Sometimes, I find myself thinking about the lives our mothers and grandmothers lived, and a strange longing swells inside me. It might sound almost impossible, almost nostalgic to the point of fantasy, yet it is a longing grounded in understanding. Life then was slower, simpler, yet somehow fuller. There were no incessant pings of notifications, no highlights to remind you constantly of what you were not, or of what others seemed to have achieved. There was no pressure to perform, to compare, to measure your worth by the number of eyes on you. Technology has brought humanity remarkable progress, but it has also brought shifts that somehow erode the texture of daily life. In many ways, I cannot help but feel that our grandmothers lived better.
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Our mothers had challenges, of course. Life was not easy. Opportunities for career advancement, travel, or financial independence were scarce, and there were strict societal expectations. But there was psychological freedom in their simplicity, a freedom we obviously increasingly lack. Their lives were measured not in visibility, but in presence; not in constant validation, but in competence.
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Quality of Food: Handpicked, Natural, and Whole
One of the most striking differences is in what our grandmothers ate. Meals were often prepared from produce picked by hands that knew the soil, the sun, the water. Vegetables and fruits came from gardens, markets, or neighbors who shared from their harvest. Nothing was manufactured or altered to deceive the eye. There was variety, yes, but also authenticity. Eating was an act of communion with the earth and with time itself. Food nourished the body because they were cultivated with patience, and care. To feed oneself and one’s family well was to participate in a ritual of preservation and love. There was a rhythm to life embedded in their meals: the awareness of season, of harvest, of the work that preceded each bite.
Health: Access to Herbs and Actual Remedies
Our grandmothers had knowledge passed down through generations. They had and knew remedies from the earth, not the pharmacy shelf
They carried these practices in memory from one generation to the next. Illness was tackled with herbs, roots, and natural concoctions, administered with care, patience, and understanding. Healing was an intimate exercise involving the body, the mind, and the environment in ways that modern medicine, for all its brilliance, can rarely reproduce. They lived long and resilient lives because their knowledge was practical, precise, and communal. Medical systems were not as centralized, bureaucratic or even commercialized. Yes, they were not technologically advanced, but wellness was holistic. It required attention, respect, and the willingness to listen to the body and the earth. Health was not merely absence of disease—it was a calculated, deliberate engagement with life.
Less Care About Performative Living
There was a freedom in not living for an audience. Life was not broadcast or quantified. Self-worth had to be cultivated quietly, from within, not from likes, shares, or followers. Confidence came from showing up authentically, from performing the simple work of living without apology, without staging one’s life for approval. This freedom produced a peace of mind we rarely recognize today. The absence of performative pressure allowed for the ability to listen deeply, to see the world clearly, to engage fully with one’s family, community, and self. There was dignity in this invisibility, and I wish we have a bit of it now.
No Constantly Changing Beauty Standards
Beauty, then, was local, personal, and deeply contextual. Women were admired for the way they carried themselves, the care they gave to their hair, the glow of their skin, the dignity of their posture. Even then, they understood that beauty was not a standard to chase, but a presence to inhabit. The world had not yet convinced them that their natural selves were inadequate. There was no bombardment of shifting global ideals that demanded constant correction and refinement.
Communal Living: Support and Shared Responsibility
Community was an essential part of their lives. A woman could walk to the farm with her children in tow, knowing a neighbor would watch over them, that support was freely given, not monetized. There was a strong sense of interdependence, of collective care that technology and urban living have slowly diminished. These connections produced resilience, not only in body and mind, but in spirit.
Our grandmothers’ lives were far from perfect. Yet, they had a groundedness in how they moved through the world. They nurtured confidence by community, by environment, and by heritage. Their lives were rooted in awareness, in knowing themselves, in balancing body, mind, and society without too much distraction.
I do not wish to reject technology or the progress we have made. I value these tools, these connections and this acceleration of knowledge. But I long for the quality of life our grandmothers unknowingly preserved—a life rich in nourishment, in health, in authenticity, in community. By remembering them, we learn the possibility of reclaiming some of that simplicity, which we have lost. We can choose to live intentionally, cultivate confidence from inside of us, and honor our own rhythms in a world that frequently insists on performance. Sometimes, to see how forward we might truly go, we must first look back.
What I Wouldn’t Want to Go Back To
Even in its grace, that era bore constraints. Gender roles were rigid, patriarchy pervasive. Women’s choices were limited, their voices often quieted, their autonomy circumscribed. Even in homes or neighborhoods where influence was felt, broader societal structures rarely permitted full freedom to pursue education, careers, or personal ambition.
In those days, fragility of life itself was strongly visible. While herbs and natural remedies sustained wellness, serious illness could prove fatal. The absence of modern emergency medicine, of accessible hospitals, of technological intervention, made existence delicate.
Even with these limitations, the lessons endure. Our grandmothers’ era should teach us that a slower, intentional living can coexist with modern progress, if only we consciously choose to preserve it.
