Mothers and Daughters

I have one daughter.

And I have two daughters in law.

And I am also a daughter whose mother is no longer here.

My mom died in 2022, and even now, I still find myself wanting to call her. Wanting to tell her something small. Wanting her opinion. Wanting her reassurance. Grief has a way of reshaping how you see every relationship that remains.

Especially the ones that matter most.

In recent years, my daughter and I went through a hard season. One of those quiet fractures that doesn’t come from one big moment, but from misunderstandings, expectations, and growing pains that pile up slowly. We loved each other deeply, but we were missing each other emotionally.

And for a while, I didn’t know how to fix it.

What I learned, slowly and imperfectly, is that not every relationship is healed by talking more. Some are healed by observing. By listening. By pulling back just enough to let space do its work.

Setting boundaries felt uncomfortable at first. As a mother, everything in me wanted to lean in, explain, repair, smooth it over. But instead, I learned to pause. To notice patterns. To respond rather than react. To stop parenting the way I always had and start relating to the woman my daughter was becoming.

That shift changed everything.

Boundaries did not push us apart. They made room for respect. They softened the tension. They allowed both of us to breathe again. Over time, our relationship found its way back, not to what it used to be, but to something steadier and more honest.

Now, I watch our connection with gratitude. Not because it is perfect, but because it is intentional.

Becoming a mother in law added another layer to this understanding. Loving daughters in law has taught me that presence matters more than proximity, and that acceptance builds trust faster than advice ever could. Each relationship is different, and that is not something to control. It is something to honor.

And then there is the lens of loss.

Losing my mother changed how I show up as one. It reminded me that time is not guaranteed, but growth is possible. That relationships evolve whether we are ready or not. That love can stretch, bend, and return stronger when it is given room instead of pressure.

I wish I could ask my mom how she navigated these seasons. I wish I could tell her what I am learning now. But maybe this is part of the inheritance she left me, the understanding that motherhood does not end, it simply transforms.

If you are a mother navigating distance with a daughter, or a daughter learning how to love her mother differently, know this.

Stepping back can be an act of love.
Boundaries can be a bridge.
And relationships are allowed to heal slowly.

Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is trust that love knows how to find its way back when we give it space.

With Love from Mabank,

Brandy