My earliest memories are of moments I lived with my aunt. Of course, I did not know she was my aunt at the time. I believed she was my mother. Although she used to yell at me at the least provocation and beat me at the slightest chance, I never questioned that I was her daughter. Even when my biological mother came to visit and I was told, “This woman is your mother,” I still regarded my aunt as my mum. In my heart I had two mums; the one who gave birth to me and the one I was leaving with.

I am not going to pretend that I had a lovely childhood because of this. No, far from it. My aunt was not someone I would describe as kind. She was easily angered and she was quick to react to her anger. I loved her, I know I still do, but the truth remains that she maltreated me. I am talking about the kind of treatment that gave me constant headaches. Even now that I am all grown up, I still get those headaches.

According to the stories I have been told, my aunt took me from my mum when I was three years old. She wanted to raise me as she would her own daughter. Maybe she realized she took on more than she could handle. I am saying this because when I turned six, she took me back to my mum.

I don’t remember the conversations they had when she took me back. All I know is that they whispered among themselves. My mum was there and so was my dad. Soon enough the whisperings came to an end. Then my aunt left. I don’t even know if I felt relief that I was finally going to live with the woman who birthed me or if I felt sadness at missing my aunt after she left me there. Again, I had zero understanding of most of the things going on. I only knew that I was in a new environment.

For two years, I lived with my parents. My Mum was more patient than my aunt. She treated me more kindly. I felt loved. I believe I was very happy. Then one day I saw my mum packing my bags. She told me I was going to live with my uncle. “He is my brother,” she said, “you will never lack for anything in his house.” I nodded and said okay. I knew better than to question an adult’s decision.

I didn’t know what to expect in my uncle’s house but I hoped for peace. A place where I wouldn’t be constantly beaten or yelled at. Somewhere like the home I was leaving.

My first few days there were priceless. My uncle doted on me. His wife welcomed me into her motherly arms. Her children gave me a place at their table and treated me like one of them. My mother was right after all.

READ ALSO: I Want To Leave Him Because Of What His Parents Did To Mine

However, it didn’t take long before things started changing. My uncle’s wife was the first to change. That woman raised me with an iron fist. I had experienced enough love to know that the woman did not like me. At some point, her children also started being mean to me. The only person who accepted me wholeheartedly in the house was my uncle.

I lived with them till I grew up, and when I was old enough to start dating, my uncle’s wife made sure she drove the men who showed interest in me away. Despite everything I have experienced at her hands, I give her her due. I treat her the way I treat my other two mums. I give her money at the end of every month. Sometimes I would shop for her even. I do all this for her because of how kindly my uncle treated me.

He Called Me On The Phone So I Could Hear The Other Woman’s Voice

Currently, I have a good relationship with my mum. She is always showering me with love. Sometimes I wonder if it is because I take care of her. Every one of my three mums is proud of me. However, I am not proud of myself. I have unresolved issues when it comes to my upbringing. My aunt is still in my life but I have not forgotten how she treated me when I was a child. I have questions about my parents. Why did they not raise me themselves? Why did I go and live with my uncle for his wife to treat me as if I didn’t have any mother in this world?

All of this makes me feel unhappy. I feel like a fraud on Mother’s Day. Whenever the day arrives, I post photos of all three women and write nice things about them. I don’t usually mean the things I write. I just do it because I see everyone doing it. I want things to change but I don’t know how to change it. I want to look at these women and feel peace instead of trauma. How do I fix our broken relationships when the women involved don’t know that there’s something broken?

—Sarah

If you have a compelling story to share with us, you can email it to us at [email protected] or send us a voice note on WhatsApp number 0593290182.

#SB