Arrivals
I embarked upon writing this piece with the awareness that Mother’s Day isn’t a day which everyone feels they can celebrate. I recognise my privilege in having a mum, even more so one who I have a good relationship with. This piece is therefore a chance to pause and be grateful. It is a championing of all nurturing relationships, ones that have the ability to change and grow as the people in them do.
My mum and dad split up before I turned two; so, they are very much individuals in my mind and my life. Perhaps one of the most pivotal moments in my relationship with my mum was when she split up from another long-term partner; I was ten.
As an adult I have come to appreciate how hard this would have been: not only the breakdown of a relationship but also the upheaval of moving and money worries, on top of working and raising a child.
In my innocence, I asked mum to explain it all. She did her best, and I burst into tears. Although I understood nothing at this point, this marked a change. I wanted to understand this adult world that my mum inhabited; I had been protected by childhood’s rosy glow until now.
We moved to our flat on my first day of secondary school. This marked another change. This flat would see me grow from child to adult. In this flat, my mum and I went from provider and dependent to cohabiting individuals. It witnessed my first boyfriend, two breakups and many friendships. I left it to go to university, and came back every summer with new stories and knowledge. It helped us to grow as people, becoming content with our little female haven.
When I was away, our lives were separate; I enjoyed the freedom of not having to answer to anyone. I stretched out and grew into myself; I gained a quiet self-confidence. Some aspects of my upbringing had been strict: my frustration at not being allowed to drink until the day I turned 18 was strongly felt. But, as an adult, I’ve been allowed to explore and make my own mistakes – always returning to the gravitational centre of our flat and all it represented.
While I was away, I relayed everything (within reason) back to my mum via texts and calls. But during my year abroad I received a message from her: ‘don’t feel like you have to always keep in touch...’. And yet, I never felt obligated – I wanted to.
My friends observe a 'closeness' between my mum and me. I wonder if this is because our mother-child relationship has been formed with no one else around to observe and comment. Certainly, there is an intensity to being the only child of a single parent; all expectations of what it means to parent rest on me.
Despite this closeness, we don’t tell each other everything. We value our privacy. Perhaps when there are just two of you, when you are not competing for anyone else’s attention, creating your own private moments is essential.
Yet, I’m sure it wasn’t always like this, and perhaps it’s terrifying to realise that your only child is building walls around her life, creating areas where you’re not needed. But we have come to love our separate-but-togetherness. We come and go in each others’ mental and physical peripheries, taking what we need and leaving what we don’t.
She cried softly into my shoulder when I moved out last year. ‘It’s the end,’ she said. I cried too; she was right. Not only was I moving out, mum was selling the flat. The strings that had tied our lives so tightly together until now were loosening, beginning to float free.
But in doing so, they were creating new ways of connecting, these forming the basis of our new phase.
This is something I take into my friendships, too. I appreciate the elastic-band dynamics of all relationships; just because distance is introduced does not mean it will stay. Because of how we’ve adapted to the changes and challenges in our relationship, I don’t see my mum as a fixed or perfect being – and I don’t think anyone should be.
Motherhood isn’t always about a biological tie. My wonderful relationship with my stepmum is testament to this. For me, they are both vital. I am who I am because of both of them, and I am lucky to have them.
Another vital part of my identity are my friendships. I think I have formed these so successfully because of my earliest friendships: those with the women who brought me up.
From them, I’ve learned that I can be self-sufficient and happy, that even the best relationships change. I’ve learned that the women around me, friends and family, are the best support systems I could ask for.
I’ve learned that in a fulfilling relationship, there’s no obligation to share everything. But if you want to, they are there. I have learned the pleasure of knowing that someone will always be proud of you no matter how small the achievement.
Our relationship has never stopped evolving; it’s no longer about dependency. It’s about creating a mutually nurturing bond. Sometimes, our roles reverse; I’m now able to repay her for the years of nurturing I received.
These learned values manifest in the qualities I share and seek in others. Most importantly, I’ve learned the importance of supporting those that I care about, and accepting that same care when I need it most.
Written by Nicole Dickinson
I am an English graduate, currently working as a content writer for a company that trains aspiring proofreaders. In my spare time I like to read, write, walk, dance and do yoga. In my writing for pleasure, I am interested in peering between the black/white binaries, at the grey areas of culture, politics and everyday life. I write in the hope of contributing to a better and more educated world for everyone.