Adwoa Okorewaa : Wellspring of A Matriach

October always makes me reflect. Beyond breast cancer and mental health awareness, it’s about strength, vulnerability, and the women who carried me through one of life’s defining seasons.

This isn’t just about motherhood; it’s about love, care, and survival. My 82-year-old grandmother, with her gentle spirit, was the anchor that kept me afloat as a new mother, wife, and working woman facing exhaustion.

When Distance and Duty Collided: Starting Motherhood Alone

When I got married, my husband worked in Takoradi, about five hours from Accra. He came home on weekends, and sometimes during the week if he could. Then I got pregnant! But that’s a story for another day, and it made things even harder. My mother, a civil servant, had just been transferred to Cape Coast, three hours away. The timing of her transfer meant she couldn’t be readily available either.

So there I was, expecting my first child, with my husband away and my mother newly posted. I had a planned Caesarean section, and though my mother took some leave to help, she eventually had to return to her post.

Then came my grandmother on 15th August 2014, bringing strength, care, and wisdom at 82!

A Blessing Arrives

She had been living with my aunt in Takoradi, but when she heard about my upcoming delivery, she insisted on coming to stay with me. We picked her up at the bus station in the afternoon, and that moment marked the beginning of one of the most defining chapters of my life.

In many Ghanaian homes, when a woman gives birth, it’s usually an older woman, often the mother or grandmother who steps in to care for the new mother and baby. My grandmother came ready to do just that.

Despite being 82 at that time, she moved with the energy of someone in her fifties. She walked briskly, washed, cleaned, sang hymns, and filled our home with her quiet strength. She was the kind of woman whose presence softened even the hardest days.

Finding Rhythm in the Chaos

The first few months went smoothly. My mother’s check-ins, my husband’s home visits, and the help of a young relative made things manageable.But after four months( maternity leave in Ghana is only 12 weeks!) right when I had returned to work after maternity leave , my house help told us she was leaving. I was devastated. How was I supposed to cope with a newborn, a demanding job, and an elderly grandmother? My mother couldn’t come often because of her new posting, and my husband was still in Takoradi. Suddenly, it was just me, my grandmother, and the 4 month old baby.

As Head of HR and Administration at a telecom firm, my days were long. That night, tears streaming, I wondered how I’d cope. My grandmother, calm and wise, reassured me: “Don’t worry. You are a new mother. If you let this stress consume you, it will affect the baby. We will find a way.

And she did!

Together, we came up with a plan. Every morning, after she had washed and bathed the baby and herself, she would have breakfast ready before I woke up. I’d pump milk, eat, and then drop her and the baby off at my father’s house nearby so she could have help if needed. At the end of the workday, I’d pick them up. That simple plan became our rhythm, our lifeline.

Healing in the Quiet Moments

My grandmother had a remarkable way of creating order out of chaos. Every day, she woke at 4 a.m., bathed herself and the baby, washed his clothes by hand (she didn’t trust the washing machine, “the water doesn’t flow well, it might breed bacteria”), and cooked porridge for me before I even opened my eyes.

By the time I got up, everything was ready. The baby was bathed, bottles sterilized, and breakfast waiting. I’d pump milk, eat, drop them off, and rush to work. In the evenings, we’d have supper, she’d help me breastfeed, and then bathe the baby while I pumped before bedtime.

At first, the baby slept in my room, but soon she realized I was too exhausted to hear him cry. She would quietly pick him up, soothe him, guide him to latch, and return him to bed so I could rest.

After a week, she said, “This isn’t good for you. You need uninterrupted sleep. I’ll make space for you in my room.” That Sunday, after dropping my husband at the bus station, she sat me down: “I am worried about you, your health, your mind, your marriage. You need rest. Let’s do things differently.”

She set up a bed beside hers. When the baby woke, she guided him to feed and let me drift back to sleep. For the first time in weeks, I rested properly.

The Grace That Kept Me From Falling Apart

Our evenings became sacred. I’d come home from work, bathe, feed the baby, eat, and then we’d sit together, sometimes watching TV, other times just talking. She’d ask about my day and, when she sensed I was fading, she’d say, “Let’s go to bed.”

She loved to read, Shakespeare, Dickens, Achebe, softly until I fell asleep. Some nights, when my spirit was low, she’d say, “No reading tonight. Let’s sing,” and we’d sing hymns, her voice steady and soothing.

There was such peace in those moments, a kind of unspoken therapy.

She ironed my clothes in the mornings before I woke and kept track of which breast the baby had fed on the night before. Every detail of my life was touched by her care.

Some Wednesdays, my mother would visit with food and laughter, and on weekends my husband would come. But during the week, it was just us, me, my baby, and my grandmother, my trinity of love and survival.

Lessons Etched in Love and Everyday Acts

Looking back, I see how deeply my grandmother protected me, not just from the exhaustion of new motherhood, but from the edges of depression and burnout. A friend struggled with postpartum depression, but I didn’t, because she created a space where I felt seen, cared for, and never alone.

Her care was gentle, consistent, and sacred. She never lectured on strength; she showed it quietly, waking at dawn, making sure I ate, and praying over me and the baby each night. At 82, she cared for a newborn, an exhausted mother, and a household, all with joy.

Even after we hired help, our routine stayed the same. I slept in her room; she read to me, sang hymns, and started each day calmly. She lived with me for over seven years, through both my children’s births.

Those years shaped me. Caregiving is not weakness but a quiet form of power. Love is a discipline, practiced in small, deliberate acts. Mental health isn’t only therapy or medication; it’s also who holds you when you’re falling apart.

Being a mother doesn’t mean doing it alone. It means accepting help, honoring rest, and creating a circle of care. Aging doesn’t diminish purpose; my grandmother’s strength was in her steady presence and in seeing what needed to be done without complaint.

Why Every Woman Needs a Circle of Care

Thinking about today’s conversations on mental health and women’s wellbeing, I see how far we’ve come, but also how far we still have to go. Many women navigate motherhood alone, pressured to “bounce back” while silently battling exhaustion, anxiety, and guilt. Yet in many African homes, grandmothers, aunties, and sisters form invisible safety nets, quietly holding families together.

We need to honor them, talk about them, and build systems at work, in policy, and in our communities that value care as much as productivity. Because care saves lives.

My grandmother had no psychology degree and didn’t know the term “mental health awareness,” but she understood wellbeing and embodied it. That, to me, is what October should remind us — awareness isn’t just campaigns and ribbons, but the people who make healing real in our daily lives.

She Taught Me That Strength Can Be Soft

My grandmother passed away on 3rd October 2024 , but her lessons live in everything I do. I see her in how I mother my own children, in how I listen when a friend is overwhelmed, in how I try to balance ambition with rest.

She taught me that strength is not noise. Strength can be found in the gentle hand that rocks a baby, in the quiet morning prayers, in the unspoken acts of love that hold families together.

She showed me that we are never too old to serve, never too busy to care, and never too far gone to nurture someone else’s light.

Who Held You When You Needed Holding?

As we mark Breast Cancer Awareness and Mental Health Month, I reflect on the women who hold us when life feels too heavy.

For me, it was my grandmother. She carried me when I couldn’t carry myself, helping me find my strength again.

Who held you when you needed holding? Who was your quiet source of grace, your reminder you weren’t alone?

Let’s celebrate them. These are the women, often unseen, often unspoken, who shape the best parts of us.

Your support keeps me writing! If you loved this post, please **like** the page now and leave a comment

Want more great content? Join the community and **subscribe** to the blog! 🤝