Yesterday was International Women’s Day (IWD) and I think it is safe to say that I might as well give up on posting in line with any globally recognised special days, public holidays, Catholic Feast Days or anything conventional! I think that as long as I am still within the month, that’s fine. Lol. Ok that’s a lie because yo, I have a Valentine’s Day post I am INSISTENT on posting, dammit! In the grand scheme of things though, who really cares? I’m out here trying to live my best life and document my experiences as much as time and effort allow. I will be better, I say.

And I will.

So IWD was celebrated with great flair and much relish on the mean internet streets yesterday. I loved seeing all the different takes on the matter, my top three being these:

“Our backs tell stories no books have the spine to carry.”

-Rupi Kaur @aisleperfectliving

“This is what we teach our girls: that they are STRONG. They’re strong to succeed in their careers, to have healthy relationships, to fight for their ideals, but especially strong enough to love who they are. On the days that they feel invisible, not appreciated and alone, that they have enough strength within them and respect for who they are, resilience to start over and a self-love that can’t be taken away. Teach them to support other women and be compassionate to them. Teach them not to judge, but to open their hearts and love on a fellow woman who is struggling. Lead by example…”

– @postpartum

“She dresses herself with strength and makes her arms strong.”

-Proverbs 31:!7

This is my first IWD as a mom and my sole message for women to remember today, yesterday and always is Be Kind, to everyone including yourself!!! You know, everyone is an expert on parenting…until they become parents themselves? And no one is harsher and more critical of a mother…than another mother. It beggars belief.

I’d been in hospital for about two months when I realized that this thing ko le werk.  It was not going to work. I was daily confined to a cubicle cordoned off by curtains in a medium sized ward crammed with beds of irritated women. Some with new babies and no sleep. Others with old anxieties and new fears. Add to that the irredeemable fact that my child was cordoned off in a different area and I had limited access to him daily. So I spent most of the day trying to get my mind off my anxieties. And crying intermittently. Lol.

So, I told the gynecologist and pediatrician that I wanted to go home.

“And leave your baby?!” the gynecologist said.

“Sounds good to me” the harried pediatrician said, because I’d harassed the life out of her in her daily care of my child.  Lol, I am that Google mum that questions every answer with another question.

To be honest with you, I knew at this point that my child was fine. The first two months had been a critical battle and he had crested the wave superbly, thanks to my merciful God. After a certain point, my son was in the incubator as a precaution because the policy in the hospital was for infants to leave the incubator at a certain weight. In most other hospitals, he would have been discharged and in my care.

I was mentally and emotionally exhausted after the longest battle of my life and I wanted to spend time preparing for my child to come home by getting myself in the right mental state, for myself. For him. How do you love with a tank on empty? I wanted to go home to what was familiar, to rebuild and understand this new and improved life for myself, explore its new pockets with my husband, appreciate the newness of this experience: We had just fought our way out of our biggest marital and parental challenge and made it out the other side together. We wanted to heal as a unit and create a sanctuary to welcome our little one. For the last two months, I had been running on grace and breastmilk-inducing pap…and I needed to exhale. I simply did not see the contribution I was making locked up in a sterile cell awaiting my child’s release.

But apparently the other mothers in the ward- who had never even been allowed into the NICU to see my child- did.

The vitriol and backlash I received from other women when it was known that I would be discharged, made me pause and fully realise what had been slowly becoming evident to me in my time in the maternity ward. There are too many angry Nigerian women. So many wives and mothers feel short-changed and resentful at what they believe is a requirement for motherhood: Suffering Disguised as Strength. The problem is our idea of strength is warped. Women are consistently demanding for LESS and giving up MORE of themselves than asked, needed or wanted, for the sake of everyone else. Often in the subconscious expectation of a reward for the ultimate sacrifice of our very selves at the altar of others.

Ladies, let me tell you now, there is no reward. You are the one you are waiting for, there is no super hero coming to save you so suit up and look sharp.

I told the ladies in the maternity ward, I am not that woman. I deserve to be taken care of as much as my son and my husband. I am worth the time, dedication and effort and I this Trophies for Suffering plaque women insist on giving themselves, in the guise of strength, should miss me. My peace of mind, wholeness and joy are necessary tools to create a good home for my husband and child. I love my husband, I love my son, I love my siblings and parents…AND I love Wendelyn. I love myself, I love myself with an aggressive, irrepressible, unapologetic passion that understands that love begets love.

“I love myself with an aggressive, irrepressible, unapologetic passion that understands that love begets love.”

Love begins with the self, if I cannot love myself truly then whatever love I give is tainted within it with a manipulative power to repress, control and destroy.

So, judgment or not, I LEFT MY CHILD IN THE HOSPITAL. Yes, I said it. I left him to be with the experts who I had studied over two months and determined were passionate about his care. I was there several times each day, the same amount of time I could visit when I was admitted in the hospital. The difference is, I was there as a whole human being, a capable and determined mother NOT running on empty. A woman whole, confident and able to support my husband at a crucial time while simultaneously cheering on my son in the most important battle of his life. And that was my choice. Influenced by no one but me: By my self-awareness and self-cognizance, an understanding of my abilities and limitations.

And that’s what I wish for all women on this day, Choice. The power to make choices that are uniquely yours, choices that are right for YOU. Choices uninfluenced by the stretch and taint of another’s opinions, or designed by the noises of the world’s nuances. But, choices that you select for yourself because you can. They may be idiotic, unconventional and frankly weird but, they are perfect.

Because they are yours.