Which Woman Has Inspired You Most?

March is Women’s History Month, and every year the question comes up: Which woman has inspired you most? My answer is always the same — my mother.

My mother taught me strength and resilience long before I understood what those words really meant. When I was 13, she was diagnosed with aggressive breast cancer. Her response? “I don’t have time for this. I have basketball and softball practices to get to.” And she fought like hell.

She and my dad taught my sister and me about hard work and sacrifice. We were a middle-class, blue-collar family — but education was non-negotiable. They sent us to private school for 13 years. I continued on for another four. We played club volleyball before it was common. None of it was accidental. It was deliberate. It was sacrifice. It was delayed gratification in real time.

She taught me self-reliance. She made sure I had an education and enough common sense to stand on my own two feet. She always told me I needed to be able to take care of myself — financially, emotionally, professionally. (I have learned how to ask for help though!)

She taught me loyalty, integrity, how to use my voice. She is not a shrinking violet — and neither am I.

She also passed down a particular brand of “organized chaos” and pack-rat tendencies — but that’s a different story.

I am my mother’s daughter.

But she became who she is because of her mother.

My grandmother was the second oldest of eleven children. She was born before the Great Depression, part of what we now call the Greatest Generation. My great-grandparents were farmers in south Bexar County, working land owned by Belgian settlers. They were poor. Latin. Hardworking. Proud.

My grandmother woke up before sunrise to work the fields, went to school, and came home to work again. She was told to drop out in the fourth grade because the family needed her labor more than her education.

She helped raise her younger siblings. She married later than most women at the time – six years after World War II. Farming was never going to be her forever story, though. She worked in the laundry department at one of the local military bases. My grandfather — also a farmer who left school early — worked two jobs. They even owned a restaurant for a few years.

Their education came from life experience.

But they were determined that their children’s story would be different.

My grandparents made sure their children spoke English. They prioritized private school education. They pushed forward, even without degrees, without wealth, without privilege.

They built the bridge.

Neither of my grandmothers were what you’d call “fun” grandparents. They were tough, practical, always moving, always working. Depression-era women saved everything — produce bags, foil, leftovers. Waste was not an option when you knew what it meant to have little.

And yet, what I remember most are the quiet moments:
Rolling out tortillas.
Gathering eggs and pecans.
Watching The Price Is Right in the summer.

Hearing my grandmother yell at me in Spanish.

My grandfather giving me a dollar when we left their house.

We didn’t travel the country on family vacations. My parents were working, building, saving for tuition and sports. Investing forward.

I am of Latin descent.

My grandparents were born in the United States, but they grew up poor — working land that wasn’t theirs, sacrificing education for survival. Where I am today is because of them.

Because of their sacrifice, my mother could fight cancer and still show up strong.
Because of their sacrifice, my parents could send us to private school.
Because of their sacrifice, I became the first person in my family to earn a Master’s degree.

That is generational change.

That is what mothers and daughters do.
We carry forward what was given to us — and we add to it.

I am my mother’s daughter.
She is her mother’s daughter.
And every generation stands a little taller because of the one before it.