International Women's Day - My Mother's Story
Every year we have the genuine joy of celebrating women, although this should be a daily occurrence and not just a yearly celebration. As women, we are strong humans who are capable of anything we put our minds to; we are leaders, mothers, carers, academics, soldiers and survivors.
Every year awards are given to various women who have accomplished much in their lives, with or without privileged upbringings but, there are many women who are not celebrated and who’s stories and struggles are not heard. Women who might not have the best education, privileged backgrounds, top positions in companies, nor wear the fanciest clothes can also be deemed as successful but their success measured in different ways.
To celebrate International Women’s Day, I wanted to write about and celebrate my mother, who in my life is certainly the definition of a great woman:
She was born in South Korea in the 1950s, being the eldest of 5 children. Due to being the eldest, she bore more responsibilities and ended up acting as a third parent in not only raising her fellow siblings but helping to provide an income for the family. In the 60s and 70s, South Korea was not the economic hub as it is now with its legacies of Samsung, LG, Hyundai, Daewoo and Kia. Back in those days, the country was a lot poorer and a complete contrast to how life is now in the modern day.
After years of providing for her family, my mother decided to make a life for herself and fulfil her ambition to create a new life for herself. She made the brave decision to travel to London in the 80s to learn English and find work. During this time, she met my father-to-be who was a fellow student. In those days, you didn’t have Tinder or the casual dating mentality; once you had been on a few dates and courted for a short period, you made a decision to either part ways or get married.
In the case of my parents, they fell in love and decided to marry. After marriage, I shortly came into the world in 1986. My father had been expecting (and probably would have preferred) a son, therefore had the name ‘Paul’ prepared. However, being the ever surprising being, I popped out and in a last minute scramble, they decided to name me Deborah which is a biblical name - named after a fearless female leader in the book of Judges.
During their marriage, my father travelled a lot, particularly to the US for work and other reasons. One day, around the age of 2 years old, he got on a plane to the US, and never came back. My mother fret with worry, could not get a hold of him as he didn’t own a mobile phone and there was no address to contact him on. This eventually led my mother to report him missing via Interpol. My mother could barely speak English, she had a two year old baby as her dependent and still had to earn a living to survive when my father disappeared.
The first contact my mother received was a divorce request from my father. He had decided to settle in the US and finally got in touch, without a shred of remorse or apology. My mother had begged him to stay, even if he no longer loved her, for the sake of his 2 year old baby but unfortunately, his mind was made up and nothing could change this. My mother was suddenly left in a position where she had no money, no home and a young child on her hands. This was one of the darkest times of my mother’s life and though my grandmother (mother’s mother) offered to look after me in Korea whilst my mother continued to earn a living here, my mother refused to let me go and thank God she didn't.
My mother knew times would be tough but didn’t know how tough it would get. Though she was university educated, since English wasn’t her first language, she struggled to find any decent jobs and humbled herself with cleaning jobs just to make ends meet. One time, we were almost left homeless until a family friend took us in, but even buying food was a struggle. On one occasion, she bought home a small pizza but being a child didn’t understand my mother was hungry too and she ended up feeding it all to me. Over the years, she made so many sacrifices, big and small.
Eventually my mother acquired housing support and we moved into a council flat which years later, she managed to buy from the government through hard work and sacrifice. She continued to work different jobs, whilst having a child to care for and no financial support from family or my absentee father. Growing up fatherless, I began to resent him and became very aware I didn't have a dad. At school, I remember seeing fathers taking it in turns to pick up their children from school and the pure joy on their faces when their children ran into their arms after school.
One time, I remember being in class when the teacher decided to do an exercise called “what job does my father do”. I didn’t have a father and she clearly didn’t think that single parent families existed. Instead of crying, I quietly drew a picture of a police officer and said that’s what my father did for a living. In my young mind, my father was an honest, hardworking and respectful police officer. In reality, he was an abandoner.
I don’t have many memories of when I was 7/8 years old but I remember one night clearly. My mother answered a call on the house phone, only for her tone and expression to change. As a child, you learn to understand who is on the other end of the line simply from the way your mother greets that person or the context of what they are saying. Something about the manner in which she spoke to this stranger on the phone, made me anxious as I couldn’t recognise who it was. After some short time of speaking, my mother held her hand over the receiver and said the following “Deborah, it’s your father. He wants to see you and he’s already in London. Do you want to see him?”
I felt like there was no choice as he was already in London and decided I would see him. Even by this age, any chance of ‘fairytale’ endings were already shattered and I just wanted to see him, to see the very man who would be cowardly enough to abandon his wife and young child. When I finally met him, he couldn’t believe how I had turned out and several times told my mum what a great job she had done in raising me. I couldn’t care less and struggled to connect to this man who I knew biologically was my father but in reality, a complete stranger.
After time, it’s like he had a light bulb moment and realised he had a child in London and even after returning to the States, kept in contact over the phone and sent me gifts on birthdays and Christmas. One time he offered to fly me to Orlando to see him, and I remember feeling so excited as I had always dreamt of going to the States and Disneyland particularly. For me, it was obvious my mother would be coming too but when he told me that she wasn’t invited, my heart burst and I felt like he was rejecting her for a second time. I turned down the offer to see him in Orlando, even though he made several pleas.
Growing up and especially prior to meeting my father in person, I resented him a lot and didn’t care for him at all. Hate is such a strong word but I did hate him. My mother on the other hand, told me that I should respect him as he was still my father and was so gracious even after all the hurt he had given her. After several years of having an on/ off relationship with my father over the phone, around the age of 12, we ended up having a huge argument. I couldn’t stand the fact he was berating me over something so minor and in my mind, I felt like he had no right considering he had abandoned us and hadn’t raised me.
In my emotional outburst, full of heavy tears, I shouted at him telling him I didn’t love him, didn’t know him and how could I, when he was practically a stranger to me. He could have said anything to me in that moment but instead asked “what has your mother said to you?!” accusingly. I hung up the phone, and again when he attempted a second call. After that, he didn’t call me again or attempt reconciliation even though we continued to live in the same house and had the same house number until I was 18 years old. I still haven’t heard from him till this day and I’m now 32.
My mother who normally was so reasonable and calm, was heartbroken again because this time, he had turned his back on me when I was old enough to understand that he had. I couldn’t forgive him for the hurt he had given my mother and lack of apology, and she couldn’t forgive him that he had left me for a second time. Some time in my teens, my mother confessed it took her over 5 years to get over the hurt of my father, but even till this day, she can’t recount history without tears welling in her eyes. My father never really told her the reason why he left, so how could she find closure when she still doesn’t know the reasons why. I’m certain he remarried and probably have half siblings somewhere in the world but he never told us. As much as he expected us to be fully transparent about everything, he was so secretive and never shared anything.
In my teenage and adult years, we managed to get on by and though a family heartbreak could have shattered our world, my mother and I stuck together and doted on one another. She was a strict mother growing up and we would often have arguments about studying. I wanted to be the carefree child playing with my friends in the park everyday after school, but my mother having the typical Asian mentality wanted me to study. She worked extra shifts so that I could attend ballet classes, and have private piano and maths lessons.
At that age, I thought she was suffocating me but in fact she was trying to set me free; free from the life she was currently living and she always had big plans for me. I can’t recall the number of times, she worked longer hours just so that she could take me to the ballet at Sadler Wells Theatre or to see opera to inspire me to dream big. She’d also take me on holiday not only abroad, but in the UK such as trips to Stratford-upon-Avon to teach me about Shakespeare. Only in my adulthood did I truly understand what she had done for me, and appreciate the culture she brought me up in.
It was at university age where we really became close and continue to have the close mother and daughter relationship we still have to this day. She has worked so hard all her life, eventually becoming a carer with gruelling hours, without a whisper of a complaint. In her 50s, she decided to retrain as a nurse even though English was her second language and she successfully qualified as a nurse for people with learning difficulties. After many years of dedicating her life to this occupation, she finally retired and it was long overdue as she has been working solidly (without any respite from work) since her early 20s.
Many people brag about the fact that they’re a daddy’s girl but I’m definitely a mummy’s girl. She is the reason I am a strong, fearless woman and the reason I am still living today. She suffered so much and dedicated her whole life to providing for not only me but her family in South Korea. She did everything with such dedication, and grace, and her name is Grace which is so fitting. She encouraged me to marry for love, taught me the value of self-worth, doesn't mind that I swear like a trooper, laughs at my jokes, sets me straight when she needs to, held my hand after every relationship heartbreak, supported me in all my various jobs, tells me she is proud of me and that I’m her greatest accomplishment. She is my mum.
I might have only one mum and no other family members but she is all I need. Don’t get me wrong, it cannot always be dandy and there are times when relationships will be tested, but ultimately, I am grateful for my lioness mum and have to remind myself that many people do not have a mum. If your mum is still around (or another strong woman who has been acting in that role), give her a big hug and thank her for being the true inspiration on International Women’s Day.
Until next time xo
