Pinned
an analysis on how abby growing up without a mom shaped who she is and her perception of femininity:
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Growing up without a mother meant her understanding of femininity, softness, and nurture came from absence. Without a maternal influence, she didn't have a guiding figure for emotional softness, or a role model for how to navigate vulnerability, especially in relationships. There was no one to show her how to be girly, no mother-daughter traditions, no one to teach her about motherhood. She probably doesn't even know her mother's favorite color or the sound of her laugh.
I don’t think it was something she resented, but it left an emptiness that Abby didn't quite know how to fill. She didn't have the maternal warmth or lessons that could help shape her understanding of her femininity or intimacy. Instead, her father's presence was both comforting and limiting, keeping her grounded but also confining her to a role she took on with no real guidance beyond her own instincts. Jerry did his best, but he wasn't necessarily equipped to teach her how to be delicate or to guide her through a nuanced understanding of herself as a woman.
Her dad was a gentle man, but also a bit carefree, often embarking on spontaneous adventures, leaving Abby to pick up the pieces and keep things running smoothly. She had to be responsible, mature beyond her years, and quickly became someone her father could rely on in ways that were far more profound than the typical parent-child dynamic. Abby had to grow into a caretaker role at a young age, though it came naturally to her, given that she was so deeply tied to her father's wellbeing. She still carried the weight of managing the practicalities of life in a way he didn't always feel compelled to. Because it was just the two of them, Abby's dad became her entire world - her role model, her compass, her constant. She inherited his pragmatism, his quiet humor, his hands-on way of showing love. But being raised by a single father meant Abby had to figure out her emotional world on her own. He was present, and loving, but not always expressive.
✮ This shaped how Abby expresses love: quietly, through action. Through showing up. Through fixing things, carrying the heavy load, remembering how you take your tea. Not because it was taught— but because it's how she learned to care.
Her relationship with femininity is self-defined. Without a maternal influence, Abby had to define her identity as a woman on her own terms. She doesn't perform femininity in conventional ways — and never felt pressured to. There was no one telling her to wear dresses or play with dolls, so she gravitated toward what felt good in her body. Sports. Climbing trees. Strength training.
Now, she finds beauty in the unexpected. She's not traditionally "girly," but she notices the details. She admires curves, softness, the kind of woman who owns her space — not because Abby feels lacking, but because she values what she didn't grow up around. It also makes her protective — of people who move through the world vulnerably, who offer gentleness without armor. She has a quiet reverence for that, like it's sacred. It made her pay close attention to the women around her. It's why she has so much respect for quiet strength, for softness that's chosen and not expected. She notices the small ways women hold space for each other — in friendship, in tenderness, in care — and sometimes finds herself wondering: Would my mom have done that? Would she have held my face in her hands when I cried?
Abby had to figure out a lot on her own, and she learned to keep most of her struggles to herself, fearing that her vulnerability might be too much for others to handle. There are parts of Abby she struggles to articulate because she never had the words growing up. It's why she turns to writing sometimes, and gets quiet when conversations shift too emotional too fast. Her grief isn't loud— it's woven into the fabric of who she is.
And yet, with the right person, she'd slowly find ways to let someone in. To speak about the silence. To share that old photograph. To admit, one night under the stars, "I don't know much about her... but I think you would've liked her. And I think she would've liked you, too."
In a partner, Abby would find someone who could teach her things her father couldn't, someone to balance out her tendencies to be over responsible and always holding things together. Offering Abby a softer, more emotionally open way to be, showing her that it was okay to sometimes not have all the answers, to let go of the burden of always being the one in control. A way for Abby to experience and understand the tenderness she had missed out on from her mother, forcing Abby to confront aspects of herself she had always kept at arm's length. Abby could begin to see herself differently, not just as the strong, reliable one, but as someone worthy of emotional care and tenderness, too once she allows herself to trust someone enough to soften.
