Words by Anonymous (she/her/ia)
When I think about familial love between women I think of the beauty of blood in snow. The red against white creates a sense of understated and often unrecognised beauty. Yet, it also serves as a reminder of the consequences when humans interfere with nature—beauty tinged with a warning of danger. Society’s influence on these relationships forces them into predefined boxes of what they should be, dictating what is good or bad and even extending to how women should behave. In this metaphor, the blood represents societal pressure, where the show symbolises the relationship itself.
In my family, relationships endured their fair share of strain. My sister and I had the classic sibling relationship: loving each other as children , then hating each other for a few years, before finally settling into a mutual respect as we become adults. We fought fiercely, sometimes needing to be physically separated to avoid hurting each other, only to be chatting about a TV character or teaming up against our mum an hour later. Understanding her has never been complicated for me, even if others seem to struggle.
The way I show my sister love includes helping her with schoolwork or Māori projects, choosing gifts that suit her personality, justifying her actions to our mum, and trying to steer her away from stupid decisions by warning her of potential embarrassment. I’ve also played the role of older sister, supplying her with alcohol for her parties when our mum couldn’t be bothered going to the store. Her way of showing me love is by keeping me updated on hometown drama, telling me about all the stupid stuff she does, only contacting me when she needs something, and driving me around when I visit home. We mutually show love through the occasional compliment, and by staying out of each other's social circles. I’m aware this isn’t everybody's ideal view of sisterhood, but it's ours.
With my mum, there’s a deep respect between us. My respect comes from recognising how, as a young mother, she has done an incredible job, much of it without a partner. And of course, she’s my mum, so I’m biased. She's worked incredibly hard to provide for her family, and I know she could have chosen a different path in life, but she chose to raise me and my sister. Her respect, I imagine, stems from pride in her child, though we have never actually spoken about it. I know she loves me because she tells me, she cries when I leave after visits, she calls and or texts to check in when we haven’t spoken in a month, and she shouts me groceries when I need it. She knows I love her because I say it back, I pay for the ridiculously expensive flights to go home, and I send her random updates now and then. Again, this might not be the ideal mother-daughter relationship by conventional standards, but frankly it doesn’t matter. It is for us.
I outline the nature of these relationships not to complain or devalue the relationships I have but to emphasise
that, in my view, love comes from the little things. In my family, we don’t need grand gestures, frequent declarations of love, or the approval of others to affirm our bonds. I love the women in my life for the fact we find small ways to show care, despite the strain, the growing pains, our differences, the distance between us, and the societal expectations of how relationships between women should be—because, frankly, fuck
that. Mothers don’t need to be perfect, sisters fight; it's simply human nature. We are all people, and in cases
where situations aren’t inexcusable, these relationships endure, carrying love in their own unique, and sometimes unexpected, ways.
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