A Tribute to Resilient Women During Domestic Violence Awareness Month

In honor of Domestic Violence Awareness Month, I want to celebrate the strength, resilience, and sacrifices of women. This reflection is also a tribute to my mother, a woman whose life was complex and whose story I’m only beginning to piece together. It’s a reminder that we often see our parents through a narrow lens, shaped by the moments that leave the deepest impressions. But do we ever really know them?

I grew up not truly knowing my parents. My mother was 44 when she gave birth to me—at that time, in our country, she was considered the oldest woman to have given birth naturally. We didn’t spend much physical time together, but the mother I did know was a woman who lived in fear. She was afraid of heights, refused to drive a car, and saw flaws in everyone, never fully trusting anyone. She was consumed by her devotion to my father and always terrified of losing him.

Yet, behind this woman I thought I knew was a different person entirely. She was the daughter of military officials; my grandfather was a national hero, and her mother, my grandmother, was a double agent during the war. She had helped Jewish families escape Rome—there’s even a book written about her courage. I never knew these things until I started asking questions.

Before marrying my father, my mother lived a life I never imagined. She traveled the world, residing in London, Cairo, Portoro?, and Moscow. She spoke four languages but somehow, despite our shared words, we never seemed to understand each other. There was a time when she rode a motorcycle, fearless and free, but that side of her was lost to the fears that later took hold.

My mother was more than just a wife and mother. She was a lawyer who excelled in her field. She had been offered a prestigious position leading a juvenile detention center at the age of 27, but she declined, choosing to build a life with my father instead. She dedicated herself to others, teaching Braille to visually impaired children and always being two steps ahead of those around her, a human “lie detector.” When I skipped a math class in high school and went to a café to smoke a cigarette, she showed up, unannounced, to ask for a lighter. She always knew. I never skipped another class.

Despite her strengths, my mother struggled with my father’s infidelity. She set traps to catch him in lies, always discovering the truth, but she never left him. She had a way of knowing who was right for me too, as the friends she disapproved of eventually faded from my life. In many ways, she was right.

It has been eight years since my mother passed away, and I still don’t fully understand her. The more I learn, the more questions I have. I wish I had asked them while she was still alive. Now, I’m on a journey, piecing together fragments of memories, emotions, and stories, trying to uncover the woman she truly was.

She made sacrifices, gave birth to three daughters, and devoted herself to providing the best life possible for me. I didn’t realize how much she had given until it was too late to thank her.

The last conversation I had with my mother was all about me. She was lying in bed, weakened by the relentless advance of cancer. I held her hand, pleading, “Mum, don’t you want to see me graduate? To meet your grandchildren? To attend my wedding? Please, fight for me.”

“I do, I do…” she replied softly.

Looking back, I see how selfish I was that night, focusing on what I wanted, not what she needed. If I could go back, I would have asked differently: “Mum, don’t you want to ride your motorcycle again? To see the world once more? To be yourself again?”

Maybe then, she would have found the strength to fight a little longer.

My mother was more than the sum of the moments I remember. She was a woman of strength, independence, and resilience—qualities that many women share. During this Domestic Violence Awareness Month, let's honor all the women whose stories are complex and whose sacrifices often go unnoticed. My mother’s life reminds me to recognize the strength in women’s resilience and the courage it takes to keep moving forward, even when life becomes overwhelmingly difficult. Her story is a testament to the endurance of women, and I will carry her memory with me as a symbol of love, sacrifice, and quiet strength.