“She married that old man for money,” my mum said so calmly I nearly choked on my bagel—both from the shade and trying not to laugh. My mum is the reason why I got into The Real Housewives, not that she ever recommended it. Growing up, I’d catch her watching The Real Housewives: Orange County, New York, Beverly Hills, Atlanta. One morning, around 16, I found myself watching from a safe distance in the dining room. A few years later at uni, I binged the franchise properly and became a fan.
Fast forward years later, while back home, I showed my mum pictures from Real Housewives of Atlanta’s Porsha Williams’s multiple wedding ceremonies to Simon Guobadia. That’s when she began throwing shade and perspectives while I defended Porsha like I was on her PR team.
We debated about the messy circumstances of how Porsha met Simon, which was through his then-wife Falynn on The Real Housewives of Atlanta, only for the two to start dating by the next season, all while Falyn and Simon were going through a nasty public breakup. It wasn’t just the back-and-forth I enjoyed; I was getting a rare insight into my mum’s views on relationships, marriage, and cheating, all wrapped up in her unexpectedly frank commentary.
Ever since, whenever I’m back home, we rehash Housewives together. My biggest pet peeve is that she insists on watching the old seasons despite the fact I have very generously shared my Hayu subscription. But I humour her as we dissect Real Housewives OG Ramona Singer’s antics.
Whether we’re dissecting Housewives drama or life itself, I catch glimpses of her unfiltered thoughts on womanhood, love and everything in between.
All of our Housewives chats spill over into pure gisting. For those who aren’t familiar, to “gist” is to chat, catch up, and swap stories with someone, whether it’s gossip, politics, or family drama.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realised she’s something of an enigma to me. Gisting with her is how I find out what she really thinks about everything. Whether we’re dissecting Housewives drama or life itself, I catch glimpses of her unfiltered thoughts on womanhood, love and everything in between.
Ironically, my mum’s not one for gossip in the slightest, but it’s in these chats that tiny drops of family tea slip out. When I was about 19, it dawned on me that she’s the keeper of all the family secrets. Through her, I’ve pieced together why that relative is like that and why this person doesn’t speak to that one.
Growing up, I wouldn’t say my mum and I had a particularly close relationship. We had our fair share of ups and downs. I was sometimes scared of her, as she can be stern with a short fuse.
Looking back, I realise how hard it must have been for both of us, especially when we moved from Cape Coast in Ghana to Brighton in England when I was 9. I was struggling with my mental health, didn’t have many consistent friends or safe relationships, and the often tense dynamic between my mum and me only made things feel more isolating. She felt I didn’t respect her, especially since she doesn’t tolerate backchat, when all the while I was only trying to stand up for myself. But I was also lonely and insecure and I couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t understand or like me.
Our clashes stemmed from our very different personalities, temperaments and the generational and cultural gaps between us. I’m an ambivert, while she’s an introvert. I’m super chatty and she’s quiet. She’s super frugal, and while I’m not reckless with money, I know she side-eyes how much I spend on hair and nail appointments. I’m an evangelical Christian, while she’s a devout Catholic, so our expressions of faith couldn’t be more different.
Lorraine Collins, an integrative psychotherapist, is currently writing a book exploring the complexities of the mother-daughter relationship in the context of race and religious upbringing. She tells Unbothered that cultural expectations often shape how Black mothers and daughters interact. This certainly played a role in my relationship with my mum when I was younger. “In many Black families, mothers may impose their own unfulfilled dreams on their daughters, urging them towards paths they wished they had taken themselves.”
I felt the weight of my mum’s expectations about how I should behave. I was headstrong, stubborn, talkative and a bit boisterous. I was also emotional, a crier and wanted to connect with people and express myself. In our Ghanaian culture, sharing personal matters outside the home is frowned upon, so even writing this article feels like I might be crossing a line. Lorraine explains, “this clash between individual desires and cultural expectations often leads to silent resentment.” I felt this tension, too. But looking back, I realise my mum was still figuring me out — what she could mould and what would stick. After all, no parent wants to raise a know-it-all who’s rude to their elders.
Moving out a few years ago to live in the Midlands has really helped our relationship. The distance means we’re not in each other’s space to annoy one another, and it’s given me the opportunity to truly grow up. I’ve had to figure out my boundaries and create the space to make my own decisions, free from the potential judgement of my parents. I know they wouldn’t approve of all my choices, but I used to be paralysed by the fear of disappointing them.
According to Lorraine, in cultures where family loyalty is highly valued, setting boundaries can be challenging, but it’s crucial. “To overcome the guilt of setting boundaries, we need to remember why they’re necessary. By accepting the discomfort, we not only allow for personal growth and change but also create space for generational transformation, breaking free from unhealthy relational patterns that have been passed down.”
Through our gist sessions, we’ve developed a better understanding of each other as adult women. I’ve come to see and accept my mum as a woman independent of being a parent, with her own unique experiences and perspectives shaped by a life very different from mine.
This understanding showed up in real life when I went through my first breakup. I was heartbroken, and she’s not overtly emotional, so I wasn’t sure how comforting she would be. I had only told her about the relationship when it started going downhill, but her advice cut through in a way few people did, and I wish I’d opened up sooner.
I was in a controlling relationship with someone who tried to change me, and my mum was adamant that I shouldn’t be with anyone who would do that. I’d spent so much time thinking she’d prefer me to be different, and I realise there’s a genuine acceptance of who I’ve become as a woman.
Despite our differences — whether it’s how we approach relationships, money or faith — I’ve come to appreciate how far we’ve come. Ironically, it took a reality TV franchise to reveal the most real version of us: two women still learning each other, one episode at a time, and that’s been through unexpected bonding rituals like The Real Housewives.
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