“Mothers know best” was a statement the high school version of myself absolutely refused to believe. The thought of ever telling my mother anything about a boy I was interested in made me physically ill. I would always justify my secrecy with “she wouldn’t understand.” High school me could never confess to her how I went from making eye contact with the most popular boy in school and thinking, “There is no way, Elena, forget about it,” to a year-long cycle of heartbreak from a boy I never even dated! Pshhhh, but would I ever let a hint of that situation slip out of my mouth in her presence? Nope. Never. Try again.
Fast forward to me in college…
Mama’s voice is echoing in my ear about the newest reason why we should be eating only organic foods. I am at my bathroom sink, applying rose-colored blush to my cheeks as I slowly begin only to hear fragments of her sentences. “That’s why non-GMO is the best!” My head is filling up with my own protruding thoughts. I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I proceed to pat the cream into my skin. She continues with telling me all the new facts that the scientists were saying. One thought after another aimlessly bounces around in my skull. All of a sudden, silence. My thoughts come crashing down and before I have a chance to speak up, she asks:
“You’re talking to him again, aren’t you?”
How could she possibly know that? “I mean no, not really,” I say, stumbling over my words.
“What do you mean not really? What has happened now?”
Of course, she knows. This woman birthed my being into existence and I dare to think she won’t pick up on my slight change of energy over a phone call.
“Okay, okay, well, I saw him out….”
Before I know it, I was in an hour-long free therapy session with my mother. We go back and forth on my view of the situation versus hers. Green flags versus red flags. His actions versus mine. I lay it all out for her: my emotions, my thoughts, my hopes, my worries and my so-called plan of action. The next thing I know, I almost feel like I am being interrogated as she bombards me with an overkill of questions.
She inquires. “What has he done to change? What is he giving you that you can’t give yourself? Why are you wasting your time on a guy who is giving you the bare minimum?”
D*mn. That one hurt, but what a way to hit me with the facts. With slight annoyance infused in my voice, I answer honestly: “I mean, he hasn’t shown me any change yet. I know I can give myself validation, love and attention. It’s just nice feeling wanted, I guess.”
She starts doing what she is best at, organizing and making sense of MY actions and thoughts. My annoyance turns to appreciation. I begin to wonder: Does she know me better than I know myself?
At this point, you’re probably wondering, why not talk to your friends about it? The truth is, I love and appreciate my friends: I speak to them about almost everything, but when it comes to the guy I met, there are a few red flags. We’re in a weird back-and-forth cycle where he says one thing but shows another. I feel perplexed and irritated and I don’t really know what to do, but I know he is a good guy. You get the point. The situation turns into a giant game of my friends’ opinions mixed with what else could go wrong with this scenario. I begin to overthink and spiral, and I find myself wishing for validation as they stroke my ego to keep me from losing my sh*t. As I said, I love and appreciate them, but sometimes I need more than a rant session.
In this case, my mother knows just what to do. Yes, of course, she uplifts me by reminding me of my goals and aspirations, my accomplishments, my perseverance, my “desire to always help others, even if it means putting myself last” and all those other motherly sayings. However, she won’t sit there and stroke my ego. She will be brutal and honest and give it to me straight. Although at that moment, I hated the truth of her criticism and inner knowings of the situation, I knew deep down I needed to hear it.
There is no other person in this world who will sit there and listen to me rant for an hour as I jump back and forth between details. She is someone who will never get bored (or at least won’t admit it) of the repeating boy situations, who will answer the phone at 2:30 a.m. when I am feeling down, and who will be there to talk to me no matter what I do to embarrass myself. I know when I hang the phone up, I will receive at least 5 Pinterest “inspirational quotes” like “Don’t let getting lonely make you reconnect with toxic people. You shouldn’t drink poison just because you’re thirsty.” Sometimes I will roll my eyes and laugh, but I feel better about my involvement in my love life. If I need to, I can ring Mama right back up.
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