“What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”
“If you’re not sweating, you’re not working hard enough.”
“He wasn’t good enough for you anyways!”
“BECAUSE I SAID SO ...”
It’s a guarantee all of us ladies have heard at least one, if not all, of these sayings from our moms through the years. I know I have heard all of them and many, many more. It used to drive me out of my mind when I would ask my mom for one, just one legit reason why I couldn’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t do something and she would calmly just respond, “Because I said so.”
I used to get so mad every time she said I was her “mini-me” and I might as well just accept that we were practically the same person. I can remember times I got so frustrated I would yell “I am not you! I’m me! Me! Me! Me!” And as I got older the fits got calmer, but they were still fits. I didn’t want to be my mom—I wanted to be ME. My mom enforced rules, could punish me, tell me what I could or couldn’t do, she had all the power to give or take the fun out of life. And who would want to be that lady?
When I was eighteen I moved out, skipped a few steps, and immediately moved into my own house, alone. No college. No roommates. Just me and a two-bedroom house. Most people applauded my braveness, and while my mom didn’t disagree with me necessarily, she just warned me to be careful. She got me a mini-flashlight for my keychain when it was dark, always had me call her when I got home alone late, and made it a point to make sure I was feeding myself properly (granted, I wasn’t). But there were plenty of nights I was home alone, in my pajamas, making myself dinner, while watching TV, and I would catch myself doing it. Being HER. A flick of the wrist while making pasta, the way I separated the laundry, how I flitted about my own house or how I didn’t flit at all. And sometimes I would smile to myself and other times I would sigh in exasperation. “Me, me, me!” I would think. I had to be me! Not her!
But now, I don’t live within driving distance of my mom. I can no longer know that she is nearby when I need her or when I’m sad. She is no longer around to bring me oranges and chicken soup when I have a cold, or to come over to just watch some bad reality TV. Now, I have never gone to the post office as often as I do now, sending her packages of random stuff I think she may need. And today, on my latest trip to the post office with her box of shampoo and make up I thought you might need and like, I realized, I am her. I’m my version of her. I tell my fiancé, “Because I said so ...” when I don’t feel like explaining myself. I go into cleaning fits out of nowhere and other times I can go days without touching my dishes. I answer the phone like she does, and respond to rude people the same way.
Now, I am the one making sure she is OK and sending her care packages. And now that I can look back, I should have stopped fighting the idea of becoming like her. She’s amazing. She has raised two amazing children as a single mother, she’s beautiful and full of moral standard. She makes people laugh and laughs with them. And if it wasn’t for her and the pieces of her I have in me, I wouldn’t be me at all.
We all have our mamas in us and we should embrace it. Don’t forget to just tell her, “I love you and thank you,” because as much as you may not want to admit it, you are you because of her.
