I am the quintessential youngest child. I need attention all the time, and I'm leaps and bounds more emotional than everyone else in the family, which means that I have to process every minor inconvenience in a group setting, and I call my mum for everything.
And on these phone calls, my mum takes the blame for 97% of shit that goes wrong in my life. I was a math minor in college, so I'm pretty sure that's at least close to statistically accurate. If I have a bad moment, I get on the phone with my mum, and plea with her for a solution. She handles my stress better than I have the capacity to, and seeing this gives me more of my own strength. Rather than taking my panic for weakness, she takes it as heart. So every time I call in a crisis, she laughs, audibly rolling her eyes, and brings me back to earth.
I take her for granted. Every single day.
My mum is the most independent woman I have ever met. She'd never take credit for this, but she taught me how to be a feminist. Not by sitting me down and telling me "this is how you believe in yourself and other women," but simply by living her own life. By believing in the idea that a woman can move out of her home, live in an orange field with her friends, fly her life 4000 miles away, find love, have a family, and still do whatever the hell she wants to do. AND empower the women around her to do the same. She taught me that if a woman wants to change her current situation, she can do so with a smile. If she wants to spend time alone, she deserves to do so in the name of self care. If she wants to land her dream job, she can throw some mascara on for the interview, and buy her own champagne to toast when she gets it.
And when a woman can beat cancer without asking for an ounce of help?
She can do anything.
A few years ago (SIX THIS YEAR) we almost lost her. This woman was fighting her way through yet another cancer, and she told no one. NO. ONE. She only discussed it with us when the fight was over, and she had won. She fought the fight we all hope we won't have to, and then came to us to be our support. She comforted me while I cried tears of both worry and relief. Which is insane, for the record, but it says a lot about this woman, and a lot about mothers in general. She exhibits strength when others would collapse of exhaustion. And not only that, but she can use her strength to lift up others when they think they too will collapse.
In a Pre-Covid world, I called my mum on my walk home from the T every day, to process everything that happened throughout it. So of course, in the midst of this socially distant world, when my anxiety is at an all-time high, and boredom is at a new peak, I still call my mother every day. Except having been home for eight weeks straight, these calls have become more excuses for contact with my source of strength. I call to ask, "how long do I cook a potato for?" and "can this sweatshirt go in the dryer?" and what I really mean is, "I miss you," and "I can't wait for this to be over." And again, I find myself taking her for granted.
So here's where it gets sappy...
As selfish as it is, I find a strange comfort in the idea that most women take their mothers for granted. I don't know why we do it, but I don't know a single woman who can tell me she doesn't. Maybe it's a societal thing, or maybe it's because they've always been there, so we assume they can't ever leave. When it comes to our mothers, we start off wanting to be them, then growing to rebel against them, and finally settling somewhere in the middle. But writing this, I'm realizing that this might be more of a circle than a line. I think I'm somewhere between steps three and one - a new fourth step I didn't foresee. I rely on her so consistently, and she never disappoints. She always encourages me to do more than I think I can - not because she thinks I should, but because she trusts my own heart, and knows what I'm capable of, even when I don't. If I adopt even an ounce of the strength that my mom carries every day, I will be an incredible being.
As cliche as it sounds, my mum is one of my best friends. Why else would I call her every day?
Mums are beautiful, powerful, and highly underrated humans in the stories of our lives.
My mum has raised me to have her strength of heart, while still nourishing my own sensitive soul. I can be the Lion and the Scarecrow, while maintaining the Tinman's purity of heart. We as women have to lift each other up, and that starts with our moms. Mother's Day is important.
So to all the mums, moms, grandmas, nannies, aunts, cousins, friends' mums, mums' friends, and women in general that helped me and every other woman I know become the human they are today, Happy Mother's Day.
Let's pop some champagne, fix our mascara, and lift each other up some more.
Cheers.
Beautiful in 2020 and still beautiful in 2022!