As soon as we are old enough to be able to understand adulthood, we aspire to it. We race through childhood expecting that growing up will be better, because who doesn’t want to make their own rules and have ice cream for every meal of the day? We are so quick to let go of our mothers’ hands and run head first into anything and everything, only to realize much too late that we should have held on for just a bit longer. I find it ironic that looking back at my adolescent self, I was in such a hurry to be my own person and grow up that I never appreciated the absolute freedom of childhood, and instead assumed that freedom lie in adulthood. As we grow up, we think we know best and crave the ability to make our own rules and step out from the shadow of our parents, yet we are met instead with rules imposed not by our mothers but by society, which are inevitably so much worse.
I wish I could go back in time and tell my five-year-old self that she is not too “grown up” to hold her mother’s hand or acknowledge her as the best friend I will ever have. There is no one that will love you like a mom, and sometimes we need to swallow that pride and admit that we don’t know what we are doing and that more often than not, moms have the answers. You are never too old to call your mom in a hysterical panic and allow her to reassure you that everything will be okay, and you are never too old to miss your mom when she is miles away and all you really need is a hug. You are never too old to need your mom; because she is the best friend that life can give you.
Its taken my much longer than I would like to admit, but my best friend is my mother, and that’s not a pathetic answer because I lack other companions. I have plenty of friends, but none of them are as good as my mother. She is my person. She loves me no matter what; she knows exactly what to say to calm me down. She cares about me more than anyone else, including herself, and she knows me better than I know myself.
She is the first person I call when I feel like I might snap in half and the only person who I would ever cry in front of willingly. She is the only one who has stuck around for 20 years and the only one whose future presence seems promising. Her arms are my home and her voice is my guiding light that lifts me from the shallows I try to drown in and pushes me towards air.
I may not always treat her the way she deserves; in fact I’m pretty sure I’m a pain in the ass most of the time. But I am the only one who has heard what her heart sounds like from the inside, and somehow, she is the only one who has heard mine.
