Mom, I Hated Journalism Because of You

Today is my mom's birthday. She's 53 and is upset right now because she's just read that I've published that fact on the internet. Sorry, mom, but the world needs to know that you've spent over a half a century busting your ass and becoming my hero.

Like most young girls, I grew up defiantly resolute that I would become the exact opposite of my mom in every way. For years I fought against my natur

al inclination towards writing, towards communicating because that's what she did. And what she did took her away from me.

Everyday after school my mom's assistant would pick me up and take me to Starbucks so that I could get a tall, double chocolate chip, cream based Frappucino before going taking me to my mom's office.

My mom was the founder and editor-in-chief of Charlotte Taste Magazine: a food, wine, art, home and style publication in, you guessed it, the Queen City. It sounds totally glamorous, and some parts of it were, but her office was the size of a walk in closet.

After school, I would sit on the floor in the hallway with my Frappuccino while she worked. Some days I would do my spelling homework; on other days I would try to tie my brother's shoe laces together -- if it happened to be an afternoon where I was feeling particularly "over it."

On Saturdays I was dragged with her to the office too. As a single mother of two with no childcare, she had no choice but to bring me along. I see that now, but I didn't then.

For many years I experienced life in a 6-week cycle, determined by the magazine's publication schedule. The term "going to press" meant a full week of listening to my mom on the phone with writers who missed their deadlines and advertisers who hadn't paid followed by a week of uninterrupted attention from my mom after the issue went out.

Those weeks were the best. My mom was available. She was engaged with me, listening to my stories and laughing at my jokes. But those weeks before the magazine was sent to the printer? They were the worst.

Those weeks were why I hated magazines and writing and journalism. I felt helpless, there, in the backseat of my mom's car. Part of me was frustrated that she wasn't paying me any mind, but I think a bigger part was worried that this would be the magazine issue that broke her. Seeing her stress levels skyrocket and knowing I couldn't do anything about it was a lot for my 6-year-old self to handle emotionally.

So sometimes I hated the magazine because of the horrible things it did to my mom. But sometimes I loved it. In 6th grade it got me out of school, and my mom and I went to Paris for a long weekend -- "for a story" she said. Before we left she brought home a pink pea coat with faux fur trim and a Juicy Couture train hat that I wore the entire trip. We stayed on the Champs Elysees and ate Macaroons at Laudree. I was so happy to have uninterrupted time with her.

But then we came back home, the 6-week cycle returned, and all too soon it was time to "go to press". I had such a love-hate relationship with that phrase; it still evokes a physical reaction in me when I see it written here on my screen.

But during all of those 6-week cycles I grew up. In 2008, my mom stopped publishing Charlotte Taste. At first a big part of me was happy, but watching my mom lose a part of herself when it happened dulled my joy.

In the years after the magazine, my hate for journalism and communication grew. My mom had been diagnosed with early-stage breast cancer. The doctors said stress could have been a factor; I thought back to all of those weeks when the magazine was "going to press".

But because of miracle or medicine, my mom fully recovered (her badass self will be 10 years cancer-free in October!) She moved on to work in marketing and strategy for a number of companies. And I went to college.

I declared a B.S. in psychology during my first academic advising meeting, but knew in the back of my mind that something wasn't right. I loved writing, and I loved learning about the way consumers thought, not just people in general. During my sophomore year, I knew I wanted to study advertising, and reluctantly walked in to The School of Media and Journalism to change my major. Since then, I've allowed myself to fall in love with writing and the study of communication -- in spite of what it did to my mom.

I've only recently acknowledged the contempt I had for journalism, and processed why it exists. But I think the realization has allowed me to cultivate more passion for the subject. Now, as a senior with just weeks left before I graduate, I have landed on a professional vision for myself: to work in strategy at a world-renowned ad agency in New York.

The other day, I had the chance to speak with a strategist at Saatchi & Saatchi, one of sed world-renowned agencies in New York. After the call, I pinged my mom. She mentioned casually that her first job after college was in accounts with that very agency. I laughed, and thought about what my 6-year-old self would say if she could have heard that conversation.

Mom, you are my hero, and I'm sorry that for so long I was your hopelessly obstinate daughter. I hope you know that now I would give anything to be exactly like you.