A Knock I Couldn’t Ignore: The Other ‘L’ Word

Today, I want to introduce you to a friend of mine. Well, ‘friend’ might be a stretch. Let’s just say she’s someone I know very well—maybe too well. 

Her name is Mama Fine. She’s… complicated. Picture a combination of a nosy neighbor, an uninvited therapist, and that one auntie who always has thoughts about your life, whether you ask for them or not. 

On her best days, Mama Fine is introspective, great at building connections, and I often leave her presence with a fresh perspective or an unexpected lesson. On her worst days, though, Mama Fine is… well, not so fine—bossy, inconsiderate, and she has this mean-girl way of either:

A) making me feel like I don’t matter, or
B) showing up uninvited at the worst times and refusing to leave.

She’ll pop in out of nowhere, almost always unannounced. It starts cordial enough, but then—like clockwork—it spirals quickly into chaos:

(Knock-knock. I open the door.)

I’m not kidding—this is how most of my interactions with her go. She’s rude, snarky, and takes way too much of my honey. But somehow, I always oblige.

The thing is, I’ve known her for years. She lives out of town but visits often—literally the only one bold enough to drop by uninvited, knowing she’s intruding, and not care at all. She’s the kind to put you in your place in your own home, call you out on your nonsense, act like she knows best, and, worst of all, she’s usually right.

She’s also my elder, and I was raised to respect my elders. So I let her in. I make her tea.

Once she’s settled, Mama Fine starts in:

“Where did you go today? When was the last time you (fill in the blank)?”

“You’re sulking—why are you sulking?”

Or, my personal favorite:

“I know you don’t like it when I come around, but you know I’m here for your best interest. It’s not about me; it’s about you. You understand that, right?”

She’s impossible, and I know this isn’t exactly ‘biblical blogger’ behavior. But hey, I’m also the ‘keep-it-real’ blogger, and Mama Fine? She’s a lot.

Every now and then, however, she pushes me too far. The questions, the criticism, her tone—it all piles up until I snap. I drop the niceties, drop the Mama talk, and call her by her first name:

“LONELINESS.”

“Enough! You are not the boss of me, sis!”

But Mama Fine doesn’t flinch. She just sets down her tea, crosses her arms, and looks at me with that infuriatingly calm expression.

“Oh, honey,” she says. “I’m not here to boss you. I’m here to remind you. Let’s talk—for real this time. What’s going on? I’m listening.”

And that’s when I break down. Through tears and rants and hiccups, I pour my heart out. My dreams, my fears, my frustrations.

I tell her how I’m scared and unsure if I’m doing any of this right, how she makes me feel invalid some days, and how I’ve worked too hard to be crying over her in the middle of my workday.

She nods knowingly, “Go on.”

I tell her how I miss my old life—the people who greeted me by name, the lively workshops where ideas bounced around, and the teamwork that made everything feel lighter. How I miss the steady guidance of my parents’ voices and the quiet reassurance of my boo’s hand holding mine. These days, every decision—from groceries to branding to which banking partner to choose—falls squarely on my shoulders. My world feels so quiet now, and I’m realizing just how much I long for the help, the connection, the community I once had—both in the office and at home, which is why her pop-ups don’t exactly help.

She listens. Patiently. And when I’m finally too spent to go on, she does her thing:

“My sweet girl. I’m on your side. I don’t show up to tear you down or distract you. I’m here because you mean too much to the world to keep pushing forward the way you have. It’s okay to miss the noise and the people. It’s okay to let me in sometimes. I’m here to hold your hand, not hurt you. You’re okay. This is all okay.”

And that’s when it hits me. Mama Fine isn’t the villain in this story. She’s the tough-love elder who shows up when I’ve been avoiding myself—the voice that says, “Feel it. Process it. Grow from it.”

Pushy? Yes. Unbearable? Absolutely. But she’s also right. When I stop shooing her away and let her sit with me, tea in hand (with her ridiculous amount of honey), she reminds me that loneliness isn’t my enemy. She’s my mirror. She reveals cracks I hadn’t seen—not to break me, but to guide me toward healing. 

Sometimes, the things we resist most have the greatest wisdom to offer. I guess that’s why I call her Mama Fine. She’s wise, like a mama. And though I still prefer she call ahead instead of barging in, after all the fighting, I surrender.

“Fine,” I tell her. “You win.”

And she does.

I know this may not apply to many of you, but for those who aren’t exactly where you had planned to be today, remember Mama Fine’s words: You’re okay. This is all okay.

Maybe loneliness isn’t here to ruin the day.

Maybe she’s here to save it.

A note from Erin: If these ideas or perspectives resonate with you, I’d love for you to subscribe or share them with someone you care about. If you’re looking to make a change or when the time feels right, I’m here to help. Check out my new “WORK WITH ME” page to explore how we can collaborate—or swing by my “CONTACT” page to say hello, ask a question, or start a conversation.