Okay, so today I gotta share how I actually made that short “mom” speech thing happen. Y’know, the one for beginners? Simple words, straight from the heart. Sounds easy? Man, it wasn’t at first.
Started like I always do: blank screen panic. Just sat there staring. Thought, “Gotta find a cool quote, something famous.” Googled for like 20 minutes, scrolling through fancy words nobody actually says. Felt totally fake. Gave up on that idea fast. This ain’t Shakespeare, right?
The Sticky Note Phase
Gotta brainstorm for real. Grabbed a stack of sticky notes. Shoved my laptop aside. Closed my eyes and tried to actually see my mom. Like, really see her.
Scribbled down stuff without overthinking:
- Her hands – gardening, kneading dough, patting my head when sick.
- Her voice – singing badly, worried calls.
- Small stuff – warming my towel, saving my toys, the way she sighs.
- Big stuff – working long hours, skipping things she wanted.
Ended up with a messy pile of sticky notes stuck all over the desk. Looked nuts, but suddenly felt real.
Forced Simplicity & Cutting the Fat
Time to shape it. My first draft? Oof. Rambled on about societal expectations of motherhood! Who talks like that? Definitely not beginners. I sounded like a textbook. Cringe.
Slapped myself mentally. “Keep it simple, stupid!” Crossed out whole paragraphs. Swore under my breath.
Looked back at my sticky notes. Focused on ONE thing: the feeling of safety she always gave me. That became my anchor.
Wrote a new opening line, stupid simple: “When I think of my mom, my strongest feeling is… safe.” That felt… better. Real.
Then tried building tiny scenes around that feeling, using the sticky note stuff:
- Waking up coughing at 3 AM, her hand on my forehead.
- Her stained apron, making my favourite weird snack.
- Her tired smile after work, asking “How was school?”
Each one tiny. Specific. Used short sentences. Like talking to a friend, not writing a thesis.
The “Heartfelt” Part: Digging Deeper
Okay, got some scenes. Still felt surface-level. Needed that heartfelt part.
Asked myself the tough question: “What did she give up, just for me, that I actually noticed?” Forgot the grand sacrifices – thought small.
Remembered this dumb microwave story: She dropped my favourite plate once. Food went everywhere. Looked devastated like she’d broken a priceless vase. Why? Because she knew I loved that plate. Hit me. She cared about my tiny joys THAT much.
That story went in. No fanfare, just raw: “She once accidentally dropped my favourite plate… and cried harder than I did about the spilled food.” Boom. That showed the care, not told it.
The Epiphany Moment: The heartfelt part isn’t about describing love. It’s about showing that one tiny moment where you FELT it, pure and simple. That’s what sticks.
Rehearsing: Finding the Flow (and Crying)
Had a super short draft now. Read it out loud. Felt robotic. Started pacing around my kitchen table.
Decided to record myself on my phone, just audio. Listened back.
- Cut big words (“discomfort” became “felt weird”).
- Broke long sentences into breath-sized chunks.
- Made the microwave story slower.
Read it again, thinking of the plate shattering. Voice cracked near the end. Whoops. Guess it worked? Yeah, I got a bit misty. But hey, if it hits me, maybe it hits others.
Ended it simple too: “It wasn’t about the plate… it was her thinking mine mattered.” That felt like enough.
Total? Maybe 2 minutes tops.
Final Thoughts: It’s Messy Work
This isn’t magic. It’s digging through junk drawer memories until you find the one chipped plate that somehow means everything. You gotta ditch the big words, find the small stories, and then be brave enough to say them simply. My rough drafts were garbage. Didn’t matter. Kept going. The real feeling? That came from focusing on one tiny, true moment that I still cared about, years later.
Honestly? If I started crying over a microwave plate story while practicing… well, maybe beginners can find one small thing that hits them too. That’s the goal. Forget perfect speech; just find that one small thing.
