Rita Chidinma: The Vulnerability Gap in Modern Motherhood

It was 10:47 p.m., and Amaka sat on the kitchen floor, crying. Her baby had been unusually fussy all day and had spilt juice on the freshly folded laundry. Dinner was late. The sink was full. In between cleaning the stained laundry and trying to manage her very active baby all day, she had forgotten to eat. Again.

Still on the floor, she pulled out her phone. Her hands moved instinctively. She just opened her contacts and phoned her younger sister.

“Hello?” her sister answered.

For fifteen minutes, she talked. She talked about how tired she was. How invisible she felt. How motherhood now seemed to consume every part of her life. How she couldn’t remember the last time she had done something simply because she enjoyed it. How she loved her babies deeply, but sometimes missed the woman she used to be. The experience of motherhood was all too much at once.

Her sister listened. Occasionally, she laughed. Occasionally, she sighed, but she listened. When the call ended, Amaka felt lighter.

When she looked up, her husband was standing at the kitchen entrance. He had heard enough to understand what the conversation had been about.

“What happened?” he asked gently. Amaka wiped her eyes.

“Nothing,” as she had said for months.

The truth was that she wasn’t angry with her husband. He wasn’t abusive or cruel. He wasn’t a villain. In many ways, he was trying. But somehow, when life became overwhelming, he was never the person she reached for. She could cry with her sister. She could confide in her. She could admit weakness to her mother. But with her husband, she felt the need to be composed, put together, even when she wasn’t, especially when she wasn’t.

Weeks later, while reflecting on her marriage, Amaka stumbled on a realisation that…