I don’t know about you, but after the tension of a tumultuous decade of teenage angst (and a touch of rebellion here and there), I’ve ended up as one of those girls whose mother is her best friend. Maybe it’s the close(-ish) age gap, maybe it’s because we went through so much together, maybe it’s because we’re both sensitive Cancerians and thus so thoroughly capable of empathizing with each other that it’s often like we have a psychic link, but my mother’s my go-to person for everything. Everything.
From gushing about new possibilities (“Mom, this really cute guy asked for my number!†“I’m going to have an Australian apo!â€) to analyzing the ends of flings and things (this led to a lengthy and fascinating discussion about the difference between guys in my generation and hers), to work stress, to showbiz scandals, to shopping, and everything in between; she’s the one person I can talk to for hours on end without running out of things to talk about, and over the years, she has also given me some of the most sensible advice about all sorts of things.
It’s all in how you carry yourself
Mom’s always been a woman of much simpler tastes than mine. I like frills. I like piling on the accessories, wearing the highest heels, and putting on the boldest makeup, but my mother, in stark contrast, dresses far more simply and always keeps it toned down — and she always looks neat and classic, always looks well put together. Sure, she’ll drag me downstairs to help her assemble an outfit, but in spite of being easily capable of buying the most expensive things, she’ll always ignore me when I try to pull her into the pricier shops. I learned from her example that you don’t need to wear your bank account on your shoulders to look good; that just because everyone else has it doesn’t mean that you need to have it, too. (In hindsight, this is probably why I didn’t grow up to be as huge a brat as I might have. She always kept me in check.) It’s all in how you carry yourself. Whatever it is, wear it with confidence, be sure about yourself; it’s more than enough. (And let your inner beauty shine through, I guess, but my mom was always beautiful, so that point may be moot.)
Respect is the non-negotiable factor in any relationship
My mother has, for years, been drilling into my head the value of choosing a partner that I can respect; someone I can, in at least one way, always look up to. We grow up with those cheesy “love conquers all†platitudes (hell, some people get it tattooed in Latin, gross). We believe, when we’re young and we’re dangerously in love that (like the Beatles said) it’s all you need. We get so consumed by our feelings early on in relationships that we overlook any number of faults. But one of the most important things I ever learned from my mother is that you need much more than that. Love often doesn’t, in fact, conquer all. Love doesn’t always last. Passion eventually fades away. And when it does, and that’s all you were going on, what do you have left? If the love is finally, finally gone and you can no longer find any respect within yourself for your partner, even the smallest quirks and faults, things you maybe even used to find cute, will start to grate on you. You will, perhaps, start to feel resentment and frustration. The relationship may ultimately crumble. But mutual respect? It’ll pull you through, or at the very least, keep you from killing each other.
Never start a fight, but when you’re in the right, always fight back
It seems very much in our cultural nature to not want to rock the boat. We’re passive-aggressive people; we like to avoid confrontation as much as possible. But there will always come a time when that’s not enough, when you have to stand up for yourself. I never used to. I grew up a shy, quiet, awkward child who was easily pushed around, but over the years, my mother taught me that I couldn’t keep letting other people (like my stronger-willed friends, like her — I mean, she broke up with my first boyfriend for me) fight my battles — I had to start fighting for myself. Not literal bitch-slap, hair-pull fighting, but even something as seemingly small as a well-placed retort here or there; that would often be enough to shut someone up. I learned from her example (because she can be a tiger, my mother) how to be strong, how not to let myself be pushed around or stepped on, and how to pick myself back up after a fall.
When we’re young, we often say that we’re never going to be like our mothers. When we’re angry, we list all their supposed faults, everything they do or say that we take offense with, and say we’ll never do that to our own kids. I’ve been guilty of that before, but I can say with absolute honesty: If I grow up to be anything like my mother, I’ll be a damn fine woman indeed.