3 Sides Of Me…
As a mom of three, I’ve come to realize something beautiful—something that stops me in my tracks during quiet moments and even during the chaos of motherhood: my children are different versions of me. Not in the “mini-me” cliché kind of way, but in a much deeper, more soul-connected sense. Each one of my children seems to reflect parts of who I am, magnified and reshaped in their own unique ways. It's as if life took pieces of my heart, personality, and emotional wiring, and passed them down—evolved, refined, and raw all at once.
My oldest is the mirror to my sensitivity. His natural tenderness, empathy, and caring heart remind me of the parts of myself that I used to think were too soft for this world. Watching them embrace love so openly is like seeing a healed version of myself. He is nurturing in a way that feels familiar—like looking at my own emotional blueprint, only stronger, more sure of itself.
My middle child is where I see the quirks and vulnerabilities I often keep hidden. That mix of goofy creativity and quiet insecurity. Through her, I see how beautiful that combination really is. I see a soul that turns imagination into reality, even while wrestling with self-doubt. In some ways, she is the external version of my internal world.
My youngest is the boldness I’ve learned to grow into. Honest, confident, compassionate in a way that doesn’t back down or apologize. He walk in rooms like he know that he is meant to be there—and it takes me back to the woman I’m still becoming. He carry traits I’ve worked hard to develop, as if he was born already knowing.
It’s easy to get caught up in the nature versus nurture debate when we talk about personality and parenting. But from where I sit—in the carpool line, at the dinner table, during late-night talks and unexpected tantrums—I see an undeniable thread that ties me to my children beyond biology. Our connection feels spiritual and emotional, not just genetic. Maybe it's the shared moments, the mirror neurons firing, the influence of my energy shaping their growth. Or maybe it’s something more divine: a reminder that we’re not just raising kids, we’re watching pieces of ourselves grow into something new. Knowing these reflections exist in each of my children changes how I show up as their mom. It gives me a unique compass for parenting them:
- When my oldest is overwhelmed with emotions, I don’t rush them. I get it. I’ve been that child. I know the power of being seen, not fixed.
- When my middle child struggles with confidence, I don’t just offer words I offer tools. Creative outlets, affirmations, and safe space to be silly and unsure.
- When my youngest challenges me with their bold honesty, I don’t shrink from it. I guide them in harnessing that fire with kindness and wisdom.
And in all of this, something incredible happens: I heal myself, too. Parenting has a way of forcing us to face ourselves. Our triggers. Our strengths. Our shadows. But it also lets us witness the best parts of ourselves, reimagined through our children. If you’ve ever looked at your child and thought, “that’s me 2.0,” you’re not alone. And maybe it’s more than coincidence. Maybe it’s the universe giving you a second chance to nurture those same traits in yourself—with grace, patience, and understanding. So yes, my children are their own people. Brilliantly unique, growing in ways I’ll never be able to predict. But they are also echoes of me—past, present, and future. And that realization? It’s the most humbling and healing part of motherhood I’ve known.
XOXO Kaye,