I Keep Looking For Love In All The Wrong Places Because Of My Mother
My mum got pregnant with me when she was about 17, right after completing Secondary school. According to the stories I heard, her mother was so angry about the pregnancy that she threw all my mum’s certificates and important documents into a pit latrine. The disappointment her mother expressed made her hate me.
They say she tried several times to get rid of me but failed. After I was born, she hardly breastfed me. Instead, she kept a big cup of water by her bed, and whenever I cried from hunger, she gave me water instead of milk. My father’s mother, whom my mother was living with, couldn’t stand it. She fought with my mother every day because of me.
At the time, my father had gone back to school. When he completed, he tried to help my mum continue her education, but since all her certificates were destroyed, it wasn’t possible. Maybe it would have been doable in this digital age but theirs was a different era.
When I was five, he relocated us to the Volta Region. I still remember how horribly my mum treated me there. My father had no say over her actions. Everything he said in my defence turned into a fight.
Sadly, he passed away when I turned 11. Everything got worse for me from that point. My mum’s hatred for me grew so much that she sometimes wouldn’t even feed me. There were days I didn’t go to school. Rather, I hawked sobolo for her, often on an empty stomach. Then I would come home to an empty. She always cooked only enough to feed herself and my younger sister.
Don’t get me started on the beatings, chai! On two occasions, she nearly damaged my eyes. This happened because I was so hungry that I took some money from the sobolo sales to buy food and sanitary pads. According to her, her own mother never bought her pads.
“I used cloth for my periods. You too use it, it won’t hurt you.”
Did I have a choice? I heaped pieces of cloth in my underwear and went to school like that.
I’ll never forget the day one of my classmates accidentally touched me and felt the pieces of cloth. She pulled me aside and asked, “What’s that?”
I was in tears before I could even speak. For the first time in my life, I opened up to someone about my struggles. She didn’t judge me. Thank God for that empathetic soul. She spoke to the other girls in the class. Every month they took turns bringing me sanitary pads. That act of kindness saved me.
You would be surprised that my mother, the woman who traumatised me this badly, is a lady pastor. Even if you are the worst of sinners and you encounter her she would preach you into repentance. Meanwhile, I experienced hell at her hands at home.
After I wrote my BECE, I moved to my grandmother’s house. I was honestly scared I would die if I remained with my mother.
Three Months After Our Breakup, He Got Married
Now, I’m in my mid-twenties, but the wounds my mother inflicted on my soul have scarred me badly. I yearn to be loved so badly that I look for it in the wrong places. I always try to please people in hopes that they’d love me. It doesn’t work. I’ve been in two relationships. Both men broke me badly. I gave them my all and they played me in return.
I’m timid and overly emotional. People take advantage of me because of it. I try to stand up to them but I can’t even speak up for myself without crying. I just don’t know what to do to be a normal person. Someone people respect and do not exploit. How do I do it?