in her winning. This wasn't about me. I wanted it to be about her.

Then, it dawned on me that I did nothing wrong. I did exactly what I should have, and my essay on her strength as a teacher battling cancer won because of it. A woman I respected, who hugged me through tears as she accepted her awards, realized that the worst time of her life brought the deepest compassion from a student who just cared.

What exactly is wrong with that?

She was a mother for a moment, because that day she won, she hugged and praised me with the love of a motherly figure while I learned a valuable lesson on sharing my kindness without shame.

From that point, I've never done a good thing with embarrassment as a fear. If someone can't appreciate the good I do, that speaks volumes for their hearts, not mine. Only a mother can give a strength like this.

I mean, it's really not a big deal, Danielle. You are who you are.

Lesson Four: You will never find out who you truly are unless you explore it, and who you are is worth being proud of.

My biggest supporter, the mother I've had for so many moments she could easily just be called my actual mother, spent my teenage years allowing me to explore who I was and be open about my identity at the same time. She is my Nan.

From a young age, I went through multiple fashion phases. I wanted blonde highlights with button up tops, bright colors, and a fashion savvy wardrobe. She bought me every single thing that worked with that; I can't begin to count how many trips we took to find my new styles. Eventually, I decided business jackets with nice tanks and jeans were the way to go, and we replaced my wardrobe again. However, that was not as exciting as being goth: chains on my pants, fishnets, piercings, dark makeup, and trench coats. Guess who bought me all of that?

I knew a lot of my fashion selections made her cringe, but not once did she show disdain for any of my choices. She simply accepted them as my learning process before I'd become who I needed and wanted to be, and it took several years to understand just how extremely important that was to my self-development. From the moment I moved in with her when I was sixteen, I was given the complete freedom to try things until I figured out who I wanted to be. Not many people are afforded such a luxury, and it gave me inspiration to pass on to my own children. I may not agree with their styles, but I love that they're trying things because they like them. My Nan never put her interests before mine, and that has settled deep within my heart.

In addition to this freedom, my Nan was the first person I could come out of the closet to as being a bisexual woman without emotional repercussions. Her response was nonchalant. "I mean, it's really not a big deal, Danielle. You are who you are."

There was no long, drawn-out conversation. Just acceptance and no overreaction. She instilled in me, in that moment, that people are capable of simply accepting who I am without needing to criticize it. She reminded me, "I love you no matter who you love. You know that."

The power this had over my heart and reaction to being so comfortably, warmly loved and accepted is a blanket I keep wrapped around me every time I openly discuss who I am.

Adulthood Mothers for a Moment (and More)

What are you doing here? You have so much more potential than this place. Seriously, let me help you get out of here. I'll give you my number. You'll have me every step of the way.

Lesson Five: Stop underestimating yourself.

When I turned eighteen, I leapt into the first college that would accept me and felt easy enough to handle. I had little confidence in myself, so I chose a small college that was business oriented and handled a great deal of the work for you. It seemed smart enough for me, at least.

I spent an entire semester there in an English course with a teacher name Joanne. My writing skills were still as good as they'd always been and I regularly felt proud of my work. My grades were consistently fantastic.

Near the end of the semester, Joanne pulled me aside after class.

"What are you doing here?" She handed me a research paper graded as an A+. My face flushed with confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"What are you doing here? You have so much more potential than this place. Seriously, let me help you get out of here. I'll give you my number. You'll have me every step of the way."

I was shocked to have my talents recognized, and suddenly, a new boost of confidence overcame me. From that point, she helped me withdraw from the college, and I switched to something more complex and much more my speed. When I got overwhelmed and confused, I called her crying, and she walked me through everything until I calmed down. She was the entire reason I sought to better myself, and I finished underestimating myself because of her faith in me and her blunt honesty in addressing my lack of self-esteem.

I will never forget the confidence she instilled in me. It was a truly motherly experience that has remained special in my heart for many years. As a result, I went on to obtain a degree in legal studies, and I don't think I would have had that courage without her being my mother for a moment.

Baby, I love you, and had I known things sooner, I would have saved you.

Lesson Six: I never have to be alone.

Having had a less than pleasant adolescence, I've suffered a great deal of family conflict that caused me to withdraw from others as a permanent personality trait. Without going into detail, a massive explosion of fighting occurred in my (extremely vast) family that broke me to the point of feeling like no one would ever understand my perspective.

That was when I got the message online: "call me now"

My Aunt had reached out to me. In my heart, I felt that it was my best option, and that perhaps I could trust her to let out every terrible secret, trauma, and pain that I'd hidden for the sake of reputations. I followed my instincts, dialed her number, and sobbed for what felt like forever as I recounted the reasons for my pure agony. She reassured me, comforted me in every way possible, sung my praises, and spoke words that lifted me into a warmer place where life didn't seem to be full of so much misery:

"Baby, I love you, and had I known things sooner, I would have saved you."

I believed her. That was what blew me away the most was that my trust felt well-placed, I was uplifted in a way I didn't expect, and suddenly...I had a mother for a moment. At that point, anyway, I expected only a moment. Since that phone call, she has dedicated herself to stepping into a role I never thought she would, and surprised me with the consistent love, affection, and generosity that I didn't know a mother figure could give (before my Nan, of course).

I'm never alone. I just had to follow my heart and open up to the right person, and I'm so lucky I did. I am so loved.

Honestly, I have to thank you for the job you're willing to accept. This is the hardest job on the planet. and you want to put the rest of your life into this. I can't be anything but grateful.

The Hardest Lesson of All: Being a mother for a moment is difficult on multiple levels, but it is rewarding in a way that overpowers the difficulties.

At one of the most challenging points of my adult experience, I was forced to choose between my own selfishness and the well-being of my unborn child. My ultimate decision was to place my birth son into an open adoption, which has come with its own variety of complications (see Choosing Pain as Love) in the emotional roller coaster I've ridden since he was born. However, I found a mother for a moment in someone I couldn't have possibly expected: the potential adoptive mother.

I first became interested in the couple through a profile they created in the form of a story and picture book. They seemed like the ultimate dream couple, the type who absolutely deserved to be parents, and I was eager to meet with them. We met up at Olive Garden where my social worker guided us through conversation, allowing us to get to know one another through specific and appropriate questions. (Quick shout-out to my social worker, she was another mother for a moment: she guided me with such compassion that I felt understood during every moment of the process.) At one point, the potential adoptive mom was asked to detail her journey to trying to become a mother.

The whole story had my heart feeling like an anchor had roped itself around it, dragging it to the pits of my stomach and while creating the sensation of sea sickness. For her privacy, I won't detail the long, emotional experiences she went through to become a mother, but the pain was evident in her tone. I sat there, knowing I wasn't capable of raising the child growing within me (for my own reasons), and strength was what I needed in a mother for this child. It was in my lack of capability that I saw, in her, the strength of a mother I was looking for. She longed for motherhood, I was in need of a true mother's help, and she was exactly that.

I saw the mother of my birth son blossom in that moment as her husband squeezed her hand, and I found the mother I needed for several years of moments ahead of us. She had the strength I craved to rely on while being the soulful, dedicated woman I knew this child needed. It was right.

It pained me, unspeakably so, to let go of a literal piece of myself and sign the paperwork to release my birth son to his real mother. In that moment, though, she showed me the strength of a mother who could carry on through the darkest moments and be everything her child(ren) need. She reminded me of my own strength as the mother of the two children I would continue raising. She didn't know it, but she was a mother to me as well, for just a moment.

Mothers Come in the Strength of Women Uplifting Women

I'm lucky to have lived the unusual life of finding Boss Mom lessons from multiple sources. While it's not a typical upbringing of one mother who grew your heart and soul in this world, it's a fulfilling experience that deserves to be celebrated as much as one mother should be. The examples I've listed here are only a handful of many, and so many women have given me that blissful moment of learning something important from what felt like a motherly-like perspective.

I'd like to give a short shout-out list to women who I've felt motherly compassion from in my years:

• Nurses (you were phenomenal at helping me feel powerful enough to give birth)
• Doctors (you've understood me and worked with me)
• Therapists (your work is amplified by your ability to feel so deeply)
• Social workers (mine and many others have the heart for helping people in need)
• Entrepreneurs (you are an inspiration, which is what mothers are as well)
• Dental workers (for the women who made my disabled child as comfortable as possible with so much compassion, thank you for being another mother to her for a little bit)

A good amount of people have consistent mothers, grandmothers, and mother-like figures they rely on, while others only have one or even nobody. However, it is my hope to share that there are many mothers we have for just a moment who help us grow in ways we didn't learn from the ones we thought we would. We may not have the traditional setup, but we have so much that we can be thankful to have in those momentary mamas. Let's be honest, we don't always take advice from those Boss Moms, but we certainly learn from a variety of women who deserve a title that signifies the impact they have on the growth of human beings. That, to me, makes Mothers for a Moment worthy of being included in fellow Boss Moms.