The Truest Mirrors
Sometimes our truest mirrors are found in unexpected places, words written decades ago that were never meant for us to read.
When my mom moved to America in late 1965, she was 30 years old, newly married, newly pregnant, and didn’t know a word of English. I can’t imagine how terrifying that would have been. She left everything and everyone she knew in Germany to start a new life.
According to her best friend, Annemarie, she couldn’t find a husband in Germany, so she took out a personal ad in a German newspaper, and my father, who had immigrated a few years earlier, had a subscription. They corresponded for a year before they were married in Germany.
I was born about six months after she moved to the U.S. She would have had little help and little guidance in becoming a mom in a foreign country.
Phone calls and visits to Germany would have been too expensive at the time, so my mom wrote letters to her parents, her sister, and her best friend, Annemarie. Most of the letters have been lost or destroyed over the years, but Annemarie sent me copies of about 20 letters that shed some light into life in America. Those letters had been filed away for decades. When I dusted them off, I discovered more about myself than I expected.
The first letter is from 1972, a few weeks after I turned six. I must have been a handful, and her words shine a little light on the person I would become later in life. My mother and I may have had frequent battles, although I have no memories of being a naughty child. In the letter she writes about my insolence, and when I declared that I wanted to move out, she told me to pack my bags. Later she writes that I am a “born boss,” and she feels sorry for the man I will one day marry.
I shared that translation with my husband. We got a good laugh, and he said (with a wink in his eye), “that explains a lot.” My brother also laughed at the premonition, but the letter left me wondering how other people experience us. How often do they see things in us long before we see them ourselves?
Reading those words more than fifty years later was strangely comforting. I wasn't offended. I wasn't embarrassed. I was fascinated.
My mother wasn't trying to analyze my personality or predict my future. She was simply venting to her best friend about a strong-willed six-year-old who was testing every boundary she could find. Yet hidden in her frustration was a description that has followed me through much of my life.
Independent. Determined. A born boss.
Those same qualities have served me well as a leader, coach, entrepreneur, and volunteer. They helped me build a career, start a business, host a podcast, and step onto stages to teach and inspire others. But like every strength, they have a shadow side. Independence can become stubbornness. Confidence can become arrogance.
Determination can become bulldozing people who simply need a little more time or a different approach.
Years ago, someone described me as "a bull in a China shop." At the time, I didn't love hearing it. But there was truth in it. I tend to move quickly, I see possibilities, and I like solving problems. Sometimes I forget that not everyone processes change or decisions at the same speed I do.
Looking back, maybe my mother saw those same tendencies long before anyone else.
We hear a lot about being authentic. I believe in authenticity. But authenticity isn't permission to ignore the impact we have on other people.
Self-awareness is what keeps authenticity from becoming an excuse.
Our greatest strengths almost always have an opposite side. The confidence that inspires people can also intimidate them. The decisiveness that moves projects forward can leave others feeling unheard. The independence that fuels success can make it difficult to ask for help.
Growth isn't about changing who we are. It's about learning how our strengths land on the people around us.
I wish I could ask my mom what she remembers about that day in 1972. Did she really think I was impossible? Was she laughing as she wrote those words to Annemarie? Did she have any idea that her six-year-old daughter would one day read that letter and smile?
She probably never imagined that a few sentences written to a friend would become one of the clearest windows into both of our lives.
It also makes me wonder what people will one day say about me. Not in a eulogy or on a résumé, but in the quiet conversations they have when I'm not in the room.
Those conversations may tell us more about who we are than the stories we tell about ourselves.
Enjoyed this week's blog? I share reflections on mindset, leadership, and clarity each week in my newsletter. 👉 Subscribe here to have it delivered straight to your inbox.
My podcast, DunnWise Perspectives: Stories of Resilience and Shifting Mindsets, is now live. I'd love for you to take a listen.
If you're looking for clarity in your business or career, you can reach me at doris@dunnwise.com, via DM, or at dunnwise.com.
Comments