Yesterday, on Mother’s Day, I heard a mom say, regarding her teenage son, “he’s gonna ruin my special day.” The reality of the situation, from my perspective, was that she appeared to be ruining every day of his life. I recognize I’m an outsider looking in, seeing a piece of the puzzle, but to belittle, name call, shame and repeatedly hurt the child that, ironically, provides the reason you’re to be celebrated at all seems wrong to me. I’ve never been huge on Hallmark holidays. I’ve worked every Mother’s Day since I became a mother. I’m not trying to earn a martyr ribbon. Typically, none of the moms that I meet at work planned on spending Mother’s Day in the hospital, with their sick child. I know I will work, every weekend, and I get paid to be there. That’s not the case for the mothers of patients.

I guess, when given the choice, I would rather be celebrated, appreciated and loved equally the other 364 days of the year. So, I’m a little needy perhaps. High expectations. However, I will never scoff at flowers or leave chocolates unopened very long, but if you brought them to me with a thoughtful card on say, a random Tuesday, I would smile and be joyful that you cared. On that Tuesday. And I actually was spoiled on the morning of Mother’s Day. I got sprayed down with three different perfumes by three over excited little boys. I also came home to some really cool porch lights, thanks to their dad.

I don’t have teenage sons yet. I’m sure they can be difficult, like all children of all ages. Frustrating. And draining at times. That mom reminded me of how selfish we, humans, can be. It’s typically all about us. All of the time. Even when we try really hard to be aware of the selfish eyes we filter everything through.

It’s a challenging, humbling thing to not take everything so personally. No matter how conscious we are of our own egotistical tendencies, our initial reaction is hard to tame. Why would she do that? Just to make my life miserable, I’m sure. Wait…We have our thoughts, our experiences, and our beliefs about others and we tend to think we know what everyone else is thinking. Especially when they never tell us, using their own mouth and words. I react. And a lot of times, it’s in the form of jumping. To conclusions. Making it about me. When it’s definitely not. That hindsight can be a phenomenal teacher. If we ever venture into her classroom. Ugghhh. I typically think how something first and foremost will affect me. My over eager pride calls “shotgun,” always wanting to be right up there in the front seat. Ready to be the first wounded passenger when things get out of control. After all, pride never wears a seatbelt. Obviously. It doesn’t need a seat belt. It’s. Pride.

We need people who can tell us our faults. Open our eyes. Remove the debris. Help us out, without fearing the repercussions. How rude for someone to remove our planks only to have them hurled hysterically back in their direction. I tend to gravitate towards people who will tell me I have mascara running down my face. Or will flat-out say “you have something green in your teeth.” Or much harder, they will say that I’m overreacting, over feeling, or being selfish. I think we all want to be better versions of ourselves. It just takes the right people to help us on the journey. I hope if I ever did something, said something, or didn’t do or say something that hurt you that you would know that you have an open invitation to my front seat. I want to be better. You may just have to sit on or shove that pride out-of-the-way. And that’s fine with me.