A 4ft 11" inspiration

The woman who has really inspired me, particularly once I became a mother myself and started to UNDERSTAND, you know, really GET, just how tough being a parent can be - is my mum. My mum is called Julie, and she's now nearly sixty, which I find astonishing as in my mind I'm still a little girl and she's still a young, pretty mother, with big, soulful green eyes, straight brown hair, and huge owl glasses. Standing approximately 4 feet 11 inches tall, yet with the strength and courage of a giant.

You know how they say 'Watch out for the small ones?' Well, with my mum this is absolutely true. Her angry glare could shatter glass, and her 'stern' voice (when she switches it on) would send the tallest, scariest teenager scuttling away in terror. I remember her once telling me how her and my stepdad were sat in MacDonalds having a meal with my little girl. A group of teens on the next table were swearing loudly. Mum's sudden lioness-like roar of "OYYY! Watch your language!" had them shocked and meekly apologising. In short - she's my hero.

Mum based her entire life around being a parent, a homemaker. She made our house a home, always. I know she didn't plan on getting pregnant with me so young, and I don't know whether she originally had a different plan for her life, or whether she had dreams she quashed. She had plenty of reasons to give me up; being kicked out of her home by her mum and dad aged eighteen was one of them. My biological father offering to pay for her to get rid of me was another. She said no, and she never saw him again. I wonder if she ever regretted that. She told me that she loved me and wanted me from the moment she knew that I existed. I love that - it's how I also felt about my child the moment I knew that mass of cells was rapidly dividing inside me.

Because of my unplanned existence out of wedlock, and the SHAME it brought upon the family, mum had to move into a ghastly bedsit and wear a 'wedding ring' whilst out and about. It must've stung to suddenly be turfed out by the mother who later claimed to be 'devoted' to me, her grandchild. Mum must've been so strong to endure all this. The several bouts of vicious vomiting and diarrhoea that mum endured in that disgusting place no doubt gave her her ongoing phobia of germs and sickness. She endured that until she was able to move into a nicer place.

Two distinct memories come to mind when I think of mum. The first, when I was about nine. My sister would have been seven. I can't remember the build up to the conversation or what circumstances led to it, but I remember mum telling us both that we could always talk to her, that we could tell her anything. That even if we'd killed someone, we could tell her. I look on that as the benchmark of motherhood, of unconditional love. I mean, if you can tell your mum that you've KILLED someone, then surely you can never have greater support than that? (Thankfully I've never needed to tell my mum that, though I've probably come close once or twice to homicide.)

The second memory was when I was about twenty, and had a bout of really severe depression. I used to get extremely low when things didn't go right. I had left my first ever childcare job to work elsewhere, and after being extremely excited about the prospect, it soon became apparent that this new job was nothing like I'd hoped it would be. In fact it was chaotic, I hated it, and dreaded going in, suffering from a severe bout of 'the blues' which I tried to hide from everyone.

I toughed it out for the first two weeks, before having a meltdown because I didn't want to go back, but couldn't see any way out of it. The catalyst which gave me permission to express my real feelings and the courage to quit, was talking to mum about how I felt one night, and her response. It was like the floodgates opening, and I cried in her arms whilst she stroked my hair and told me that I didn't have to go back; I could leave and look for a better job. That moment of clarity she gave me was like a clear, piercing light in the darkness, and in that moment I knew things would be okay. I emailed the manager of the nursery the very next day, apologising but explaining that I couldn't come back. The manager was in fact very nice about it all. I hadn't expected to get paid for that first week as I'd given no notice to leave, but she made sure a cheque covering that week was sent to me, which was a big surprise. I always remember that support mum gave me during that very hard time and that rite of passage in my young years, aiming for the same level of unconditional love with my own daughter in later years.

Mum didn't have a very easy time of it. Yet she rarely complained or talked about it even. Not until many years later. She put all her energy into doing the best job she could of raising us, her daughters, and providing a stable home life with a variety of home cooked dinners and desserts on the table every night. It's amazing to think that we rarely ate out or even had takeaways; the occasional trip to a nice chip shop in Epping, a few miles from where we lived was a big deal (saveloy and chips every time for me, and a milkshake). Macdonalds was, again, a very rare treat reserved for birthdays! Mum's upbringing was hard (with deeply personal trauma I don't want to speak about here as it's not my place) and she grew up early, cooking for her many brothers and sister, and cleaning, from a young age. No wonder she rarely let me or my sister in the kitchen; she wanted to protect us from the heavy burden of responsibility that had always been on her shoulders.

I used to feel annoyed at not being allowed to do anything, and it affected me in my mid teens when I'd stay at a friends house and she would be cooking egg and chips for us, when I'd not even been able to turn on an oven or light a gas hob. However, now, I understand why. She was sheltering us from things and giving us choice where she'd not had any.

Mum's influence on our upbringing is felt every single day. Her sense of fun and silliness, her staunch beliefs and values, her commitment to the people she cares about, and her ability to really enjoy herself even in the small things. I really feel her whenever I'm sending someone a card or letter, and adding silly stickers to the envelope. We all live in separate counties now, but the little gifts, notes, cards etc, shorten the miles between us. When I had a deeply unpleasant biopsy a few years ago, and was awaiting a scary chronic diagnosis, without the support of my then-boyfriend who was a self-centred waste of space, (that's putting it kindly) mum and my stepdad travelled all the way across from the East to the West Midlands to accompany me. Mum held my hand throughout the whole thing as I cried and seethed in discomfort, kept me distracted, and even managed to make me laugh through the tears. She always has an uncanny ability to know and understand what is needed.

Mum is a brilliant grandma to all her grandkids, and never arrives without being laden with bags of gifts and toys and treats. We're not allowed to call her grandma though - only Nanny Julie. Grandma sounds too old for my young at heart mum anyway. This is, after all, the mum who imitates rap songs in shops (loudly) and is the world's biggest pilferer of napkins and straws in Macdonalds. Who plays 'Plants VS Zombies' on their home computer with glee (and plays it with me and my daughter on my tablet!)

This is the mum who has the country's best stocked handbag, complete with handwipes, tissues, mints, make-up, notebooks, pens, painkillers, scissors kept from a Christmas cracker... you name it! She is bizarrely really good at cutting hair (despite no professional qualification) and I think she was a doctor in a previous lifetime as she has more medical knowledge than anyone (unqualified) I know. She introduced me to Liz Jones' Diary, the Rocky films, and brilliantly disgusting horror novels. Because of her I ALWAYS moisturise, and I always have the courage and humour to at least have a crack at facing the challenges life can hurl at you. I know that I am supported, even if we don't agree, and that is worth its weight in gold. I hope to always make her proud of the strong, independent daughter she raised.

This is my tribute to my amazing mum.