I’m 41, Dependent On My Mom & I’m OK With That

I’m 41 years old. I have four children, a whole career, a marriage, a mortgage, and several responsibilities that I only occasionally forget about. By all accounts, I am a full-functioning adult woman.

And yet, my mother still basically raises me.

And I’m okay with it.

Before anyone lectures me about independence, boundaries, re-parenting my inner child, or whatever TikTok therapy phrase is trending this week, let me tell you something important: my mom was 18 when she had me. Legally an adult, emotionally in the same neighborhood as adolescence, and fashionably still wearing the kind of cool jeans only a #hotgirl could pull off.

We quite literally grew up together. She’s my mom, but she’s also my best friend, my emotional support human, and the person who comforts me when I am having a meltdown — which, to be fair, is not rare. Our relationship is equal parts mother/daughter, sisters, and two women who probably should not be left unsupervised in HomeGoods.

And she hosts everything. Not because she has to, but because I can’t cook. I mean, if I hosted at the holidays my extended family would be served chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs. And my mom cooks delicious dishes, filled with all kinds of fancy ingredients I can’t pronounce with little-to-no-risk of burning the house down. So I show up with a smile on my face and a great cheerleading voice and pretend I contributed.

Her advice is still my emotional lifejacket. Anytime I’m in a hard situation — kid stuff, work stuff, life stuff — I immediately go to her for directions. And honestly, she always knows the answer. Or she doesn't, but she says it confidently enough that I believe her. Half my life’s stability is built on her ability to sound sure while giving advice in pajama pants. Thank God.

She even buys me things. Sure, I’ll pretend to fight her on it while I load my goods onto the register counter. She pays for my nails when we get them done together. I'm not sure when this began, but now it’s tradition, and who am I to disrespect tradition?

So maybe I’m dependent. Or maybe we are just us.

When you grow up close to your mom, and she becomes your safe person, your advisor, your built-in best friend, your “I’ll pick up the kids because I know you’re overwhelmed” person… it doesn’t feel like dependence. It feels like partnership. It feels like history. It feels like luck.

Sure, I rely on her. Sure, she still treats me like her baby even though I’m a grown woman with bills and laugh lines.

But she’s my mom.

And if being 41 and still dependent on her makes me a little childish?

Well, fine.

I know she’ll help me fix that too.

Samm is an ex-lawyer and mom of four who swears a lot. Find her on Instagram @sammbdavidson.