Motherhood and a Glimpse Through the Lens of My Dying Mum
About a year ago, I welcomed a wonderful boy into my life, an experience that has reshaped my perspective. Previously, I held the belief that opting out of parenthood was the boldest decision one could make, especially in the face of societal pressures.
As someone who came ‘late’ to the party, I understand how overwhelming it can be when you are unmarried and no kids at a certain age. When I say ‘late to the party’, I mean 36 years late, and in my culture, I became a parent at the ‘expired age’ of 36. This has offered me firsthand insight into the overwhelming nature of societal expectations surrounding parenthood.
I have always believed the choice to have children is deeply personal and that opting not to is equally valid.
I recall a time I stirred up a storm within my family simply by making a post on Facebook:
“Unpopular opinion;
The burden for the continuation of the human race isn’t yours to bear.
Your bloodline can end with you”.
The aftermath of that post made me feel as though I had confessed to being a cannibal or a terrorist. My phone was inundated with messages from family members and acquaintances, some expressing concern and offering prayers, while others were quick to rebuke what they perceived as a spirit within me. I even got referrals to spiritualists and mediums a few times.
I also noticed older family members were particularly sad on my behalf the minute I crossed the ‘expired’ age of 30, and I was still unmarried and without a child. When I ran into aunties that knew me while growing up, they looked at me with such pity, and I could tell they didn’t understand why I could be carefree about my ‘condition’.
To be candid, I did not take marital issues seriously enough nor was I concerned with having kids. To me, it has never been on my list of ‘what must happen’. Even as a little girl, I never dreamt of a wedding gown or fantasized about it. The mere thought of being a bride or the center of attention at a Nigerian wedding gives me panic attacks. I am not cut out for that carnival and do not crave humans’s company much so I had no internal pressure whatsoever. But I got to a point where the only functions I got invited to were burials, weddings, and my friends’ kids’ birthday parties.
It hits you that you’re getting older when you start going to funerals for people you knew. One day, you look around and notice that most of the older folks from your childhood are gone, and now you’re one of the older ones.
For the first time, I sat down and wrote out reasons to consider having kids, and honestly, I couldn’t think of a reason genuine enough to bring another human into the world. I went on Quora and Reddit to see what others had to say, and the only reason that seemed somewhat valid was the fear of loneliness in old age. But I’ve embraced solitude all my life, so maybe it was time to fully consummate our relationship. I used to say some people do not care if they die alone and their remains are discovered three months later.
Most people don’t know how indifferent I was to these things, and I avoided sharing my true feelings, especially with family members. I was already labeled as ‘weird’ by some, and I didn’t want to add ‘crazy’ to the list.
Then I met someone who really connected with me, and as our relationship grew, I found myself torn between embracing this beautiful experience or slipping back into my habit of self-sabotage. I’ve been fortunate to meet good people, but I’ve always struggled with getting too close or showing emotion, even though I care deeply. While I wasn’t unkind or erratic, I had a tendency to disappear without explanation.
I did some deep introspective work to confront the aspects of myself I had long avoided, specifically the root causes of my self-sabotaging behavior. This became the catalyst for me to break free from my self-destructive tendencies and embrace the potential for something meaningful.
I knew I had to be truthful to myself to break the cycle.
The first problem I discovered was that I was dealing with abandonment issues and this has made me form a fearful avoidant attachment. Despite my genuine care for others, I find myself overwhelmed by reciprocal affection. At the slightest hint of vulnerability on my part, I instinctively retreat into flight mode. It’s as though I’m saying, “I love and care for you, but I’d prefer not to rely on you for care.”
While I hastily concluded that I did not care about having kids, I realized that my apparent indifference was predominantly rooted in fear. I was not working with a professional therapist, but it was easy for me to identify these things and why.
To provide some context, my mother passed away when I was three years old, leaving behind five young children. As the youngest, I was separated from my siblings right after her death. I have no memories of my family or early life and didn’t reunite with any of my siblings or my father until I was 17.
While I am deeply grateful to the caregivers who nurtured and raised me, I’ve always felt like an outsider, looking into a world I never fully belonged to.
One of my earliest memories is of hiding behind the door in my maternal family’s house. It was Christmas, and my cousins were visiting. Everywhere was festive and lively, but I felt so out of place and ashamed. So, I hid behind a door, playing with my shoes, and nobody noticed. I couldn’t have been more than five years old at the time.
When a child’s emotional needs go unmet, the mind often resorts to detachment as a coping mechanism. Consequently, I’ve grown accustomed to solitude. I’ve become both my own companion and therapist. I acknowledge that my inclination towards isolation may not have been as pronounced had my childhood unfolded differently.
My lack of enthusiasm towards having children stemmed from projecting the hardships I endured during my upbringing onto any potential offspring. Based on my own experiences and those of my siblings, I couldn’t shake off the subconscious belief that bringing a child into the world would inevitably subject them to similar struggles.
However, I came to realize that this apprehension was a product of trauma, not a true representation of what could be. Each person’s path is distinct, and mine was significantly shaped by the loss of my mother. Then came the most daunting question:
What if something happens to you, too?
This question alone was enough to make me strongly consider reverting to my old pattern: living in the moment and avoiding establishing solid roots anywhere.
Was I going to let fear and past trauma dictate my life? Deep down, I knew the answer, but I also recognized the importance of being objective.
Overcoming fear and healing from trauma alone aren’t sufficient reasons to embark on parenthood. They could be compelling reasons not to, especially if one doubts their ability to be a good parent.
Coincidentally, my partner brought up the topic, and I opted to postpone the decision for a while. However, fate intervened when my last job before leaving Nigeria placed me in a fertility clinic. There, I gained firsthand insight into the struggle of infertility, particularly among older couples.
My intention is not to undermine anyone’s experience or instill fear in those awaiting their own ‘decisions’. However, the reality of the biological clock is undeniable. Despite witnessing the struggles of infertility in my professional environment, I didn’t want my decision to be solely influenced by those experiences.
After careful deliberation, I became convinced, to a considerable extent, that my partner and I could provide a nurturing environment for a child. While I could still choose to delay or forgo parenthood altogether, I recognized the potential for greater regret in the future if I opted not to have children especially when I knew that decision was based on fear. I love children.
I raised a crucial question to my partner: Would our bond remain sufficient if we couldn’t have children? Even with medical assistance, the chance of conception might remain uncertain. Personally, if it were beyond our control, it wouldn’t disrupt my contentment in life.
Yet, it was crucial for me to ascertain if my partner shared this outlook — that our relationship thrived on companionship and mutual support, irrespective of whether we became parents or not.
The next hurdle I faced was the question of financial stability. Despite knowing I wouldn’t be navigating parenthood alone, I felt like my financial standing wasn’t secure enough to support a child. I was contemplating whether I needed to work harder, save more — I made a vow as a child never to subject my own offspring to the financial struggles I endured or leave them at the mercy of others. However, I had to remind myself that my partner wasn’t just anyone; he would be equally responsible for our child’s upbringing.
I confided this concern to a mentor who was aware of my struggles, and his response was laced with sarcasm. He cynically asked me how many millions I had managed to accumulate from years of working and waiting for the “appropriate” time all along.
Despite dedicating most of my life to work, I had little to show for it financially. While I was content with where I stood, it didn’t align with the years of effort I had invested. Perhaps it was time to loosen my grip on caution and allow myself to relax a bit.
I recalled the words of a neighbor from my school days who often chided me for being overly cautious. He would say that those who tiptoed around every potential misstep while walking often ended up stumbling into larger pitfalls. In other words, your greatest fears are more likely to materialize if you continue to dwell on them.
Sometimes, the seemingly important decisions and events are not as important as what we think in determining one’s life; it is what you do and create for yourself afterward to live a meaningful life. Either way, one’s life can still turn out amazing but just in different ways.
One weekend, I went back to my uncle’s house, the place where I was raised. He was out of the country, and the house was empty except for one of my cousins who was busy with work as well. I was off work for a and decided to indulge in some “Netflix and Chill” time. The first suggestion that popped up was ‘Look Both Ways.’ Despite not being a fan of romantic comedies or slow-paced films, I clicked on it without reading the synopsis. Surprisingly, it addressed most of the uncertainties and anxieties I had been grappling with.
In that moment, it felt like a clear message from a higher power about the next stage of my life. It reminded me that life can still unfold beautifully, even amidst the uncertainties and unexpected bends along the way.
It’s been almost a year since I became a mother. I’ve discovered a strength within myself that I hadn’t realized existed. However, it’s not the kind of strength born from enduring negativity. When people call me strong, I don’t want it to be an acknowledgment of a life filled with hardships or a medal for the severity of my trauma. I am proud of my healing and growth.
I remember the day we brought him home from the hospital; I kept staring at him, thinking, ‘What have you done?’ It dawned on me that this was indeed another human being, and I was overcome with a wave of fear. But I got down on my knees and prayed. Whenever I feel any form of fear, I pray. I know some people say prayer doesn’t work, that it’s just a coping mechanism, but it doesn’t hurt. I love the placebo effect. Besides, there are far worse destructive coping mechanisms out there. Prayer calms me; it’s like meditation. I envy those who have it all figured out, but for me, I’ll still ask for help if there are indeed unseen forces willing to guide humans.
Becoming a mother has prompted deep reflection on my own mother, particularly her final days on earth. I have no memories of her, so it’s challenging to miss someone you never knew. I’ve been told that she requested for me to be taken to her family if her illness progressed to a terminal stage. I can’t fathom the emotions she must have experienced as death drew near, the prospect of leaving her young children behind. Did she manage to give us one last embrace? Did she have the chance to gather us all together for a final moment? I also think back to myself at three years old, wondering how I felt suddenly not recognizing anyone around me. Did I call out for her? How long did it take for me to forget everyone I once knew?
I understand that healing from childhood trauma is a gradual process; just when you think you’ve made progress, you find things in you that should be changed.
However, I’m learning to be patient with myself. I realize that I must first show empathy towards the wounded child within me to become the best version of myself in my current journey of growth.
…And if the departed can observe, I hope she sees that her little girl not only survived but is thriving. I hope she finds joy in knowing that her baby now has a baby of her own.
…and here is to all parents, It doesn’t matter if this is your first, second, third, or even twentieth. It doesn’t matter if you planned for this or not, married, or single, winging this alone or with a supportive partner rubbing your feet, family members dropping by with pies, and all your craving needs. What matters right now is that you are here, this is real.
You’ve got this; maybe fearfully, timidly, burnt out or whatever it is that makes you look in the mirror not sure of whose reflection you see staring back at you, you’ve got this. I join myself with the collective consciousness of all great parents in history and with them that wish you well, from our hearts to yours we breathe strength, harmony, love, abundance and peace to you.
You’ve got this.
