She Wasn’t Perfect, But She Tried. And I Give Her Grace

As I write this, it’s a Sunday morning. I’m sitting behind my laptop, trying to catch up on work. It’s Mother’s Day. My colleague and I are going back and forth on Mother’s Day post. It’s also Eid El Fitr. I have to set my alarm to post later in the day. That’s the thing about marketing; you don’t get a day off. Lol.

Easter is one of the major events in April and one of the prompts was to write about our plans. I remember joking about how we rarely get holidays on holidays. In fact, our workload doubles because we have to push out campaigns. Then we have to pray our campaign is well received, because God forbid a busybody colleague disagrees with the campaign and then drops their unsolicited opinion on the company’s WhatsApp page with a contrary take. Then the boss, who probably approved the post, suddenly starts throwing a fit. Sigh. It’s an emotional rollercoaster, but we love our jobs. Lol. Or so we claim.

This whole conversation sends me down memory lane. I remember a time in my childhood when my mom was in a good place mentally. She wasn’t dating anyone. She was in that “I want to focus on myself and my children” phase—no more men. It was always a good phase. It usually happens after heartbreak. At that time, she also had a good job that kept her engaged. We just moved into a new apartment. Things were looking up.

For Easter, Mom would make us snail stew and rice. Oh my! I looked forward to that meal. For Christmas, it was Banga soup and pounded yam, she would literally pound yam for us. My brothers and I loved it. We looked forward to those meals. Then things changed. Mom probably had another distraction. At the time, we attended Foursquare Gospel Church, so after service, we always looked forward to food.

I didn’t want this piece to be just about me, so I called a few friends.

Mayowa picked up sounding surprised and groggy. I teased, “Who are you sounding sexy for? I’m not one of those girls you’re toasting.” He immediately threatened to end the call. Lol. “Oya, sorry nah,” I pleaded before telling him why I was calling.

“We didn’t really have any Easter traditions,” he said. “I was mostly away at boarding school.”

“What about Christmas?” I asked. I could already picture him rolling his eyes.

“Christmas is my mom’s birthday, so it’s always a celebration.”

“What meals did you guys have?” I prodded. He paused, thinking.

“Party food, of course. There’s always an awful lot of people. It’s very annoying and continuous. When you’ve done it for almost 30 years like I have, it gets boring.”

For context, Mayowa is an introvert. He doesn’t like people in his space. Sometimes, I wonder why he puts up with me, the queen of invading his space. Lol. I pushed further, even though he was probably rolling his eyes for the hundredth time.

“What about when you have kids? What traditions would you want to instil in them?”

“I don’t know. I’ll let wifey decide that. I’ll go with whatever she wants.”

Then I called Yeside, who was a lot more welcoming and didn’t mind sharing.

She told me it was just her and her mom, but for most of her childhood, she stayed with her aunties and cousins. One of her grand aunties, an Anglican, would make Frejon (a thick bean soup made with black beans, coconut milk, and spices, often eaten during Holy Week, especially on Good Friday. It’s a popular dish in Lagos).

I asked about Christmas.

“When I was with my cousins, it was fun. There was always a variety of meals. Sometimes, we would travel to Ijebu and receive gifts from our cousins and aunties. It was usually exciting. But when it was just me and my mom, we didn’t really do anything. We just went to church and came back to eat jollof rice.”

“How did that make you feel?” I asked. “Did you ever admire other families and wish yours was like theirs?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I grew up in a dysfunctional home so I always wanted the complete family: the love, the shared celebrations, the gifts. You know, like what we see on TV. I want that for my kids. But I’ve learned to give my mom grace. She didn’t know better. Even though sometimes I get frustrated with her, I remind myself that she didn’t have a mother growing up. She lived with family. She has tried with me. She raised me the best way she could, and I am who I am today because of the battles we fought.”

I thought about what she said. Some of us had amazing childhood experiences. Others didn’t. And often, there’s this lingering resentment toward our parents.

For me, it was mostly my mom. I felt like I was robbed of my childhood. My mom was a hopeless romantic. Her attention was constantly divided between different relationships and being our mom. Most times, we took the backseat. It was always about the men in her life. But as I’ve grown older, I’m learning to give her grace.

The thing about unforgiveness is that you often become the very thing you hate. Sometimes, I think about parenthood. I wonder if I’ll be a good parent. Will I offend my kids? Will I fall short? Will they resent me?

YES. They probably will, because I’m not perfect. There’s no blueprint for parenthood. But I’ll try to listen, respect them, and make them see their value while also putting my foot down. And even with that, they might still hate me as teenagers. All I can do is do the inner work, pray, and hope for the best.

This article has gone through so many emotions. Lol. It started with my life as a marketer, then went down memory lane.

Right now, I’m just trying to get by, trying to show up at work while still having a life. Some days, I can’t. Other days, I feel like I’ve got it all figured out. It makes me think about my mom. Imagine having a job kicking your ass, endless expenses, and still being expected to be emotionally present for your kids.

That’s A LOT. So, I GIVE HER GRACE.

For all the times she should have shown up but didn’t; I give her grace.

It’s funny because today is Mother’s Day. Let me drop my pen and type a message to her.

If you’re holding resentment toward your parents, no matter the circumstances—forgive and give them grace.

Oh, and before you go, HH magazine now has a comments section. Please use it. Did this article make you feel things? Did it stir up childhood memories? Drop a comment, I’m nosy and want to read your thoughts. Lol.