Growing up, I watched my mother give until she had nothing left. She was the kind of woman who would wake up before the sun and collapse into bed long after it had set, only to wake up and do it all over again. A woman who never ate until everyone else had been served, who wrapped her love in silence and sacrifice. I saw her stretch herself thin, putting everyone before herself—husband, children, even relatives who never really returned the favor. And I told myself, I will never be like her.
I would not be the woman who swallowed pain and called it endurance. I would not be the woman who stayed quiet when she deserved to be heard. I would not be the woman who made herself small so others could shine. I wanted more. I wanted different. I wanted better.
But here I am.
Standing in front of my mirror, looking at my tired reflection, I see pieces of my mother in me. The same hands that once clutched her wrapper while I cried are now wiping away my own exhaustion. The same voice that told me to ‘just manage’ when times were tough is now whispering to me to hold on a little longer. The same woman I vowed never to become is staring back at me. And maybe, just maybe, that’s not entirely a bad thing.
The Silent Strength of Mothers
For years, Nigerian mothers have carried the weight of their families on their backs, often without thanks or recognition. They have been the backbone of homes, the glue that holds everything together. But in that strength, many have lost themselves. They have been conditioned to endure, to suffer in silence, to pour into others without ever asking, Who will pour into me?
The narrative of motherhood in Nigeria has long been tied to sacrifice. A ‘good’ mother is the one who puts herself last, who works tirelessly to ensure her children have the opportunities she never did. But at what cost? The cost of her dreams, her health, her identity?
A New Generation, A New Choice
I now realize I don’t have to repeat my mother’s story, but I also don’t have to erase it. I can take her strength and shape it into something different. I can learn from her sacrifices while making room for myself. I can love fiercely, but also demand to be loved in return. I can give, but never from an empty cup.
We, the daughters of these women, now have a choice. We can choose to rewrite the script, to balance love and self-worth, to embrace motherhood (or not) on our own terms. We can be the mothers who teach our daughters that they are enough—not just as caretakers, but as individuals with dreams and desires of their own.
So maybe I won’t be exactly like my mother. But I will honor her. I will take the best of her and build on it. And in doing so, I will create a version of womanhood that is both strong and soft, both giving and receiving, both loving and living.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s the best way to be like her after all.
To all the incredible mothers and mother figures this month, we celebrate you!
