“…..and daughters are their mothers” 

I guess if sons are their fathers- then daughters must be their mothers. 

I’ve never really gotten on with my mother. From a very young age I lived with a white British family, from maybe 2 months to school age at around 5. 

So my first mother figure wasn’t actually my mum. It wasn’t  even an African/Nigerian person, it was a white British woman who looked nothing like me- but she showered me with love and care. And at 5, the age your meant to start full time education I went to live back with my birth mother. It was a culture shock!! My British family were loving, affectionate, caring and soft, my mum was a harsh, aggressive, loud disciplinarian. I hated living with her and desperately wanted to go back to living with my British family. 

The earliest menomries I have of my mum is a woman who always worked. She had 2 jobs, a career at night and I’m actually not sure what her day job was. But my mum was the main bread winner of the family- she brought in the money and my dad was a student. He worked, but part time and his focus was the studying. 

I also remember the beating my dad would give my mum. My dad would fight my mum like he was fighting a man- she’d fight back though- but my dad was a tall athletic man. He would break furniture on her, she’d be bleeding. My dad was callous with it. Even if me and my siblings were there- he was unbothered. 

Maybe a year later, my dad left for Nigeria and I rarely saw him. But they remained married- he cheated on her and produced 2 sons, but she stayed. Always stayed. I think she was embarrassed to leave, embarrassed.i also think she didn’t want any other woman reaping what she felt she’d sewn. But for all intent and purposes, she was a single mum- my dad didn’t help financially, mentally or physically. She may have not been divorced legally but there marriage ended when he left when I was 6. 

Fundamentally I feel that I am my mothers daughter because I have stayed in fruitless relationship which I know are sinking but I refuse to bail because of a warped sense of loyalty. I become the main care giver in relationships, neglecting my needs and hoping and praying my needs will be fulfilled- knowing they won’t be- but staying anyway. Believing a woman’s role in a relationship is to endure- to sacrifice, to compromise on every last standard I had, until I have no standards at all and I am left with no voice. 

My mum called my dad once and his mistress responded – maybe I was 13/14. She responded by informing my mum she was the mrs and they proceedd to argue over who was my dads wife. Eventually my dad told my mum he was taking a second wife. My mum begged, and begged, and begged. And I would do the same throughout my relationship- even though he cheated on me, even though he got someone else pregnant and she was keeping the baby I would end up begging him, just as my mum did my dad. 

When I would tell my friends about his baby situation and they would look at me baffled why I stayed- I’d proudly say my dad had kids outside of his relationship with my mother- it’s not the end of the world- knowing full well that the news had destroyed the world I was living in at the time. I took time off work, got prescribed antidepressants yet I was still fooling myself it wasn’t the end of the world- oh yes it was. I just didn’t accept it. 

I would cry, I would plead as if my life depended on it, please don’t leave me. I don’t know really why I begged like that but  I could not eat or function unless we were together. He’d maybe blank me for a few days and then just when I’m starting to consider whether he is worth it- he’d come back into my life like he’d never left. I learnt to beg like that from my mum. I learnt how to fiiercly guard my man- didn’t matter whether he was a good man, didn’t matter whether he broke my heart repeatedly, I learnt how to guard a man before I guard my own heart through my mother. And I suspect she learnt that from her mother- my granddad had 3 wife’s but my mum’s mum was the favourite- the only one he lived with and died with. I’m sure my grandmother stood guard. 

So I guess daughters are thier mothers…. however much they might not agree. 

6 thoughts on ““…..and daughters are their mothers” 

    1. Yes, it’s so strange as I feel like I’m so totally different from my mum, she was born and bred in Africa, I’m born and bred in London- but fundamentally she’s taught me her ways! Thanks for the comment x

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      1. Yea the same thing happened to me. My mom was born and raised in Guyana while I’m born and raised in America. So all my childhood I’m like “I’m nothing like my mom. I’m my own person” Then in my teen years I realized I’m exactly like my mom when my aunt told me about some of our similarities

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