Most of my growing up, I spent with either my mother or her relatives, from her sisters to her parents. And that made me observe most of their behaviours. One of the standout behaviours that my mother had was discipline.

She needed that discipline to raise us the way she deemed right as a single mother for most of her life. And I understand her; trying to take care of five kids as a single parent is not an easy task. The last thing she wanted was for one of those five kids to come home late every night because he played football.

Now my mother had a way of using sticks to beat us, especially me. She would hide them in places you would never imagine. Then she would wait for me to take a shower, have dinner, and get ready for bed.

There was a time when my mother beat me almost every day for the entire month. At this point in my life, I faced a tough choice: stop playing football to respect her schedule, or keep playing and face the consequences. I chose to stop playing football; the beatings were too much to handle.

Now my friends would usually say my mother was so sweet. When they came home to play, pick me up, or drop me off after school and soccer, she would give them gifts and joke with them. Sometimes she would give them food and snacks. At that stage of my life, I could never put the three words in one sentence, “my mother” and “sweet.”

After that incident of my mother beating me for the entire month because of soccer, she stopped. Then she adopted another strategy: the silent treatment. If you don’t know the silent treatment, let me narrate it for you.

Silent treatment occurs when someone feels you’ve hurt them, so they choose to ignore you. Now the silence has levels; some people will never mention what is wrong but act weird. Some people will avoid you. Some people were like my mother; I will tell you how.

My mother could do everything she did before you messed up, but she wouldn’t talk to you. She would make me breakfast, wash the dishes after I ate, give me bus fare for school, and do it all again in the evening. But she will never ask me about my day, the school, why I came late or what happened. She will never task me to do anything like going shopping, helping with the chores, and the like.

And she would do that for as long as I would accept it. She would wait until I could not take it anymore. Then after that, she would go on her famous guilt trip type of interview. Usually, the conversation would be like this:

“Mom, I am sorry!” I would start.

“For what?” she would respond, her dark gaze fixed on my eyes.

“I delayed coming home because I went to play football,” I would respond.

“What is wrong with coming home late?” she would ask, this time not looking at me.

“‘Cause you don’t like it,” I would respond, trying to hide my tears.

“What is the problem if I don’t like something?” she would question.

This pattern of questioning would continue for a long time. I would feel embarrassed, humiliated, and intimidated. Then, she would ask why I didn’t apologise sooner.

Now, if you have ever read about or encountered psychological torture, that is what she was doing. To me, that was worse than the beatings. Her silent treatment was the worst thing she had ever done to me. And worse, I gradually embraced it and began to use it to my advantage.

I quickly chose the beating instead of the silent treatment when comparing the two scenarios. On its own, the beating for the entire month every night seemed so bad for a poor kid who just wanted to play soccer till late. The silent treatment changed everything for me. I don’t recall the pain from the beating, and I have no visible marks or scars. But I have the impacts of the silent treatment.

I talked to my mother about the modality and its impact on us. She understood and was happy to be more open. She agreed to reduce the silent treatment, as it was her only way of handling things with us as adults. And I love that version of my mother, straightforward and open when something happens.

A few years ago, I visited my mother at work before she retired. During lunch, one of her coworkers said my mother is the most direct and open lady he knows, and he hated it. She was honest and direct with him about the mistakes he made, which were plenty. “Most of the time she is rude and tough with me,” he added with a fake smile. That reminded me of the younger friends who said my mother was sweet.

Here is the point: nothing is as good or bad as it seems. The perception of the thing is what makes it good or bad. When my mother punished me each night, I thought she was terrible. But my friends, enjoying the food and snacks from her, saw her as sweet. The same mother, the same day, different perceptions.

When my mother confronted the coworker face to face, he thought it was rude. He isn’t used to that kind of openness. After years of her silent treatment, I now truly value her openness and honesty. The same mother, the same habit, different perception.

Now that is how everything in life is; nothing is as good or bad as it seems. Your perception of things makes them good or bad. Money, power, religion, tribes, relationships, careers, and more are neither good nor bad.

Some see money as evil. Yet, others use it to help people and build their communities. Some people believe religion is everything. Others use it to control the weak and vulnerable. Some people see relationships as awful, tough, and full of manipulation. Others believe that the true essence of life lies in the value of the relationships we build.

Some people have unemotional, chaotic marriages, yet they enjoy financial security and comfort. Others are in loving, sweet, and romantic marriages, yet they face financial struggles. Some people are famous with no money; others have money and lack fame. Neither of those situations is good or bad. 

Being single might seem bad to you, but it looks like the best option for someone who is in a horrible relationship. Being sick might be bad for you, but it looks better for the relatives who have lost their loved ones. They would take a chance to see them for the last time, any time, even in sickness. 

Next time someone says something is bad, think about six and nine. They look different, but they’re the same number from another angle. Whatever is happening in your life is neither good nor bad; it only depends on how you see it. Nothing is as good or bad as it seems, perception. 

May you be happy.

May you be healthy.

May you be free from suffering.

May you find peace and joy.

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Rogers Katuma

Financial Artist, Senior Adventurer, Occasional Storyteller and an Amateur Golfer