I’ve had my foot in my mouth for most of my life. If there’s one thing I can remember my mom incessantly reminding me about as a kid, it was to think before I spoke.
I got myself into trouble for the things that I said or the way that I said them more times than I can count. If it wasn’t my mom reprimanding me for being sassy toward her, it was my dad scolding me for using the wrong tone with him.
In my defense, the words just seemed to pour out before I had a chance to even know what I was going to say. I didn’t plan on back-talking my mom – it kind of just happened – though she didn’t like that explanation.
“Someday you’re going to say the wrong thing to the wrong person,” she said. “And it’s either going to make them very angry or very sad.”
I never took those words to heart because, well, I was an 8-year-old kid and I didn’t really care that much.
When I was 15, I went through a sort of rough patch. Heavy eyeliner, black hair and sad rock music dominated my life – along with a not-so-pleasant attitude.
“I hate you,” I screamed to my mom one day after she and I had finished an argument. Her face fell slightly and she responded only, “You don’t mean that.”
“Yeah. I do,” I replied, as I stomped off. I knew that I didn’t actually mean it but it was the only thing I could muster up at the time.
Something inside me told me afterward that I probably shouldn’t have said what I did, but I ignored the feeling.
When I was 18, I had my first serious relationship. Come to find out, love doesn’t always end in rainbows and butterflies.
Toward the end, fighting with him became a regular part of our conversations. They were never really big or serious arguments – until our last one.
I don’t even remember how the argument was started or what we were even arguing about, but it got really personal really quickly.
Basically, he told me what a terrible person I was for being so mean all the time and I told him that he was a whiny 12-year-old who needed to get over himself.
After an exchange of a few choice words, I hung up the phone in triumph, happy with what I’d said to him.
I am usually a person of no regrets – oddly enough, the more I thought about all the things I had said, the more I wished I could take it back.
Contrary to popular belief, I don’t like to make people feel bad – it makes me feel bad too. I’m not a terrible person – I just don’t always remember to think before I speak.
I’ve come to the conclusion that this is one of those things where I should have listened to my mom a lot earlier because she was right – though I won’t tell her that to her face.
I still constantly find myself with my foot in my mouth, though I’m beginning to really hate the taste of said foot.
I’m sorry for those mean things I said to you; I couldn’t get the right words out – my foot was in the way.
SAMANTHA GRISWOLD
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