We all need champions
ON MY birthday this month, a friend’s gift reminded me how much my encouragement and belief in her fabulosity meant to her, especially on bad days, or sad days.
It’s true that what people need most is to be held up, not broken down. Gossip and negative idle chatter chip at the links in our chains of confidence, wearing us, making us take as fact another’s smarmy, ill-informed opinion or perception. And we’ve all done it – though we’d be the first to deny this, particularly when we’ve been the target of cheap talk.
My friend’s compliment reminded me of why being – or having – a champion in your or someone else’s life, rather than a put-downer, is as crucial as good health and sound sleep.
I once was a guest on a well-known local TV show aimed at pregnant people and parents. One of the things I’ve learned about television is that even if there’s a script, there isn’t a script. You may think that we know what we’re doing up there, but more often than not, we don’t. And sometimes, that’s the best way to discover a valuable life lesson.
Sam Cowen asked me: ‘What is the best advice that you’d give a mom wanting to breastfeed?’ I knew that she was going to ask this and I had rehearsed a measured, informed response.
Instead, I raised my arm in the air, leaned forward and became emotional. I said: ‘Ask yourself – who is my champion? You just need one person to be that champion! With a champion, you know, even in your darkest moments, that someone – that one person – has your back.’
It was an impassioned, Springbok-like war cry, rather than the femininesque, wise approach expected. But I’ve never forgotten it, because it came from somewhere other than me – that place where universal truths pop out and cause you to shout ‘yes!’ in the middle of a movie or the street.
I have had the same champion since birth. If you do too – or if you’ve the opportunity to be one – I give my word that your life will be that much more meaningful and impressive.
No matter where I’ve been on the scale of life, my mother has embraced me, warts, wonders and all. When I was a fat teenager, she scoured shops to find me flattering neons and dainty heels for my first disco. I don’t know how I looked to other people that night, but to me – and mom – I was beautiful.
Before exams, she’d leave uplifting, cheery cards on my pillow, or in my suitcase, causing me to enjoy being loved and appreciated, rather than feeling worried and afraid of under-achievement. Sometimes, for no reason at all, she’d surprise me with breakfast in bed – egg in a cup, with toast soldiers and tea.
You see, a champion is there – always. They don’t show up only for the big moments, or to rescue you from relationship despair, or for regular coffee dates. A champion is that person who doesn’t just think you’re great, but knows it.
Imagine a world in which every one of us had a mom like mine? I used to feel sorry for anybody who didn’t – until I realised that being a champion probably is as perfect as having one. I love you, mom.