I grew up in a family where my mum commuted to work everyday and my dad ran his business from home. That’s just how life was, my mum would be up and out the door at 8am every morning, and sometimes I wouldn’t see her until 8pm or later that evening. When recounting stories of this to my friends, one stated something about how they couldn’t imagine their mothers coming back that late. My mother wasn’t absent, she was absolutely present, from day dot until now, a shimmering life force who I owe so much to. See, despite the fact she was changing the face of print media in a world full of backstabbers and morons, she still made it to every play I did, read to me every evening and dedicated her every spare hour to making sure I would grow to be the well adjusted (ish) human being I am today. I can’t even for one second think of an occasion in which I thought “where is she?”, because she was always there, in some way or another, even if her job battled at her soul everyday and she was sick to death of tubes and board meetings. She always pulled through.
When I was sick, even from a cough to when I was on crutches, she’d bring me home these blue gelatine dolphin sweets from a pick n mix stand at Waterloo station. That pick n mix stand is no longer there, but the memory of the bag is. She’d stroke my hair and apologise she wasn’t there to look after me, I never minded because she was always there eventually. When I was struggling with maths, which I still do to this day, she spent the whole day with me turning my times table into Kylie Minogue’s “Can’t Get You Out Of My Head”. I got full marks the next day, and I’m pretty sure it’s the only thing I can remember mathematically to this day.
When I was young I always used to say that when I grew up I wanted to businesswomen, just like her. That’s not the average profession a 5 year old states they want, but I wanted to be just like her, and I still do. I never even came close to my early dreams of going to Oxford like she did, but even whilst I was flopping academically she’d support me by saying, “it’s so hard to get in these days Liv”, like it was even an option. When I finally got into university I vowed I’d make her proud, because even though MMU is hardly Oxford, I wanted to show her belief and support in my success was worth it, even if a degree is just a piece of paper in the grand scheme of life.
What I didn’t realise when I was younger, however, was how my mum was an icon to women. She came from a pretty derelict seaside town, her mum a hairdresser, her dad an art teacher, and became a leader in the business world. She didn’t let class or gender crush her in a less progressive world than the one I’m entering, and she kept on rising. Her spirit and sharp mind changed and shaped media, and although she has left her position now to venture into different pastures, she has a 28 year legacy behind her, and continues to add to a new one.
However the real thing I commend my mother on is what she taught me. Because throughout my whole childhood, I didn’t think for one second that there was people who thought women shouldn’t do these things, that they weren’t equipped for such roles. I had no concept of smashing glass ceilings, I grew up thinking they were already smashed, and that is down to my mum. It wasn’t until I began to educate myself on the dreaded patriarchy that I realised how much I owed to her for making me grow up thinking I could be anything I wanted, even if that changed a lot (sorry about the acting, tap dancing and guitar lessons ma, but at least we got a low budget film out of one of them).
So even if I was the strangest child in nursery, coming in a two piece pinstripe skirt suit, shoving my doll into someone’s arms proclaiming “bugger, I’ve got a meeting”, at least I grew up without giving a shit about whether it was a “mans world”. My mum let me grow up in whatever world I wanted. Amongst teaching me to take no crap from anyone, especially men, she taught me to be kind, she taught me confidence, she taught me to listen and to give good advice in return, in short she taught me everything I know (okay some of it was dad as well, but this one is a focus on strong independent women).
But the best quality she possesses by far, and is one that I aim to perfect, is that she is simultaneously feared and revered. I’ve heard people say “your mum is wicked and lovely but I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her” and been truly, truly proud. She taught me my core beliefs in feminism before I even knew what the word feminism meant, and she is my absolute hero, because no matter how many times I get rejected for something on the path to my dream, she’s there with the champagne to celebrate my victories. I can only hope that one day I am to someone what she is to me, even if that does mean I’m going to turn into my mother – but I can certainly think of worse people to turn into.
“All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does, and that is his.”
– Oscar Wilde
punching 