Am I a bad mother for retiring in Africa and abandoning my children and grandchildren?
The weight of decision bears down, heavy and suffocating. She sits alone in her quiet living room, staring out the window, caught in a storm of conflicting emotions. Her mind races between two worlds—one of sacrifice, family, and duty; the other of self-discovery, freedom, and personal peace. In this moment, the question lingers: Can she leave it all behind to pursue a life she’s dreamed of for years, or does her responsibility as a mother and grandmother bind her to stay? The internal battle is fierce.
I can’t believe I’m even considering this. It feels like I’m suffocating, trapped in a prison of my own mind. How did I get here? How did I get to a place where I’m asking myself these questions, where I’m questioning everything about who I am and what I’ve built? What kind of person am I? What kind of mother am I, thinking this way? The guilt, it’s eating me alive, gnawing at my insides. How could I even think about retiring abroad? How could I even consider leaving everything behind, my children, my grandchildren, my family, for a life I dream of but don’t deserve?
To go or not to go?
It’s like I’m watching myself from the outside, and I can’t recognize this person anymore. What is wrong with me? I’ve always been the strong one, the one who sacrificed everything for them, for their happiness, for their future. But now? Now I’m staring at this broken version of myself, the one who wants to pack up everything and run away. I want to go to Africa, back to where it all started. I want to feel alive again, to breathe again, and to do the things I’ve never had time for — travel, write my book, take yoga classes, relax, finally enjoy life and watch the sunsets like I used to. Why can’t I have that? Why can’t I be me again?
But then the weight of it hits me. The shame. The guilt. The overwhelming fear that I’m a bad mother, a bad grandmother. I should be here, I should be with them, I should be the one who’s always there, who never leaves, who’s present, who watches their kids, who takes care of the house, who sacrifices herself for them. How could I even think about leaving them behind? How could I walk away from my grandchildren’s smiles, my children’s needs, the very people I raised, the very people I love with all my heart? What kind of monster does that? I’m supposed to be the one who never leaves, the one who stands by their side no matter what. That’s what a mother is. That’s what a grandmother is.
I’m so ashamed. So utterly ashamed. The thought of them thinking I don’t love them – that I’m abandoning them — it’s like a dagger in my chest. I should never want to leave them. I should never even think about it. How could I be so selfish? What kind of monster wants to run away from the people who depend on her, the people who need her? How can I just toss all of that aside and walk away?
What if I’m just holding on out of some misplaced sense of duty?
I’m not even sure if I should go. To go or not to go? That’s the question. I’m stuck in this place of indecision, paralyzed by my own fear, my own shame. What if they’ll hate me for it? What if they think I don’t care about them? What if they think I don’t want to be part of their lives anymore? The anxiety is suffocating. I feel like I can’t breathe, like I’m caught in this constant state of panic, wondering if I’m doing the right thing, wondering if I’m destroying everything I’ve worked so hard for. I thought I was making the right decision by giving them a better life here, but now? Now, I’m not sure. What if they’re better off without me, and I’m just holding on out of some misplaced sense of duty? What if I’m ruining everything?
I feel helpless. So completely helpless. I can’t escape these feelings. I can’t escape the doubt, the worry, the guilt. Every time I think of Africa, I see a life I could have—a life that’s mine, a life I’ve denied myself for so long. A life where I could finally live, where I could finally be the person I used to be, before all the responsibilities, before all the sacrifices. But I can’t seem to escape the nagging feeling in my chest, the whisper that says, You can’t leave them. You can’t abandon your family. How can I make this decision when every option feels like a mistake?
I’m angry. Angry at myself for even considering it. Angry at the guilt that’s been eating away at me, at the voice in my head that tells me I’m wrong for wanting something for myself. Why can’t I have both? Why can’t I take care of myself and be there for them? Why can’t I have the freedom I long for without the crushing weight of guilt?
It feels like I’m stuck between two worlds
The sadness is overwhelming, too. It feels like I’m stuck between two worlds. There’s the world I built for my family, the life I gave everything for, and then there’s the world I left behind in Africa, the world where I could be me again, where I could finally let go of the weight of responsibility and just live. How can I reconcile these two? How can I make peace with myself when I feel like I’m choosing between my happiness and their happiness? I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know if I can.
And the anger, it comes in waves. I’m angry at myself for letting this get to me, angry that I feel torn apart, like I’m some sort of selfish, horrible person for even considering a life of my own. But why shouldn’t I want that? Why shouldn’t I be allowed to have dreams, to live a life that’s mine after all the years I’ve spent giving to everyone else? Why can’t I just be free?
I feel like I’m falling apart, like there’s no way out of this mess I’ve created in my own head. How do I live with this? How do I make this decision? How do I choose when everything feels like it’s falling apart? How can I fix this? It’s a simple question people! To go or not to go?
This fictional monologue centers on a woman struggling with the decision to retire abroad, specifically returning to Africa, where she grew up, versus staying with her family in the U.S. The woman feels torn between her deep desire to reconnect with her roots and live a life of personal fulfillment—traveling, writing, and self-care—and the overwhelming guilt of potentially abandoning her children and grandchildren. She wrestles with the fear that her desire for freedom might make her a bad mother and grandmother. While Africa represents a place of freedom and a chance to rediscover herself, she feels trapped by her responsibilities to her family. The monologue highlights the emotional tension between self-sacrifice and personal happiness, and the character is left grappling with the overwhelming guilt and uncertainty of whether she should choose her own dreams or stay for her loved ones. This story is entirely fictional.
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To go or not to go’. We have identified 20 reasons why African immigrants in the USA may never retire in Africa. The articles are packed with useful information and real-world challenges that might surprise you!
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To go or not to go notwithstanding. These are products that reflect the diverse cultures of Africa and are often used to maintain a connection to home while living in the United States.
African Hair Products – Essential for natural, curly, and textured hair care.
Jollof Rice Seasoning – A key ingredient for making the beloved Jollof rice.
Shea Butter – A skincare staple known for its moisturizing and healing properties.
Palm Oil – A widely used cooking oil in many African dishes.
Kente Cloth – Vibrant, traditional fabric worn for special occasions and ceremonies.
Teff Flour – Essential for making injera and other Ethiopian dishes.
Injera (Ethiopian Flatbread) – A staple in Ethiopian cuisine, often bought frozen in the U.S.
Cassava Flour – A gluten-free flour used in many traditional African recipes.
Bitter Kola – Known for its medicinal properties and cultural significance.
Suya Spice Mix – A popular spice blend for making West African suya.
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Mahugu Nuthu is a content creator known for his compelling and well-researched analysis on business, personal growth, culture and self-care. He is a content creator for mhgcode.com blog, MHG Wisdom YouTube Channel and author of the book Bob the Money Doubler.
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