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Things My Mother Said That Melted Into Me
published 21 april 2025MUTHA STAFF
“Because I said so.”
I hated this one. It felt like a shutdown. No discussion. No logic. Just full stop. And now? I get it. After 57 follow-up questions about why broccoli is necessary or why bedtime exists, sometimes you just can’t explain it again. Sometimes, because I said so is the only lifeline you’ve got.
“Nothing good happens after 2am.”
I used to laugh at this. Mostly because I’d never stayed up that late unless I was cramming for finals or sneaking in one more episode. These days, I’m rarely awake at 2am unless someone’s throwing up or having a nightmare. And let me tell you — nothing good happens then either. Not for them, not for me.
It turns out, she wasn’t just talking about parties. She was talking about exhaustion. About how bad decisions are born when you're tired, overextended, or just need sleep more than you know.“Your face ends at your neck.”
This one didn’t make sense to me as a teenager. I was washing my face with drugstore cleanser and sleeping in eyeliner — who cared about a neck? But now, when I’m applying moisturizer while staring at that line just under my chin, I hear her. And I don’t skip it.
“You get what you settle for.”
This one didn’t sting until it did. The job I stayed in too long. The friendships I kept out of guilt. The way I’d fold to keep the peace. She never meant for me to accept the bare minimum. And now I say it to my daughter, hoping it lands earlier.
“Take a bath. Drink some tea. Sleep on it.”
I used to think she didn’t want to talk. Now I realize she was trying to give me tools. Not everything needs to be fixed in the moment. Sometimes you need distance. A ritual. A pause. And more often than not, those three steps solve more than arguing ever did.
“You don’t have to be everything, every day.”
I didn’t understand this one at all. Wasn’t that the point — to be on top of everything, all the time? But she knew something I hadn’t learned yet: that motherhood, and life, isn’t a performance. Some days you show up with snacks and patience. Some days, you’re just trying to get through the afternoon. Both count. Both are enough.
When I was younger, my mom had a rotating cast of one-liners. Some were sharp, some felt ridiculous, and most made me roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they didn’t stay that way.
Now I have two kids of my own. They’re in that age where everything is dramatic and nothing I say makes sense — or so they think. And lately, I’ve noticed something: I’ve started repeating her. Word for word. Tone and all.
I used to think it was a fluke. Now I know it’s muscle memory. Her voice, her phrases — they’re part of me. Melted in over the years like layers I didn’t even realize were forming.
Here are the ones I used to resist — and now say without thinking.I didn’t realize how much she knew until I needed to know it too. I didn’t see how much I was absorbing until I became the one handing out the advice.The things she said — the ones I rolled my eyes at, the ones I swore I’d never repeat — they stuck. And now they slip out of my mouth like they were mine all along.Maybe that’s the quiet legacy of mothers. Not always the grand lessons, but the phrases and instincts that settle into us over time. We carry them. We pass them on. We soften into them.They melt into us.
< BACK TO BLOG
Things My Mother Said That Melted Into Me
published 21 april 2025MUTHA STAFF
When I was younger, my mom had a rotating cast of one-liners. Some were sharp, some felt ridiculous, and most made me roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they didn’t stay that way.
Now I have two kids of my own. They’re in that age where everything is dramatic and nothing I say makes sense — or so they think. And lately, I’ve noticed something: I’ve started repeating her. Word for word. Tone and all.
I used to think it was a fluke. Now I know it’s muscle memory. Her voice, her phrases — they’re part of me. Melted in over the years like layers I didn’t even realize were forming.
Here are the ones I used to resist — and now say without thinking.“Because I said so.”
I hated this one. It felt like a shutdown. No discussion. No logic. Just full stop. And now? I get it. After 57 follow-up questions about why broccoli is necessary or why bedtime exists, sometimes you just can’t explain it again. Sometimes, because I said so is the only lifeline you’ve got.
“Nothing good happens after 2am.”
I used to laugh at this. Mostly because I’d never stayed up that late unless I was cramming for finals or sneaking in one more episode. These days, I’m rarely awake at 2am unless someone’s throwing up or having a nightmare. And let me tell you — nothing good happens then either. Not for them, not for me.
It turns out, she wasn’t just talking about parties. She was talking about exhaustion. About how bad decisions are born when you're tired, overextended, or just need sleep more than you know.“Your face ends at your neck.”
This one didn’t make sense to me as a teenager. I was washing my face with drugstore cleanser and sleeping in eyeliner — who cared about a neck? But now, when I’m applying moisturizer while staring at that line just under my chin, I hear her. And I don’t skip it.
“You get what you settle for.”
This one didn’t sting until it did. The job I stayed in too long. The friendships I kept out of guilt. The way I’d fold to keep the peace. She never meant for me to accept the bare minimum. And now I say it to my daughter, hoping it lands earlier.
“Take a bath. Drink some tea. Sleep on it.”
I used to think she didn’t want to talk. Now I realize she was trying to give me tools. Not everything needs to be fixed in the moment. Sometimes you need distance. A ritual. A pause. And more often than not, those three steps solve more than arguing ever did.
“You don’t have to be everything, every day.”
I didn’t understand this one at all. Wasn’t that the point — to be on top of everything, all the time? But she knew something I hadn’t learned yet: that motherhood, and life, isn’t a performance. Some days you show up with snacks and patience. Some days, you’re just trying to get through the afternoon. Both count. Both are enough.
I didn’t realize how much she knew until I needed to know it too. I didn’t see how much I was absorbing until I became the one handing out the advice.The things she said — the ones I rolled my eyes at, the ones I swore I’d never repeat — they stuck. And now they slip out of my mouth like they were mine all along.Maybe that’s the quiet legacy of mothers. Not always the grand lessons, but the phrases and instincts that settle into us over time. We carry them. We pass them on. We soften into them.They melt into us.