Stage Mother

Oh the joys of being home. Today as I was practicing at T-minus 45 hours until recital time, my mother comes in the room and looks at me... She says, " You're going to be mad at me. But I think you are playing the music, but you're not PLAYING it. You're not feeling it. You don't really feel the mood of it." I think that could have been the worst possible thing for her to say to me ever, other than, "you're dying", "I'm dying", "we're dying", or, " there's no more food."

Honestly, was she trying to be helpful? Is she a musician? NO. Has she ever made a sound on the flute? NO. Does she think I know what I'm doing? Does she know the piano part? NO. Has she even heard the music? NO. Was she drunk? Hmmm.

I have spent the majority of my life being criticized by some the the world's best musicians and when I come home, I would like to just feel supported. I don't want to be inspired or helped, and I don't need to be taught. I would just like to be loved and left to work in piece.