When I was younger, I thought my mom worried too much. She always had something to say—about what I was wearing, how late I was out, or the fact that I could never just text “here” when I got somewhere. It felt like she lived to nag me. Back then, I was convinced she didn’t understand me or my world.
But lately, I’ve been realizing something I never expected: I’m starting to understand her more than I ever thought I would.
My mom and I still argue—about everything and nothing at the same time. We’ll bicker about the smallest things, from how to load the dishwasher to whether or not I really need another iced coffee. But somewhere between those little arguments, I learned that I could talk to her about anything.
What used to feel like disagreements has turned into conversations, and most of our serious talks end up happening during what I jokingly call a “shopping debrief.” Somehow, walking through aisles of candles and clearance sales makes it easier to talk about life.
Even when we disagree, she’s my person. I go everywhere with her, and I tell her everything — and I mean everything. She’s still the first person I want to talk to about my day, my plans, my worries, or something funny that happened.
It’s strange how you can argue with someone so much and still feel so close to them. When I was younger, I thought our differences meant she didn’t get me. Now I realize she probably gets me better than anyone else ever will.
The older I get, the more I see how much of my mom’s life has been built around taking care of others. She’s the kind of person who drops everything when someone needs her, who stays up late to make sure everyone else’s day goes more smoothly, even if it means hers won’t.
I used to take that for granted because it just seemed normal—of course, Mom would handle it. But now I see how much quiet strength that actually takes.
I think about all the times she put herself last without complaining. How she worked long hours, still made dinner, still showed up for every school event, and somehow remembered to ask how my day was.
I didn’t understand how exhausting that must have been until I started juggling my own responsibilities. It’s one thing to be tired — it’s another to be tired and still show up for everyone else anyway.
And honestly, I get her emotions more now, too. The worry, the frustration, the way she sometimes wanted five minutes of peace — it all makes sense. She wasn’t being dramatic; she was being human. I used to think her reminders were annoying, but now I hear them as love in disguise.
When she says, “Drive safe,” or “Text me when you get there,” it’s her way of saying, “I can’t protect you anymore, but I’ll never stop trying.”
I still roll my eyes sometimes — but with a smile now. Because deep down, I know I’ll be saying the same things someday. I already catch myself giving my friends “mom advice,” and it’s both horrifying and comforting. If turning into her means caring a little too much, loving a little too loudly, and reminding everyone to bring a jacket, then fine — I’ll take it.
We still argue, we still roll our eyes at each other, and we still somehow always end up at Target. But through it all, she’s my best friend, my biggest supporter, and the person who understands me even when I don’t understand myself.
So yeah, the older I get, the more I understand my mom. And maybe that’s the best kind of growing up there is — realizing that love doesn’t have to be perfect to be constant.