Amanda Lamb: Rising up from the ashes

So, what does it mean to be a strong woman? It’s a question I’ve been pondering lately as I am raising two young women in a fast-paced, chaotic world that gives them many conflicting messages. On the heels of the Women’s March, and as I am reading an autobiography about a strong, proud accomplished woman, this question has been rocketing around my brain.

Growing up, my mom was one of the few mothers that I knew that worked. Not only was she a successful attorney, but she kept a fastidious house and was raising two children at the same time. Ultimately, the pressure proved to be too much for her. When she realized she couldn’t do everything perfectly, she simply stopped doing the wife and mother stuff. She left my dad when I was 16, my brother was 11. It was not an easy time for any of us as my newly single father navigated child-rearing in the not-quite-yet-modern world.

For years, she regretted this decision on many levels. And while we didn’t talk at length about it, as I wish we had before she died, she made it clear that she sabotaged herself when she realized she was not living up to her own ideals. She took responsibility for her mistakes and the ripple effect it had on her family. Most importantly, she never stopped loving me even though I pushed her away out of anger for several years.

In a way, I think the world sold many women in the late 70s on the false premise that they could have flourishing careers and be mothers and do both well. Watching my mother implode made me realize that this was not the case.

Unfortunately, not that much progress has been made in the four decades since that time. Women are still the primary caretakers of children and the home, and they are trying to get ahead in a workplace that continues to have different standards for different genders. And while fathers and husbands have changed, stepping up to the plate to become true partners in the child-rearing journey, our culture still expects women to do more, and often to do it without complaint or acknowledgement.

So, given this reality, what do we tell our daughters? I think the answer is that we tell them to follow their own paths, their own passions, and not the one that someone else thinks is right for them. Because true strength comes from knowing your own abilities, your weaknesses, and what fuels you. If you know these things, you will find the right path, even if you might have to swerve along the way before you get back on the road.

We also need to tell them it won’t be easy. You will have to work harder to prove yourself in your profession. You will not get a pass for being a mother. You will feel guilty when you are at work for not being with your children, and when you are with your children, you will sometimes feel guilty for not working. But if you are strong and patient, and truly know yourself, you will make the right choices for you and your family.

In later life, my mother proved to be strong in so many ways. She went on to have a reputable career as a family lawyer. She became a friend and a mentor to me, and a loving, devoted grandmother. While she was dying from brain cancer, she showed more grace and strength than any person I have ever met. So, while she may have been broken at one point in her life, she healed herself and rose up from the ashes. And after all, isn’t that what real strength is all about, rising from the ashes again and again throughout our lives?

To my daughters—you are already strong. You have everything you need inside of you. Don’t ever let anyone else define you. Choose your path, and remember, I will always be there, just a few steps behind you, ready to help when you swerve.