The Best Advice My Mom Ever Gave Me

—A Heartfelt Journey of a Mother’s Wisdom That Still Guides Me—

It was one of those gray autumn afternoons in New Jersey—where the sky feels low, the wind carries the scent of dry leaves, and the world seems to slow down. I was twelve, and my world had just cracked a little.

Middle school wasn’t kind to me. I was the quiet kid, the one with a strange last name, hand-me-down shoes, and a stutter that wouldn’t leave me alone. That day, a group of kids laughed at the way I pronounced “presentation” and mimicked me in front of the whole class. I tried to laugh it off, but it stayed with me like a cold shadow.

I walked home slower than usual. Our small two-bedroom apartment felt unusually quiet. My mom was in the kitchen, humming an old song from her youth, stirring a pot of lentil soup—her favorite comfort food for chilly days.

I sat down at the kitchen table, trying to keep it together. But she could see right through me.

“What happened?” she asked, gently placing a bowl in front of me.

“Nothing,” I muttered.

She didn’t press. Instead, she sat down across from me, her hands folded. After a few moments of silence, she said something I didn’t expect.

“People who laugh at others are usually hiding something they don’t want anyone to see.”

I looked up at her.

She smiled softly and continued, “Listen, sweetheart. You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone who doesn’t care to understand you. But never, ever believe that their words define you.”

I didn’t fully understand her then. But her words stayed with me like a lantern in a dark place.

As I grew up, her advice became my compass.

When I failed my driver’s test on the first try, I was embarrassed. I felt like I wasn’t good enough, like maybe everyone was right about me. She handed me the keys again and said, “Failure is just life asking if you’re ready to try one more time.”

When I didn’t get into my dream college, I sat in my room for hours, staring at the rejection letter. She knocked, came in with two mugs of hot cocoa, and said, “Sometimes, God closes one door to give you a better view from another. Keep walking.”

And when I moved out for college, nervous and scared, she stood at the door with tears in her eyes and said, “You’re going to make mistakes. That’s how you grow. Just remember who you are, and don’t let the world make you forget.”

But the most powerful advice she gave me came later—when life knocked the wind out of me.

I was 25, living in Chicago, working a job that paid the bills but slowly drained my soul. I was in a relationship that made me feel invisible. I had dreams, but they felt childish now. One night, after a particularly rough day, I called her. I didn’t even say hello. I just said, “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

She paused for a moment and then said, “That’s okay. You don’t have to have it all figured out. Just don’t give up on yourself.”

I was silent.

She added, “You are not your job, or your mistakes, or your broken heart. You’re my child—and that means you come from strength. And love. And purpose.”

Something about those words hit me differently that night. I cried. Really cried.

From that day on, I started to rebuild.

I left the job that drained me. I got therapy. I wrote again—something I hadn’t done since high school. I even self-published a short book of poetry. I found friends who didn’t just like me for who I pretended to be, but for who I was when the mask was off.

And through it all, my mother’s words guided me.

When she passed away two years ago, I thought I’d fall apart completely. But in her old journal, I found a note she had written to herself:

"He doesn’t see it yet, but my son is becoming everything I ever prayed for."

It shattered me. But it also built something new inside me—strength from her, even in absence.

So, if you ask me what was the best advice my mom ever gave me, I’ll tell you this:

“You are not what they say. You are who you choose to become.”

And I’m still becoming. Still growing. Still guided by the love of a woman who believed in me before I knew how to believe in myself.