My mother makes me: a child’s letter to her working mother.


I publish this blog on the day I am due to speak with Sistr, The Professional Woman’s Network about my career trajectory; I woke up thinking about the day that FirstBorn and I reminisced about her childhood and my role as a working mother.

When we lost our home in the 1990 recession my plan to be a stay-at-home Mum was necessarily shelved; with a one-month old quite literally under my arm, I launched my first business, so that I could craft a career around my maternal intent.

This worked for a time, but the greater the onus to be the major breadwinner, the less I was able to achieve my maternal ambitions. Eventually I became a single mum. Here is Ali’s testimonial of that era; a child’s eye view of the dichotomy that working mothers battle with every day. I publish this to reassure the next generation of mothers that … well … its hard but not all bad!

Alessandra McAllister is an author, adventurer, Aromatherapy Practitioner and yes, my daughter. She gave me this letter on Mother’s Day. It was also published on the bog of Second Step, a leading mental health charity in Bristol, with which she works part-time.

“Mummy …”

“Yes, darling?”

“When I grow up, I want to be just 
like you. I’m going to have the same hair as you, the same clothes, the same smile. And I’m going to walk like you, and cook like you. I’m going to do everything like you…”

“Oh, darling that’s lovely…”

“Except I’m going to stay at home with my children.”

My memory of saying this is while sitting in the back seat of our black Citreön, talking in part to my mum’s eyes in the rear view mirror and in part, to the back of her dark, shoulder-length bob, which in those days she wore back in an Alice band. Asking her about it recently, Mum corrected the memory: we were in the kitchen, adding that she’d had to turn around so the two-year-old me couldn’t see the tears in her eyes.

At that age, I spent the large part of my days in a children’s centre with my newly born sister, while Mummy and Daddy disappeared to a mysterious place called The Office. Often, they didn’t return from here until long after all the other children’s mummies had picked them up. ‘Mummies’ being the key word. The fact that other people’s Mummies came to collect them, on time, meant they didn’t go to The Office. This was enough for me to harbour the first inklings of resentment that, though my mummy was perfect, she wasn’t being a proper mummy.

It was the early nineties and the idea of the career mum hadn’t yet gained traction. Certainly not in the leafy Twickenham suburb where we lived then, and my mother, with her high heels, pencil skirts and dark suit-jackets didn’t fit the vista of floral skirts and loose, buxom blouses. Unbeknown to me, behind those enigmatic Office walls, she was pioneering the cause of the working mum, and would do so unremittingly for the next two decades. She was subject to suspicion and gossip from other women and demeaning comments from their husbands. Two weeks after giving birth to my sister, she took her in to her office.

What’s that?” A male client exclaimed, pointing at the baby on the sofa.

“Its a baby,” said my mum. “And she needs feeding in 45 minutes, so can we get on with the meeting please?”

“You can’t bring a baby in here.”

“Why ever not?”

On Mother’s Day 2019, I am 29, the same age as my mum was the day that, with the frank, misconstrued words of a child, I told her that she was perfect but was failing because she wasn’t there for me all the time. I think it’s time to redress that:

Mama, in the two generations that have taken place since that conversation, I have learnt that you are not perfect. You are alive with imperfections. Your work began as a necessity, and then became obsession. Stress took over your lifestyle, and eventually your good health. You have misjudged and been mistaken; you have styled your hair in ways I didn’t like and said things I don’t agree with. Nor am I just like you. I will never wear heels every day, or insist on changing round the furniture or moving house when I feel depressed; I don’t even have any children to entertain staying at home with.

Still, Mama, I want to be like you today. I want your zest for life and your dedication, motivation and perseverance in the face of adversity. I want your sharp tongue and your school-girl humour at 56. I want that gung-ho attitude, your unwavering belief in the good in humanity, and to give the same heart and soul you grant to the people in your life to the people in mine. It was this heart you willingly broke when you abandoned your dream of being a “stay-at-home-mum,” so that my sister and I could have the best life possible, and we do.

Mama, you are the real-deal, proper mummy, and I couldn’t be more thankful for you, nor more proud of what you’ve achieved, home or not.

…….

Literary Agent or Publisher sought
“No Borders Bar: diaries of an Iraqi-British friendship”, is the culmination of six years of collaborative work with former refugee Gaith Shaalan and his family.

Alessandra says:“I met Gaith in Tbilisi, Georgia in spring of 2014 when as a young asylum-seeker he told me he had a story to tell the English-speaking world. When I invited him to dinner to explore the idea of recording his experiences in blog format, I had no idea that six years later, we would have written that story into a book. Next year is the centenary of the Iraqi-British Mandate. No Borders Bar acknowledges this shared, tumultuous history and its continued role in the lives of millions of individuals today.

Visit The Culture Trip for more of Alessandra’s writing.

About fortewinks

A secretary at 19 and self employed at 26, Giovanna has evolved from PA to PR and now a British healthcare entrepreneur. She is also a bon vivant and mother of two clever and accomplished daughters. Youngest-of-All is a talented Patisserie Chef, founder of MonForte Viennoiserie, Melbourne's finest destination for pastries both savoury and sweet. FirstBorn is a self-employed Aromatherapy Practitioner, a published author and documentary journalist who lives closer to home in East London.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to My mother makes me: a child’s letter to her working mother.

  1. Beautiful words, made tears in my eyes. Here’s to parenthood with all its vagaries! xx

    Like

  2. Siobhan Hart-Jones says:

    Just delightful and so so true! A must read for all daughters & sons!

    Like

  3. dicklittonholt says:

    To paraphrase Alexander Pope… We think our mothers fools, so wise we grow. Our wiser daughters, no doubt, will think us so.

    Like

Leave a Reply to Doc Doolittle Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s