I should like to share my story, one that I have carried with me for many years. I became a mother when I was still very young, by mistake and with no support from those around me. Now, looking back, my daughter is three, and though the journey has been anything but easy, I have found ways to pull through. There have been days when the weight of it all felt unbearable, as I alone have carried the burden of her well-being. Her father never cared for his responsibilities.
As I write this, my mind is full of swirling thoughts and worries. Lately, everything seems even more complicated, and there are moments when I truly dont know how Ill carry on. I feel worn out to the core. At times my spirits flag, but I push forward because I have the most important reason my daughter. I want to give her the love I never received myself.
My own father left even before I was born. My mother never gave me an ounce of affection, or if she ever did, I cannot recall it. She always seemed to care more for her various partners and their children than she did for me. If ever I needed clothes or a new pair of shoes, I was left to find a way myself; there was no point in asking her. She always claimed there was no money, but somehow, she managed to buy gifts for her partners children on their birthdays. When it was my own birthday, she would very often forget it altogether.
I watched as she gave them everything, and I kept silent because speaking up would only earn me accusations of being ungrateful. I remember how my school shoes finally wore through after two years of use. When they split, I tried to mend them so no one would notice, and my mother saw, but said nothing. Just three days later, she bought a brand new pair for her partners daughter, simply because she disliked her old ones.
There were many nights I quietly wept, wondering why my mother never wanted me, only them. In time, I realised she looked upon me as nothing but a burden. That is when I resolved to leave home. She hardly batted an eye; she never tried to find me. I carried on alone. Life was harsh, marked by endless sacrifices, but I never gave up.
Four or five years passed before I learned that her partner had left her for a younger woman, and his children had gone back to their real mother. She was left all alone. I felt a pang of sadness for her, though I didnt know what to do.
Sometimes I consider reaching out to see how she is, but I am afraid she would greet me with the same cold indifference. Perhaps it is best if we remain strangers to one another. What would you do, in my place?
