NdukuOutLoud

On Motherhood and growing up together.

At the risk of sounding cliché, my relationship with my daughter has taught me the most. And to think that we are only six years in.

The conventional belief is that children will love us like nobody else ever could—that they fulfill us, that they are the best thing to ever happen to a mother. Come to think of it, why is it always framed around the mother more than the father? Sure, the relationship starts earlier for us, given that they grow inside us. But still.

Anyway, that is not why we are here today.

And I agree with the cliché, partly. Mine has exposed me to a depth of love I had never known before. But fear arrived right alongside it. The fear of doing it wrong. The fear of losing her. The fear of not doing enough. It is heavy. And if left unchecked, that fear can take over until we end up ruining, with our own hands, the very thing most dear to us.

Then there is the joy. You get excited about the smallest, silliest things. Her smile lights you up, and every moment away feels like a slow drain.

Yet, if I am being completely honest, the older she gets, the more we both seem to need time apart.

Not because children are monsters—though they certainly have their moments when throwing tantrums, screaming, or refusing to sleep when you are both visibly exhausted. But because they expose you to yourself in real time. They force a double exposure: you see them, and you see yourself reflected right back.

That is how this relationship has taught me the most. She forces me to look deeply at who I am and what I actually believe—to ask whether I am living up to who I claim to be, or if I am lying to myself.

Partly, this stems from panic: there are parts of me I desperately hope she doesn’t inherit. But it also stems from awareness: my emotional state directly shapes hers, whether I like it or not. Like most parents, I want her to be better than me. Confident. Outspoken. Brave. Fully occupying her space in the world.

The day-to-day habits are easy enough to pass on. I don’t litter, so she doesn’t litter. When it comes to food, we negotiate. The real challenge comes when trying to teach values that are vital for her—values I haven’t fully embodied myself.

Because how do you teach what you are not?

You learn it.

So I have had to learn to keep my word—to do what I said I would do. To speak up when I disagree. To be honest with everyone, at all times. To try the hard things because we are building confidence now, and then to tackle the even harder things.

Like admitting when I am confused. When I need help. When I am sad. When I simply don’t know and need to ask—because nobody knows everything.

I am working on my other relationships now, too. She needs a healthy community around her, and I want her to know how to connect well with people. How best to teach that? By doing it. And with that comes showing her that not every relationship is meant to last—teaching her how to let go without losing herself in the process.

It worries me that I will not be the only influence in her life. She will meet—and maybe even admire—people who are nothing like me, people with entirely different values.

But I am becoming the best version of myself alongside her. And my hope is that she sees this and learns that becoming is a continuous journey—that she will build her own uncorrupted values, and always aim to grow.