Phone Calls with My Mom: Love, Guilt, and the Art of Holding Me Together from a Distance

There’s something about a phone call with my mom that feels like stepping into an emotional tornado—equal parts chaos, unsolicited life coaching, and a kind of fierce, unshakable love that could probably power a small country if we figured out how to bottle it.

Today’s call started the usual way.

“Hi my girl, just checking in.”Casual, harmless… the opening notes of what I know is about to become a full symphony of concern, life advice, and a sneak attack on my eating habits.

“Are you eating enough?” she asks, every single time, like my survival hinges on whether I’ve had a proper meal that day.

“Yes, Mom. I’m eating.” (Conveniently leaving out the part where today’s main food group was caffeine with a side of existential dread.)

Then, right on cue:

“Have you met anyone nice yet?”

Ah, the relationship checkpoint—standard protocol.

“Nice how, Mom? Like, emotionally stable or just good at opening doors?”

She sighs, that signature Mom Sigh that somehow communicates concern, low-grade judgment, and deep, abiding love all at once.

And then, just when I think we’re about to wrap up, she hits me with the final boss level of emotional honesty:

“I just don’t want you to wake up one day and realize you’re… alone.”

And there it is—the line that always lands right where it’s supposed to. But this time, instead of dodging it, I just sat with it. Because behind that fear is something bigger: a lifetime of her holding things together, putting everyone before herself, and praying that my life will be a little easier, a little lighter, a little less lonely than hers ever allowed.

So I said, “Mom, I’m not alone. I’m surrounded by people I love. I’m learning to love myself. And honestly? That feels pretty full to me.”

She went quiet—just for a second. And then, like clockwork, she softened the moment the only way she knows how:

“Well, what are you making for dinner?”

Food—the universal language of I love you, even when I don’t know how to say it out loud.

The thing is, these calls aren’t about nagging. They’re her way of reaching across the miles, across all the things she never got to say when she was my age, across the mistakes she worries I’ll make and the heartbreaks she’s terrified I’ll have to face alone.

This is her love language—messy, complicated, a little heavy-handed, but so damn beautiful when you really listen.

I hung up smiling, feeling every ounce of her care settle somewhere deep and quiet in my chest. And yeah, for once, I made myself a real dinner. Because she’s right—some days, you don’t need a grand plan or a perfect life. You just need a full plate and the sound of someone’s voice reminding you that you’re loved, fiercely and completely, no matter what.

And that? That’s more than enough.

Don’t worry, though—I’m still not telling her she’s always right. Some traditions must be preserved. xoxo

~smy