She put me through hell: This is why I hate my mother

 She is angry at the world [Photo: Courtesy]

Yes I know hate is a strong word. And no I am not a grumpy teenager. I am a 35-year-old well-adjusted woman.

But I am only well-adjusted because my job can afford me a psychologist's session every Friday in a cushy office in the leafy suburbs of Nairobi. And every day I sit on the doctor's couch, I feel better. I get better. 

Growing up in Nairobi’s Buruburu estate, it was just me and my mum. And since I can remember, she always looked at me with scorn in her eyes. I can’t remember ever hearing a kind word from her, it was always kicking and screaming and she had this broom that was just for me.

 To turn me into a good girl, is what she said as she brought it down on my head. My bed was the cold hard floor. I slept on well spread gunny bags and a thin blanket for cover. Mum slept in the other bedroom in a big beautiful bed that I would make every day before I left for school.

I was about seven then. She would yank the covers off me and if I didn’t scramble out of bed as soon as she called me up, she would pour a cup of water on my face. But I learnt fast. I knew to stay out of her way.

During the school holidays, she would put me in a matatu to Kinoo where grandma lives, and a day before schools reopened; grandma would take me to board the matatu home.

I thought my mum’s cruelty was normal, until I visited my neighbor and friend Stacy’s home and saw her mother hug and talk kindly to her.

And that looked unreal. I would from then sneak into Stacy’s house to watch TV. I am grateful to Mrs Ombogo, for showing me that a home was meant to be warm and happy.

We weren’t poor, not by any standards. Mum drove a small black Pajero, one I washed every Sunday evening. I was the problem. She hadn’t wanted to be a mother, and when grandma relinquished my care to her at age 5, she wasn’t happy about it.  She just wasn’t ready to be a mother.

To the outside world she was a perfect mum, ensuring I had good uniform and that I went to school, and for that I am always grateful to her. And I did my best in school. And when I got admitted to Jomo Kenyatta University, I felt like I had finally found my freedom. I could avoid her now.

Time has made me look at her with kindness now. She is angry at the world. My dear grandma tells me that my father’s rejection of her killed something in my mother and that I was a constant reminder of it. I wish her peace. I want her to smile again. I don’t kid myself that I can do that for her anymore.

I do not want children yet. Luckily, my husband is fine with it. He has children from a previous union. I do not want to mess up my children. Who knows if I am just like my mother? I do not want to be that type of mother. I want to be a caring and very affectionate, and I will wait till I feel that I do not need therapy anymore. Till I have forgiven my mother, and I do not think of her with anger.

If you have an interesting experience on parenting that you would like to share, please email us and it might just get published.