Superheroes Exist in Real Life Too

What is a superhero, anyway?

Ten-year-old me believed that superheroes were people with supernatural abilities who swooped down to save the day when things were on the brink of disaster, all while wearing a cool costume. As a kid, I always wished I would one day wake up with the ability to read minds or watch someone soar through the sky to save the day. I spent countless afternoons pretending I was a hero, storming around the house with a blanket-turned-cape tied around my neck.

As I grew up, my imagination shrunk as my understanding of reality grew. I began to understand why the superpowers I always wished for as a kid weren’t real, why Captain America’s super-strength and Flash’s super-speed only existed in movies. So, I dismissed my dreams about superheroes along with the list of other things I believed in as a child– fairies, wizards, monsters under my bed. And I didn’t think much else of it. 

By the time college came around, I didn’t think about superheroes at all. As I moved on to the next chapter in my life, I was more than eager to escape the familiarity of home. I expected college to be lots of parties, lots of new faces, and lots of freedom. I found all three of those things, but no one ever mentioned that lots of freedom came with lots of responsibilities. 

Although I always considered myself a fairly independent person, I quickly realized I had been overlooking the number of things others did for me until I was faced with doing them myself. People with bad eyesight don’t spend endless time dwelling over it until they forget to put their contacts in. People don’t think about how easy it is to pick up a fork until they break a finger (speaking from experience here). In the same way, I didn’t think about all the ways my mother’s presence affected my life until she was no longer there. 

In college, there were no delicious dinners placed hot and ready on the table in front of me. There was no one to pick me up after class, change my sheets, or bring me soup when I was sick. And, maybe worst of all, I was faced with the horrifying task of washing, folding, and putting away my own laundry. 

I began to think if I was struggling to take care of one person, what was it like to take care of four? That was a responsibility my mother had been shouldering for years. She took care of me, my sister, and my father, as well as herself. She not only cared for my family, but worked a full-time job with an hour commute each way, and still made time for my important athletic games and school assemblies. How she managed it all, I couldn’t tell you. It was almost as if she had… superpowers. 

What is a superhero, anyway? 

The reality of responsibility–of being an adult– ultimately brought the idea of superheroes back into my mind. Eighteen-year-old me broke down the question and thought about what really made a superhero a superhero, coming up with a much different definition than what ten-year-old me believed. When you took away all the flashy costumes and even flashier rescues, what was the one commonality all superheroes shared? Their intention. Whether saving civilians, fighting crime, or defeating villains, all superheroes acted with the same intention– their desire to make the world a better place. 

My new and improved answer changed things. If this was the one condition that determined what a superhero was, that meant the dream I dismissed so long ago wasn’t dead. With these criteria, superheroes could undoubtedly exist in real life, too. And, I realized they did. 

Again I thought about my mother. The responsibilities she carried, the sacrifices she made, the countless times she put her needs last so that my family came first. It took me eighteen years to realize that she was a superhero, always striving to make my world a better place. 

While I found myself missing all my mother did for me, I missed her as a person much more. It was a blow to no longer come home every day to her unwavering support and positivity. But, in true superhero fashion, she didn’t let obstacles hinder her ability to make my world a better, and safer, place. She figured out ways to extend her influence over the hundreds of miles that separated us. She blocked off time every morning in her busy work schedule to talk to me, picked up phone calls at 2 AM as I walked back from frat parties alone, and never failed to put a smile on my face with a daily influx of TikToks that included puppies snuggling with each other and pigs running around in tutus.

Moving away to college taught me many, many things. But one of the most important things I learned was how deep my sense of respect and admiration for my mother runs. My mother, whose unfaltering support and selflessness make me believe there is magic in the world after all, just not in the way I imagined it to be there as a child. Yes, it’s impossible for people to read minds or fly through the sky. But you cannot convince me, not even for one second, that the unconditional love and sacrifices my mother makes for me are not a superpower in its own right. 

When it comes to my mother, it’s always been hard for me to find the right words to say, and much easier to find the right ones to write. So, I guess this essay is one big thank you to her for everything she’s done, for showing me what it truly means to love someone, and for shaping me into the woman I am today. For changing my life for the better, always. 

And maybe, just maybe, one day I will be extraordinary enough to become half the woman my mother is.