Growing up without a mother is tough for any child, but especially painful for a little girl missing that maternal warmth.
The Lessons
I was very young when my dad started instructing me to watch how my grandmother and aunt cooked—they helped him when I was little—because "soon I’d have to hold my own in the kitchen." From what I remember, by age ten I was already running the household entirely on my own. I cooked, washed, cleaned, and even ironed, though I was scared of burning myself.
In short, alongside school, I took care of household duties because my dad would just watch TV with a beer in hand after work. We never went anywhere, and he wouldn’t let me go when classmates’ parents or relatives invited me out, saying he was "protecting his only little girl." If I protested, I got slapped. At sixteen, I couldn’t take it anymore and moved in with my first love. I never reached out to him again, and he didn’t contact me either.
When he died, my uncle told me I was ungrateful because thanks to my dad, I became a strong woman—he "gave his soul for me." I told him my only memories were of him staring blankly at the TV or yelling at me. He didn’t raise me to be strong, but to be a passive wife, and I owe everything to myself.
The Tears
When I cried as a little girl, my dad mocked my tears instead of comforting me. Once, I cried in front of a boyfriend, and he hugged and soothed me. I was surprised, and it felt amazing.
Gratitude
Growing up with my dad was like growing like a weed—he barely paid attention to me. Sometimes I missed having a mom, especially when I saw how kindly my classmates’ moms treated them. Otherwise, I managed well on my own and raised myself.
Years passed, and when my dad grew old, I cared for him for two years without a kind word in return. He wasn’t grateful, saying it was life’s way that I now repay the care he gave me as a child. I thought I misheard—what "care"?! I had food, shelter, and clothes, but nothing else; all tenderness came from my grandparents. After that comment, I decided to repay his “care” with money and found him a nursing home.
The Legacy
My dad raised me to believe my needs didn’t matter and my worth was measured only by what I did for him and others. That I had to bear every burden without complaint and take on all responsibilities—even those I was too young for or that weren’t mine to carry. To this day, I’m painfully hyper-independent, never asking for help and always putting others first, myself last. Thanks, Dad!
The Family Budget
I was 14 when my dad tossed a pile of bills on my bed and said this was his paycheck, and I was old enough to manage the kitchen money. The amount was laughably small—he took money off for his pub visits—but I made it work. I mailed the utility bills and did the shopping. Sometimes I even managed to buy myself a little chocolate each week.
My daughter is 14 now, and my heart aches thinking how much responsibility like that would affect her. Still, I’m also glad because it taught me how to budget and value money. We live comfortably with my husband and kids, but I’m still thrifty, which my family finds amusing.
Submissive
As a child, I had to submit to my dad and brother, so I married young—to escape them—but that just meant my husband became the new "boss." I divorced at 33 and am now learning how liberating it is to say no. For the first time in my life, I feel it’s not selfish to think of myself and want to feel good.
