If not for you.

I guess it started when I looked in the mirror and I thought, I am my Mother. I think every young woman goes through a similar experience. Although, the reaction most of the time is ‘Oh dear, I am my Mother’, but in my case ‘I am my Mother - and I'm cool with that’. From the subtle lines appearing on the sides of my face that perfectly resemble hers, to my crooked hairline and dainty fingers that look like they could do magic. I’ve been shaped and moulded by her existence. Today is her birthday, 55 years old and she is still the most beautiful woman I know.

Throughout my childhood I never quite understood the relationship my Mother had with my Father. I just know there’s a reason why we don’t see him. After years of attempting to find and understand myself, wrapping my head around my insecurities, my worries, doubts and anxieties. I came to the conclusion, that it’s difficult to know who you are without really knowing your parents. I felt forever terrified that I was like him. ‘You are nothing like your Father’ - ‘except for your curls’ she would say. All those things you feel, they’re probably from me.

...I still remember the day of ‘the big chat’ - the words are drilled in my memory.

The day Mum told me the whole story. I was about 25, and we were out for a girls day. Nails, coffee and a walk. In the car on the way to the cafe, a song played on the stereo, which was connected to her iPod. I didn’t recognise it, but she knew ALL the words.

‘I’ve never heard this song before, who is it?’

‘Annie Lennox’ - ‘ it’s my song’

‘What do you mean, your song?’

‘It’s the song I listened to on repeat when I finally left your Father, I would turn it up loud and dance around the living room’ - ‘I still listen to it everyday’

‘I don’t remember that’

‘You were 2’...

Her story starts in a small town (barely a footprint in our country). She was a high school dropout, but with skilled hands. She used to tell me at aged 13, she and her friend Tui would catch the bus to Hamilton from Otorohanga (the small footprint town) to ‘see the city’, go rollerskating and drool over the latest fashion trends (she made all her own clothes). I guess the 70s were a bit different. She was a happy kid, but a melancholic teenager. She was the youngest of 4 kids. She didn’t have much of a relationship with her Father and her Mother had an affair with a man down the road, so her view of the perfect marriage or family was tainted from the beginning.

She married at 18 to who she thought was the love of her life - my Father. She gave birth to 3 Children by the age of 26. I was the last. I’d heard the story of my brother’s birth, from an accidental pregnancy; which resulted in miscarriage, ultimately made her mind up... she wanted a baby. After my brother was born, she 'fell in love' with my Father all over again. I guess the magic of your first born can have that effect on a marriage... so I’ve heard.

Not too long after, things started to unfold, like a bat out of hell. Things that I will never remember nor understand. My Father had a mind that was too complex and twisted for her to comprehend. It started with my brother. ‘Is he mine?’ He asked. Baffled by his absurdity, she chose to ignore the first signs of unravelling consciousness.

As his mind drifted further and further away into a place unattainable to her, she felt afraid and anxious. With another baby on the way, she held onto the hope that things would get better. He would travel for work often, and she barely worked at all. He loved to smoke the 'wacky baccy', (marijuana), which she thought may have contributed to his unwinding mind. Or perhaps there were stronger drugs and she was shielding us from thinking the worst of him. I won’t ask. Things were tight. On her daily walk around the neighbourhood she would see a family living under a bridge, as if it was her underlying fate if she were to leave. That fear held her back.

Without going into too much detail, things started to get physical. The emotional struggle between trying to save herself, save her children & save him, became too much. She was ready to leave with my siblings. She had one foot out the door, but she didn’t realise that I was growing inside her. She couldn’t leave now? Three kids, no job & no money. So, she stayed.

There were multiple moments in the story where I just wanted to cry and hug her, she was a victim of so much pain and abuse. Mentally, physically and emotionally. Imagine questioning yourself so much you start to lose your own mind. Did I have an affair? Maybe I did, and I can’t remember it. These sheets do seem a little too warm. Maybe I do deserve to be thrown and against the wall and strangled until I’m limp. Maybe I should apologise for him hurting me, because it’s my fault.

Unsteady, unloved and unappreciated.

Gradually, things went from worse to ‘I don’t even know what word to use here’. She felt crazy, worthless and heartbroken, she had to end it. Is this what life is meant to be like? Is this it? ‘If it is then, I don't want it.’ Fleeting suicidal thoughts clouded her judgement, ‘but, what would happen to the little ones?’

Finding this out at the ripe age of 25 was gut wrenching. Did my Mother have to stay in an abusive relationship because I came along? That's a lot of guilt for a little person to take on… Or did I save her? As the story went on things started to click in my brain. If this isn’t courage, then I don’t know what is…

One day when my Father was away for work. With the help of my grandparents (R.I.P), she packed up, grabbed us and left. Scared shitless he would come after us, she didn’t leave a note. Would we return? Who knows. Maybe, if he gets help.

He never got help.

As we grew up, we saw him occasionally. I still have flashbacks of him trying to rip me out of her arms. I think he loved us, but was it love or jealousy? She was right to pull us away. She was right to provide us protection. From ages 5 to 10 things didn’t seem so bad, not terrible at least. Maybe that’s because I didn’t quite understand everything. Under our agreement we wrote with our lawyer when I was 5, we could see him under supervision.

By age 11 things started to escalate, he was too far gone. By age 12 we had our own agreements. ‘I do not wish to continue supervised visits, indefinitely’. That was the last day I saw him, except for a couple of sightings in town, although he probably wouldn’t have recognised me.

Where is he now? I don't know. Is he alive? I think so. I do get scared I'll bump into him from time to time. Over the years there has been a few run-ins with the police, when he's tried to look for us, or turned up at our school with gifts. The last contact was not too long ago, two years maybe? We received a few crazy phone messages, which inevitably drove Mum to change her phone number. There has been no sign of him since. I do feel sad about it sometimes, he did try and reach us. Did he miss us? Maybe he did just want to love us? I can't think about it that way though, after what he put her through, it's better not knowing.

I am now 28. I have money, a loving partner, a nice house to live in, clothes for all occasions and shoes for all activities. I can cook well, I own my own business and I've travelled the world. My daily thoughts consist of; how much work I need to get done, what will I cook for dinner? Will I have a bath tonight? Or just shower? Bed by 10? - Surely. Luxuries that were not at my Mother's hand when she was my age. I can not thank her enough for strength and perseverance, writing this makes me appreciate her so much more.

Growing up with her as my Mother has taught me, and I hope will teach you…

1. Trust your judge of character.

If something feels off, it usually is. You are not crazy.

2. Never underestimate yourself.

Competitiveness is a strength, it’ll help take you places. Be your own boss if you can. Never let anyone take you for a ride!

3. Talk about your feelings.

Talk to someone. Don’t hold onto things, people can help.

4. Strong women can still be pretty & poise.

You can like things that men claim to own. Being feminine is just as important as embracing your masculine side. If you're wearing a dress, you can still play the sport.

5. Learn from your children.

Be open minded, we shape our children, but they also shape us.

6. Time heals.

You just have to trust that within time, things will get better, no matter how bad they seem.

It’s a happy ending for her too... Three loving, beautiful & successful children. A wonderful husband and Father to her three kids (as well as his two). A thriving bridal wear business, a strong mind, a confident body and a beautiful soul.

I’m so damn proud to be her daughter. If not for her, we wouldn't have made it.