Latest / YOUR AVERAGE DELTON / EPISODE 12: WHO TAKES CARE OF MOM
Transcript
- DELTON DEAL: Hey guys, welcome back to the Average Dalton. This is the space where we discuss real life, real loss, and the things that most people never see. No filters, no pretending. Just truth. Now today I really want to talk about mothers. But more importantly, it's for the children who still have their mothers here and may not fully realize what that means. I need people just to hear this all the way through, not defensively, not with explanations already forming, not with, yeah, but my mom. Just hear it. Because there are mothers everywhere, silently breaking inside while still loving their children with everything they have. One of them might be your mom. You know, something happens over time in families. Children grow up. Life gets busy, responsibilities pile up, stress takes over, and slowly, without meaning to, people stop seeing their mother as human beings. She becomes mom. Just mom. The person who calls too much, the person who worries too much, talks too much, repeats stories too much, asks too many questions, needs too much reassurance. Now, what scares me is how many people become impatient with the very person who spent decades being patient with them. Have you ever really stopped and looked at your mother? Not as a mom, not as a role, not as Somebody whose job it was to take care of everybody. But as a woman, as a human being, Because before she was your mother, she was someone. She had dreams, insecurities, fears, hopes, a personality, a heart capable of being hurt and being loved. And somewhere along the way, many mothers stop being treated like people and start being treated like emotional utilities. Expected to give endlessly without needing anything back, expected to always understand, always forgive, always support. Always answer the phone, always show up emotionally, even when nobody is showing up for them. And that hurts mothers more than people realize, I think. Do you know what mothers carry, honestly? They carry everybody's schedule: the birthdays, appointments, groceries, emotional atmosphere of the house, the tension. Nobody talks about the worrying, nobody sees. they carry the remembering, the parts that people overlook. Mothers remember everything. Who's struggling emotionally, who sounded sad on the phone, who's stressed, who's fighting in their marriage, who didn't eat enough, who's distant like. Even after their children become adults, many mothers still mentally carry the emotional map of the entire family every day. And that's what's heartbreaking. And what's heartbreaking is they usually do it quietly. Nobody hands them a trophy. Nobody says, thank you for emotionally carrying all of this for this many years. Most mothers just keep doing it because love trained them to. And eventually something painful happens. The woman who spent decades making everybody feel emotionally safe starts becoming a person nobody speaks gently to. That should bother people more than it does. Adult children don't always realize how mothers feel tone. You may forget the conversations five minutes later. she won't. She remembers the sigh before you answer, the irritation in your voice, the rush response, the interruption, the moment you made her feel foolish for asking a question. And maybe you didn't mean anything, Bobby. Maybe you were stressed, busy, distracted, overwhelmed. But pain doesn't disappear just because harm wasn't intentional. That's really important to understand. A mother can feel dismissed even when you didn't mean to dismiss her. And many mothers spend years silently absorbing emotional pain from the very children they would die for. Think about this for a second. the same woman who sat beside your bed when you were sick now hesitates before calling because she's afraid she'll annoy you. The same woman who celebrated every tiny thing you did now feels nervous about talking too much because she senses you're impatient. the same woman who made your world feel safe, now sometimes feel emotionally unsafe around her own children. That's devastating. I don't think enough people sit with that heartbreak. You know what I think happens? I think familiarity makes people careless. We assume our mothers will always be there, always forgiving, always understanding, always loving us no matter how we speak to them. And because of that, people slowly stop handling their mother's heart gently. Not out of cruelty or assumption. We'll assume there will always be another phone call, another holiday, another visit, another chance to slow down and listen until one day there isn't. And by then, all the rushed conversations in the world can't be undone. One of the saddest things about mothers is how quietly they suffer. Mothers do not loudly announce their heartbreak. They cry privately, replay conversations privately, feel rejected privately. Some sit silently after phone calls, wondering what they said wrong. Some stop sharing stories because they're tired of being interrupted. Some stop Calling all together because rejection hurts too much. And many adult children never notice. That's the tragedy. A lot of mothers suffer silently while protecting their children from the guilt of knowing how hurt they really feel. That's how deep maternal love runs. Even wounded mothers still try not to burden their children emotionally. Now listen, this is not about guilt. It's about awareness because I believe people don't realize what's happening until it's too late. Life moves fast. People are exhausted. Working, raising kids, managing stress, trying to survive. And sometimes kindness gets lost in the chaos. But stress is not permission to stop being gentle with your mother. Because while you're building your life, your mother is aging. That's the reality nobody emotionally prepares for. While you're distracted, trying to survive adulthood. Your mother is quietly growing older in the background of your life, still checking her phone, still waiting for the call, still wanting connection, still loving you in the way that never fully stops. And mothers rarely ask for much. That's another heartbreaking part. Most of them are not asking for grand gestures. They're asking for softness. Patience when they repeat themselves. A few extra minutes on the phone. A kind tone, eye contact, presence. To not feel like a burden for loving their children deeply. I don't think that's asking too much. You know what adult children often misunderstand? Aging changes people emotionally too. As mothers grow older, many become more sensitive emotionally, not weaker, more aware of loss, more aware of time, distance, loneliness, change. And many others start grieving quietly long before death enters the picture. They grieve the family changing, the children becoming busy, the closeness fading, the silence increasing. and because society often dismisses older women emotionally, many mothers feel invisible while carrying enormous emotional weight. People joke, she's just emotional. She worries too much, she's dramatic. No. Mothers are carrying decades of love, sacrifice, fear, exhaustion, and emotional labor that nobody fully sees. That changes a person. And yes, mothers are imperfect. Absolutely. Some made mistakes, some caused pain, some struggle emotionally themselves. Mothers are human beings, not saints, but most mothers gave more of themselves than their children will ever fully comprehend. They sacrificed sleep, peace, time, energy, opportunity, sometimes even their dignity, even their identity. Some mothers spent so many years taking care of everybody else, they forgot what they were outside of motherhood. Think about that. Imagine giving decades of your life to loving people, only to eventually feel tolerated instead of cherished. Now, see, I think that pain cuts deep. Do you know how painful it is for a mother to feel unwanted? By her own children, to feel like her presence is too much. to feel like she's bothering the people she wants built her entire life around. That's a level of heartbreaking people don't understand until they become parents themselves. Because when you truly love someone, their rejection hits differently. Now we all know mothers love deeply. Even when exhausted, even when disrespected, even when overlooked. That's why mothers continue showing up emotionally long after they're hurt. You gotta really hear this. I think one of the biggest regrets people carry after losing their mother is realizing they confused familiarity with permanence. They thought, there's always gonna be more time, more conversations, more holidays, more chances to say, I appreciate you. I'm sorry, I love you. Tell me that story again. And then suddenly the chair is empty. phone stops ringing. The voice you once rushed off the phone is gone forever. That silence hits people harder than you can ever imagine. Then comes guilt. I should have listened longer. I should have been more patient. I didn't realize how much she needed softness too. That realization breaks people because grief has a brutal way of replaying moments we took for granted. You know, I want people listening right now to really think about this. What kind of emotional experience does your mother have when she interacts with you? Does she feel safe, welcomed, valued? Or does she feel she has to carefully measure every word so she doesn't annoy you? The question matters because a mother shouldn't have to walk on eggshells to be loved by her own children. And let me say this. Kindness towards your mother is not weakness. Some people act like patience is exhausting. listening five extra minutes is some unbearable inconvenience. But one day you would give anything to hear that voice again. Anything, one more story, one more phone call, one more be careful drive. Did you eat today? One more I love you. And people don't realize the value of ordinary moments until ordinary moments disappear forever. That's the tragedy of life. We understand importance most clearly through absence. So slow down, seriously. Slow down long enough to notice your mother's aging. Notice the changes in her voice, her energy, her memory. Notice the effort she makes to still stay connected to you. Because mothers continue loving at full capacity long after their children stop noticing the effort. And if your mother is still here, you still have time. Time to soften, time to listen better, time to be gentler. Time to stop treating warmth like inconvenience. And honestly, that matters more than you realize. One day, all the things that irritate you now may become the exact things you miss the most. The repeated stories, the questions, the worrying, the checking in. Because underneath all of that was a mother's love, not perfect love. Human love, but real love. The kind that stays awake worrying, the kind that remembers details, the kind that never fully stops caring, no matter how old you get. Mothers carry that love their entire lives, even when tired, when hurt, when unappreciated. So to every adult child listening? Remember this, your mother is not just mom. She's a human being who spent decades carrying emotional weight while trying to make life feel safer for everyone else. Speak to her gently. Be patient when she repeats herself. Let her finish the damn story. Answer the phone with warmth. Stop correcting the little things. Stop acting like her love is an inconvenience. Because one day you will wish for one more conversation that you were too busy or too distracted to fully appreciate. And to the mothers listening. If nobody has told you lately I'll tell you, what you carry mattered. Your love mattered. Your sacrifice mattered. I know people fail to say it enough, but if you're lucky enough to still have your mother here, make sure she feels loved while she can still hear it. Hey guys, thanks for listening. This is your average Del. If this episode spoke to you, share it with someone who still has a chance to love their mother a little softer. And maybe tonight, make a phone call. Stay on the phone longer. Listen a little deeper. Ask a few more questions. Because one day you would do anything for one more ordinary moment. If something here spoke to you, don't keep it buried. Share your story. Leave a comment. Sit with it as a reminder. Just carry it a little longer. ⁓ Thanks for listening, guys. This has been your average Delton. And I want you to remember this. Your life is the only sermon some people will ever hear. Make it loud. And so I'll leave you with this. Before she was mom, she was a girl with a name. Now standing in the kitchen and absorbing your blame. you forget your sharp tone by the turn of the street while she sits with the sigh that you chose to repeat. She's growing older in the gaps that you leave, hiding the quiet rejection she carries in her sleeve. While a tragedy waits for the ringing to stop, silence makes the heaviest drop. So answer with softness and let her speak through. The world is impatient, but she lived for you. Let her finish the story and give grace to her years, choosing to love her out loud before she disappears. Guys, I'm your average Delton. Out.