My mom is an art teacher and is very much into the performing

Erin Andrews once spoke with gratitude and reverence: “My mom is an art teacher and is very much into the performing arts. What can I say? She is the female in my life and has guided me on how to act and conduct myself. A lot of my strength comes from her.” In these words we hear the timeless echo of maternal influence, of the shaping power that flows from one generation to the next. She does not speak of fame or career, but of character, of the inward compass by which she steers her life. It is a confession that behind her strength stands the unseen hand of her mother.

To be an art teacher is itself symbolic. The teacher of art awakens in others the capacity to see beauty where others see nothing, to create form where there was blankness, to express truth where silence once reigned. Such a mother, steeped in arts and expression, did not only guide her daughter in skill, but in spirit. She taught her that life itself is a kind of performance—one that requires discipline, grace, and authenticity. Thus Erin speaks of learning not only how to act, but how to conduct herself, as though her mother were both director and composer of her moral life.

This pattern is ancient. Consider the example of Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi brothers in Rome. When other noblewomen displayed jewels as their treasures, Cornelia pointed to her sons and declared: “These are my jewels.” She instilled in them the courage to speak for the people, to strive for justice, and though their path was turbulent, the seed of her strength endured. So too with Andrews: the strength she claims as her own was first planted by her mother’s example, nurtured by daily lessons in dignity and perseverance.

There is also in her words the recognition of the sacred feminine, the role of the female figure in guiding, balancing, and strengthening life. A father may teach one kind of courage, but the mother often teaches how to wear that courage with humility, how to blend fierceness with compassion, how to wield ambition without losing grace. In a world often harsh and competitive, such guidance is not merely useful—it is vital. Erin honors this truth when she admits that much of her strength is not born alone, but inherited through the patient shaping of her mother.

We may also hear in her words the deeper rhythm of heritage. For the arts do not only teach us to draw or perform, but to understand that expression is part of survival. The ability to stand tall, to speak well, to hold oneself with dignity—these are performances of the soul. A child raised around such expressions learns early how to present herself, not as a mask, but as a true reflection of her character. This is the strength Andrews acknowledges: the ability to step into the world’s stage with authenticity, rooted in her mother’s teaching.

History again confirms this. Think of Eleanor Roosevelt, who credited much of her resolve to her stern but guiding aunt, who demanded she rise above timidity. Or recall Maya Angelou, who found in her grandmother the anchor that gave her voice its strength. Behind many women and men of courage stands a guiding presence, often maternal, who quietly molds the spirit to endure. This is the unspoken lineage of strength Erin Andrews reveals in her tribute.

The lesson for us is clear: honor the sources of your strength. Acknowledge those who guided you in how to live, not just how to achieve. Do not forget the patient voices—whether mothers, fathers, teachers, or mentors—who taught you how to conduct yourself with dignity. Just as Erin recognizes the hand of her mother in her own resilience, so too must we pause and name those who gave us the tools of endurance.

Practical wisdom follows: reflect on the teachings of those who shaped you. If they gave you courage, pass courage on. If they taught you grace, embody grace in your dealings. If they showed you the arts of living well, then teach them to another. For in doing so, you honor them, and you extend their influence into the future. Thus the torch is carried, and the lineage of strength endures beyond one life, beyond one generation, into the vast chorus of humanity.