My mom wasn’t always my best friend. When I was younger, sure, she was always there, giving me advice, taking me to one of the 1,000 activities I was involved in, and giving me hot soup in bed whenever I was sick. She was “the cool mom” in front of my friends who blasted music in the car and had ice cream or cookies waiting for us off the school bus. She let me have playdates and birthday parties and was always the first to volunteer to chaperone school field trips. I came down the stairs every. single. morning. to breakfast waiting for me, my siblings, and my dad before we went our separate ways to school and work. Whenever I had a bad day, she was the first to listen. Whenever I had a tough game, she was the first to cheer me up. Whenever I had a difficult decision to make, she was the one to guide me. But no, she wasn’t my best friend.
Along came my teenage years and with them a moody attitude. I went to school engaged and energetic, happy to light up any room. I strived to impress and always put my best face forward. However, as soon as I returned home, any negative energy built up throughout the day could finally seep out in the comfort of my own home. It didn’t matter if I took out these stresses on the people who loved me most - they would love me unconditionally anyways. My mom continued to cook breakfast every morning. Allowed me use the family car to drive to school every day. Came to every game I played. Encouraged me to make new friends. Put notes in my lunch to remind me she loved me. Accommodated lots plans I wanted to make. But she wasn’t my best friend.
I listened to other friends at school talk about how their moms were their best friends. They told their moms every and anything and they were okay with it. Their moms let them drink and have friends over to do the same. Their moms gave them money to buy lunch every day instead of giving them a brown-bagged one. Their moms let them sleep through church on Sundays. Their moms allowed them to hang out with boyfriends in their bedrooms. And their moms DEFINITELY didn’t call the mothers of whatever new friends house they wanted to sleepover. If all of these were requirements for a supermom, mine did not qualify.
I harbored anger at mom for being so involved. She would get upset at me for never being home, but I held the same resentment against her. As soon as I returned from school and practice, she was off to one, two, maybe three volunteer events. Our similarities often caused clashing, built up anger resulting in explosions when things finally boiled over. We argued quite often throughout my teenage years and there was rarely a time I would have used “best friends” to describe our relationship. Regardless, the breakfasts, lunches, and unwavering support continued. Still not my best friend.
Cue college. As I now exit my years as a teenager and am well into the independent life that comes with going away to school, I have grown to have an appreciation for my mom that I wish I’d had all along. The distance created when I moved out of my home has become filled with insight on the love my mom has, and has always had, for me. All those times I wasn’t allowed to do this, or was made to do that were meant with the absolute best intentions. All the arguments and frequent disagreements my mom and I overcame have brought us to better understandings of each other. Now, instead of anxiety, a phone call from mom brings with it a sense of calm and comfort. When people call her a cool mom I no longer roll my eyes, but rather nod my head in agreement. Someone who knows how to let loose on the dance floor and eats tubs of ice cream with her kids, yet fully embraces her role as a parent and makes straight her children’s pathways is a pretty awesome mom. Not only is she a role model but an eternal source of guidance and love.
So, if I define a best friend as someone who is always by my side no matter what, listens without judgement, is undoubtedly honest when telling me what I need to hear, someone who makes me laugh when I’m down, looks out for my best interests (even when others do not), unconditionally loves and forgives, and knows who I am - inside and out - better than anyone else… then I’d say yes, my mom IS my best friend. I’d say she’s been my best friend all along.
