In Mom We Trust
A little over 20 years ago, my mom gave birth to possibly the most stubborn girl that would ever walk this earth. She realized it pretty early on when I was about 4 years old, going on talking strikes or refusing to eat my dinner as an act of resistance. I think that's when she knew she had her work cut out for her.
Time and time again, my single-minded ways have caused me to discount some of my mom's most significant pieces of advice, 3 cases of which are most notable. And given my inherent inability to ever concede in an argument, writing this is particularly difficult for me. So mom—if you're reading this (which I know you are)—I'm sorry. And I love you.
The first piece of advice of hers that I overlooked was during the peak of my adolescence: bat mitzvah season. My special day was quickly approaching, and it was time to pick the dress that would live on in photo albums and on Facebook for the rest of my life. Naturally, I chose the most hideous, Indigo colored, sparkly dress with ruffles and a slit. If you can't seem to picture it, consider yourself lucky. Most warmly and calmly, my mom told me that maybe this dress wasn't as good as I thought it was; that perhaps I should look at some of the more classic options, maybe something with either ruffles or sparkles—not both. However, I adamantly dismissed her warnings in true Jolie character and chose to wear the heinous dress that would soon become the butt of many family jokes.
The next major mom lesson is one that I have consistently neglected to realize the importance of. Odds are that—before you left for college—your mom probably told you to always make it to class on time or to branch out and meet everyone that you can. But, instead, mine stressed the importance of making sure to never shit where I eat—metaphorically speaking, of course. By that, she meant to never create an uncomfortable situation for me that I couldn't get out of (example: kissing a boy on the floor of my dorm). And as you can probably suspect at this point, there have been a few instances where I have—in fact—shat where I ate. Whether it has been the thrill of a new environment or the convenience of liking someone so close in proximity, I don't know. But, as my mom warned, it has always ended in awkward hallway stares and plenty of tears.
Finally, a piece of advice from my mother that I am still learning to live by is the idea that it is okay to admit I am wrong. For years, my mom has tried to get the phrase "to err is human" through my thick and impenetrable skull. I have this overarching notion that failure is semi-permanent and that admitting defeat is a sign of weakness. My mom, however, would argue the opposite. She often tells me that the ability to recognize when I'm wrong, apologize, move on, and—most importantly—make necessary changes is a skill that will make me a stronger and better individual. And somehow, I think that writing this is my first step in becoming the person my mom and I know I can be.
My relationship with my mom cannot be characterized as uncomplicated or straightforward. I'm incredibly stubborn (like my dad), and we often tend to butt heads, especially during these transformational years of my life. However, she is—and forever will be—the person that I turn to for everything. Sitting in the center of my bed in my apartment at school is a pillow that reads "Call Your Mother." Not only does it serve as a daily reminder to call and say good morning to the person I admire most, but also as an emblem of our relationship and all that it can withstand. Whether it be the distance from New Jersey to Wisconsin or moments where we fail to see eye to eye, my mom and I can and will get past it. She is my role model, my closest confidant, and my friend. I can't say with one hundred percent certainty that I'll never buy an ugly dress again or make a poor relationship decision, but I can say that I'll put more effort into becoming the type of person who thinks twice about things when her mom tells her to.
Written By Jolie Horowitz, Wisconsin ‘23