In every group of friends, I surmise, there is a “motherly” one. As of late, I’ve come to embrace this title and to make it my own. With my own family, I could very well be called Mrs. Fixit. If something goes wrong, I get the honor of being called first—about everything. I’ve talked people through tears, irrational thinking, too many glasses of wine and other life-altering phases of life. I’m not quite sure how or why I came into this role but people seem to think I do it quite well and hence, they keep coming back for seconds and thirds and fourths and….well, you get the point.

As my husband may attest, I do well under pressure. It’s only after the fact that I have my own reaction or meltdown to whatever drama or trauma happened. After about a good ten minute cry in the shower, I’m golden. I guess it’s like being on autopilot when experiencing turbulence. You just have to get your armor and go into battle. As my mother always says, “get some cold blood” and do your job. Yes ma’am.

And so this motherly side of me seems to be coming out everywhere. Family. Friends. Work. It’s really strange that when you actually embrace a role or a gift that’s been given to you, it’s demanded of you even more.

So perhaps this is a little bit of rant on my part and maybe even cathartic. But, in this introspective period of time, I have to admit that this motherliness doesn’t translate well into forgiving and forgetting or simply put, “moving on.” In this way, I’m like the elephant that doesn’t forget. I know when you wronged me and how many times and I keep this ingrained in my mind. And if you’ve wronged me beyond a certain point, I’m no longer the motherly loving one but the wicked witch of the west. 

I guess everyone has their threshold, then, of what they are willing to tolerate. Seems to me, though, that for the sake of those around me, thank goodness the motherly hat fits me quite well!