I can barely stand to have an unkempt room. 

My bathroom counters must be clean and tidy. 

Without a fully made bed, my mind simply can not rest. 

As I have developed these traits, I have come to realize one thing: I am slowly turning into my mother.

Throughout recent years, I have heard more and more commonly how I am beginning to become my mother’s mirror image — our smiles match and our deep-brown eyes appear the same. The way we share stories has no difference, and many of our mannerisms line up in a row. 

Aside from our overwhelming physical resemblances and similarities, the traits I have always remembered my mother beholding are slowly emerging in all aspects of my own life and personality. 

Her need for tidiness has rubbed off on me in every way possible. When the world around me is a mess, my initial reaction and powerful desire is to organize it into a cohesive state. 

Her desire to be on a schedule and have an orderly set of planned events has taken root within me; when plans are unorganized and yet to be confirmed, my mind can not find itself at ease. 

All of the things my mother has ever done, I now find myself doing too. But I am not the only one who has noticed. 

Countless times, a six-letter phrase falls from the lips of those around me regarding my growing similarity to my greatest role model: You sound just like your mom.

But no matter how many times I hear these six short words, they will never accumulate a negative connotation; there is no reason I would ever find myself desiring to stray from the traits my mom holds and has rooted into her life. 

For as long as I can remember, my mom has been the most passionate, loving, selfless, and humble figure in my life. She has taught me how to serve, put others before yourself, and cement effort and passion behind every action you perform. 

She has allowed me to learn the importance of showing interest in the lives of others in order to build strong, lasting relationships. I so greatly admire her excellence in thinking of others before she thinks of herself. 

All of the memories I hold of my mother are memories of love and happiness. Her positivity and generosity are greater than that of anyone else I have met. So, when I hear that I am becoming her reflection, it is truly hard for me to believe. How could I ever reach the level of brilliance that my mother represents?

One thing remains for sure: there is no reason I would never want to be my mother.