My Mom is the Main Character 

Nina Southern

Whether she realizes it or not, my mom’s the main character. Imagine someone with the looks of Mrs. Incredible, the aspirations of Lady Bird, and the stubborn personality of Liz Lemon from 30 Rock. Yep, that’s my mom– and I’ve been lucky enough to have front-row seats to watch her life evolve over the past twenty years.

Ever since I was little I was told I had a cool mom. I’d argue with my friends that she was actually strict and would become grumpy if my brother or I pushed her buttons. Looking back on it now, I realize the misunderstanding. My mom wasn’t cool because she let me stay up past my bedtime and have sleepovers on school nights. My mom was cool because she was just like the rest of us. She made mistakes and didn’t let adulthood stop her from doing what she loved.

When I was younger, my grandparents would drive to the city every year so my mom could go to music festivals with my dad; Coachella, Virgin Fest, you name it. I still love stalking my dad’s old Instagram posts to find pictures of her asleep on the couch of their rental home, with the caption, “We’ve got a rocker down.” When I was in third grade she drove me three hours to Charlottesville to see Vampire Weekend in concert. I had school the next morning… and my first standardized test. On the drive home that night, my mom made sure to remind me that I should try my best, but standardized tests don’t mean shit and experiences are the things that matter.

My mom taught me how to make the best midnight snacks. She advised me to always pick comfort over style when it came to fashion. Plus, she gave me the best friendship advice. She seemed to know how to fix any relationship problem. I think that’s why I was so mad at her when she got divorced from my dad.

I didn’t like that she started inviting her friends over for Taco Tuesdays instead of having family dinners. I didn’t like her new boyfriends, and I made sure to write in my journal: Never name your kid that! And I didn’t like that she and my dad continued getting along. It was all so confusing. It felt like the movie paused. How could I feel so much anger towards Mrs. Incredible, towards Lady Bird, towards Liz Lemon? How could I be angry at my mom?

I’m not going to lie, even with all the pain and anger building up inside me, I didn’t want anyone to think of her as anything less. I ached thinking that my friends would know she was getting a divorce because I didn’t want them to label her as something she wasn’t. She was still my mom. She was still a cool mom because everything she was going through was a part of her coming-of-age story. She faced the uncomfortable, so her daughter could grow up watching a woman happier than ever before, live her life.

Being the daughter of a main character is incredible. I’ve seen her rekindle relationships with her high school friends as she flies out to the Midwest to watch them compete in cycling races. Oh, and back in November, I got this text from her: “Hey. I’m going to Iceland solo for Thanksgiving!” She had never traveled out of the continent before, and I got to hear about all her adventures and gush about them to my friends. And now, every time there’s a school break, I giggle on my drive back to DC imagining living through the stories she’s going to tell me… imagining having my main character moment. My coming of age story doesn’t need to end now that I’m twenty. If anything, my movie just started. And I owe it all to my mom, the main character.

Edited by Renee Arlotti & Elisabeth Kay