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A neighbour, not much older than me, was deputised to look after me. I saw it as my job to protect my mother and never distract her from her writing.
It never crossed my mind to say that I needed some time and attention from her.
I grew up believing that children are millstones around your neck, and the idea that motherhood can make you blissfully happy is a complete fairytale.
In fact, having a child has been the most rewarding experience of my life.
Virginia Woolf was mentally ill and the Brontes died prematurely.
My mother had me - a 'delightful distraction', but a calamity nevertheless. According to the strident feminist ideology of the Seventies, women were sisters first, and my mother chose to see me as a sister rather than a daughter.
My mother's feminist principles coloured every aspect of my life.