I'm a strong independent woman until I need my mother

The writer with her mother, Eliana. Fatima Al Mahmoud / The National

My mum has been my rock for as long as I can remember. Every core memory I have and every thing I’ve ever been through, she has always been there – guiding me, supporting me and cheering me on.

I was two when I was diagnosed with cancer, and the only vivid memory I have of that time is my mother by my side at the hospital. I was seven when I participated in a talent show, and while my friends still mention my winning performance to this day, my favourite part was my mum helping me choreograph and practise my dance routine. I was 10 when I had to miss the school trip after catching chicken pox, so she turned the house into a play area to console me.

I was 14 when she came raging at my school because my physics teacher unfairly kicked me out of class. I was 17 when I experienced my first "heartbreak" and she ordered in my comfort meal to cheer me up. And I was 20 when I graduated from university with high distinction and highest GPA, so she turned every waking moment of that summer into a celebration for me.

Growing up, I knew the only thing I wanted to be for certain was like my mother

Fatima Al Mahmoud

It’s safe to say my mother has been the embodiment of a "mama bear" for me and my two brothers, and while I didn’t always appreciate it growing up (especially during my insufferable teenage years), I admire her for it. More so on days like Mother's Day.

My mother, Eliana, did a spectacular job at raising us and teaching us right from wrong, but it was in observing my mother and the kind of person she is that taught me everything I need to know and thrive in this world. From her bubbly personality and the way she lights up every room she walks into, to her strength, resilience and composure in the face of hardships, she leaves me in absolute awe.

'I’m also not ashamed to say that every time I leave Beirut, I still bawl my eyes out saying goodbye to my mum'. Fatima Al Mahmoud / The National

Growing up, I knew the only thing I wanted to be for certain was like my mother, and I wanted to do everything in my power to make her proud. From spelling bees and science fairs to my career and how I carry myself as a woman today, everything I am and everything I have accomplished, I owe to my mum. She taught me to be loving, caring and selfless, but also assertive, unapologetic and autonomous.

So naturally, when the opportunity presented itself for me to move out and move abroad to start a life of my own, I did not hesitate for a second. I knew I was ready – I am my mother’s daughter after all, and I could take on whatever life threw my way. In May 2021, I packed my bags and left my family home in Beirut to start my job with The National in Abu Dhabi – a city where I knew nothing and no one. It was a bittersweet moment. Bawling my eyes out at Beirut airport as I hugged my mum goodbye, I thought to myself: "This was only temporary. Once I get there, settle in, and build the life I want, it won’t hurt as much." Little did I know.

When I first landed in the UAE and checked into my hotel, my mother was the first person I called. On my first day at the office, I sent her an outfit picture, which has turned into a daily series over the past four years. When I went apartment hunting and found the one bedroom of my dreams, I sent her a video tour. She helped me pick out my furniture and appliances over WhatsApp.

First time I did my own laundry, I called her to celebrate. First meal I cooked in my kitchen, she was on the phone with me guiding me through the recipe. My mum was the first to know when I got my driving licence, and was obviously the first to get a picture of the brand new car I bought. On my first solo trip to London, I was regularly sending her pictures and updates. And from every work event I attend or project I complete, I forward my videos and coverage. This constant communication is how I make sure my mum is a part of the life I built for myself, and a way for me to show her that I will always need her, no matter where I am or what I’m up to.

To those around me and to the world, I am a journalist, a writer, a storyteller, a fitness enthusiast and an athlete. I’m ambitious, driven, passionate, disciplined and goal-oriented. But when I’m in Beirut, back under my family’s roof, all I am is a girl who needs her mother. I am 27 today, and my mum still makes me a zaatar sandwich when I’m hungry at night because it tastes 10 times better.

She plays with my hair till I fall asleep when I’ve had a long day. And she is the first face I want to see when I wake up in the morning. I love spending time with her in the kitchen as she cooks and I chew her ear off. I love taking her out on coffee and breakfast dates. I love it when she helps me choose an outfit, and I need her final approval on how I look before I go out. I still run to the door like a giddy child when she’s away from home for hours, and my absolute favourite thing in the world is seeing the look on her face when I surprise her with an impromptu trip to Beirut.

I’m also not ashamed to say that every time I leave Beirut, I still bawl my eyes out saying goodbye to my mum, and probably always will, because no life is worth living away from her. But I have to do what I have to do to make her proud.