The story swiftly delves into the complexities of individual identities between the mother and daughter. The narrator feels uncomfortable with the idea of being used to help someone understand her daughter: "You think because I am her mother I have a key, or that in some way you could use me as a key? She has lived for nineteen years. There is all that life that has happened outside of me, beyond me." Although she questions the worth of her insights into her daughter, she claims a special understanding of her that goes beyond what any outsider might grasp: "You did not know her all those years she was considered homely."

The narrative depicts both mother and daughter as works in progress, each still evolving. The teenage daughter is seeking independence, while her mother, burdened by guilt, continues to assess her own role. The daughter's hidden talent as an actress surprises her mother, leading her to wonder, "Was this Emily?" On stage, the daughter seems to find her identity by portraying others, becoming "Somebody." Yet, despite the freedom acting appears to offer, Emily remains "imprisoned" by the public demands of her craft and the applause that "wouldn't let [her] go." Her mother is unsure how to nurture this talent, leaving readers to ponder whether Emily's abilities will remain "clogged and clotted" inside her.

The mother's journey to define herself also feels unresolved. She concludes that the task of "dredging the past" and sorting through "all that compounds a human being" is daunting. She believes she will never be able to "total it all," and chooses not to meet the request to "come in and talk" to the school official. Her reflections on her daughter and her own role as a mother remain private, shared solely with the reader.

A deep sense of deprivation runs through "I Stand Here Ironing." The mother reflects on the various limitations she has faced: financial struggles, being left by her first husband, household duties, and the difficulties of raising children. These numerous challenges seem to compound, making it hard for her to tell her story: "And when is there time to remember, to sift, to weigh, to estimate, to total? I will start and there will be an interruption and I will have to gather it all together again." The mother's lack of resources also affects her daughter, leaving her unable to support her daughter's budding talent as an actress. The mother blames her daughter's restricted opportunities on her own youthful inexperience and distractions.

By the end of the story, both the daughter and the mother appear indifferent: the daughter towards her own future, and the mother towards her perceived failures. The daughter opts to sleep in late despite having exams the following day, reasoning that "in a couple of years when we'll all be atom-dead they won't matter a bit." Meanwhile, the mother, exhausted from "dredging the past," decides to "[l]et her be."

However, the story also suggests a longing to overcome this indifference. The mother's iron, which frames the narrative, acts as a powerful symbol of this desire. In the first sentence, the iron, along with the narrator's thoughts, "moves tormented back and forth." In the final sentence, the mother expresses hope that her daughter will understand "that she is more than this dress on the ironing board, helpless before the iron."

In "I Stand Here Ironing," the intricate tapestry of the mother-child relationship unfolds through the lens of a beleaguered mother reflecting on her past. The story delves into the profound connection established during the early days of infancy, a bond that faces threats from the moment the mother must leave her child in the care of a sitter. Both mother and child feel the strain of these separations, which undermine their closeness and complicate expressions of love. Yet, the relentless demands of poverty and family obligations force the mother to prioritize survival over nurturing, leading her to a resigned belief that she is powerless to aid her daughter’s growth any further.

The daughter's perspective is revealed exclusively through the mother's recollections, painting a picture of a relationship marked by complexity and emotion. The mother remembers the infant's cries and the young child’s subtle resistance to separation—never overtly rebellious or pleading, but always finding ways to remain close. As her daughter grows, her silence and stiffness in moments of attempted affection indicate a growing emotional distance. Despite these challenges, the daughter contributes to the household, offering help with chores and emotional support to her mother in her stepfather's absence, hinting at an enduring, albeit strained, connection.

Though hurt, deprivation, and anger have left their marks, they have not severed the ties of love that bind mother and daughter. Instead, these trials have erected barriers, compelling them to inhabit their own worlds, leading separate lives. The narrative exposes the poignant reality of a relationship that, despite its fractures, remains tethered by an unspoken understanding and a shared history—a testament to the enduring, if complicated, bond between mother and child.

The mother reflects on her past decisions with a poignant sense of regret, recognizing the impact of her choices on her daughter's emotional well-being. Once, she had been swayed by the prevailing opinions of others, opting to feed her child on a strict schedule, enrolling her in nursery school, and eventually sending her to a convalescent home. These decisions, made in defiance of her own instincts, she now sees as having inadvertently caused emotional harm to her daughter. Despite this, she draws comfort from her belief in her daughter’s maturity and innate common sense. The hope that her daughter will navigate life's challenges with resilience tempers the mother's remorse, and she resolves to trust her own judgment more in the future, aiming not to repeat the mistakes of the past.