It’s pretty sad. Here I am, a fully-grown adult woman in my early to mid-30’s with two cats of my own, and I still hear my mom’s voice in my head. Like, several times a day. There are certain things she used to say that have stuck with me, verbatim, even after all these years.
You’ll survive. This one usually came after I’d been moaning about some impending crisis of a rustic nature, like having to pee in the woods or take a shower with no hot water or share a bunk with a girl I’d never met.
Cut yourself some slack. Often followed by “you are your own worst critic.” Often followed by me crying, “but what if I’m not??”
Focus on the positive. She said this so much that I think it might have been mainly for her benefit.
You gotta get outside of your head. When I was inflicting my well-earned and totally legitimate bad mood on innocent bystanders.
Smile. Not because feeling sad wasn’t allowed, but because smiling can make you feel better sometimes.
Don’t burn your bridges/always do your best to be nice. Because you never know what’s going to happen down the road. Dun-Dun-DUNNN!!!
Do you really want to be popular? She asked me this every time I complained about not being one of the cool kids at school. She said, “We could go get you all new clothes and different music to listen to and magazines to read…” At which point I backed down and said I’d rather just be me, whatever that was.
Do you want to quit the violin? She didn’t pull this card often. She must have reserved it for my most melodramatic displays of woe over having to practice and go to lessons. Of course, I wanted to quit about as much as I wanted to be popular. Woe was I.
Someone could put a bomb under your house.* Stay with me here. This was right after the Oklahoma City bombings of 1995, the first time I’d heard of terrorism. I was nine years old and blubbering about never being able to go to the mall or any other public place again, so she doused my panic with logic. A country girl who moved to New York by herself at age 18, my mom was big on street smarts, crippling fear less so.
My mom doesn’t say these things to me anymore, but not because I don’t need to hear them. On the contrary, I need to hear some of these things every day. It’s just that, now, most of my tantrums and diatribes and whimpers have become inner monologues and are quickly shut down by one of these adages with that perfect motherly blend of sympathy and snap out of it.
*She doesn’t recall saying this but obviously I am right.
