The maternal instinct
is, in my opinion, an unrecognised superpower: a natural force so strong it trumps
even self-preservation. Mothers have lifted cars to save trapped children. They
run into burning buildings and across the path of gunfire.
So why isn’t the
world perpetually in awe of this extraordinary female phenomenon? To me, it seems
taken for granted.
In writing The Bad
Mother, I set out to explore the power of the maternal instinct when it
succeeds – and the catastrophic damage when it fails. One of my characters fears
herself incapable of this protective drive because her own mother didn’t
possess it. She wonders: do bad mothers beget bad mothers… or can the cycle be
broken? She finds out the answer when her child’s life is in danger.
Growing up, I never
had a particularly strong maternal instinct. While others cooed and marvelled,
I thought babies were boring (and let’s be honest; if they’re not yours, they
kind of are). Motherhood was always something I thought I might try ‘in five
years.’ Except the five years moved with me, never becoming four or three.
Until I was hitting the snooze alarm on my biological clock. I didn’t feel
ready – what if I wasn’t any good at it? - but if I wanted to be a parent, I
could put it off no longer.
And along came Kai.
I quickly discovered
that being a mother was far harder than I’d imagined when watching young Mums
wheeling their babies around the park or bouncing them on a knee during chats
over lattes in Starbucks.
‘Why didn’t you tell
me how bad the nights are?’ I asked my sister once through a haze of
exhaustion, after being pulled from sleep five times a night for four months.
‘I was afraid it
would put you off doing it,’ she said.
And it might well
have. Because I wouldn’t have factored in that primal drive, how it would change
me. I am a naturally selfish person, but having a baby turned my own wants and
needs into secondary considerations. And ignited my protective instinct: I would
have killed, without hesitation, anyone who threatened my baby. I would have stepped
in front of a knife or gun aimed her way.
Which is why, to
quote Rudyard Kipling, ‘the female of the species is more deadly than the male.’
This is true right across the animal kingdom. Mother bears are the endlessly
cited example, though personally, I think that misses the point. Because yes,
mother bears fight to protect their cubs. But they are huge creatures with
giant teeth and claws, so the risks tend to be higher on their opponent’s side.
More impressive to me are the tiny mothers pitting themselves against giants.
My friends and I scuba dive, and once accidentally trespassed on a trigger
fish’s territory during breeding season. There were six of us, all skyscrapers
compared to the little fish. But that didn’t stop her from darting out and attacking
the enormous, bubbling monsters that had dared encroach on her nest.
Such is the power of
the mother’s instinct – when it works. It doesn’t always.
An older woman – a
no-nonsense, unsentimental Scot – told me that after she gave birth to her
first child, she felt nothing. When she looked at her new born, she experienced only
a dull sense of duty.
For two days, she
went through the motions of maternal care, fearing she had made a terrible
mistake, trapping herself with the responsibility for another life from which
she felt completely detached.
But then something
happened. Something that sounds small but turned out to be immensely powerful.
She smelled the top of her baby’s head. That scent
– like mown grass and fresh bread baking – opened a door inside her, unleashing
an emotional flood that was unlike anything she’d ever never known: a fierce love
so pure and unfiltered that it felt like light.
Well. That was my
interpretation anyway.
Her exact words were:
‘I smelled the top of her head and thought “There. That’s me sorted.”’
Her story, in a less
understated-Scot form, was the inspiration for a pivotal scene in my novel,
marking a dramatic and unexpected change in a new mother’s relationship with
her baby.
My own child is now a
teenager, still in bed as I write this at one-thirty pm, in a room whose floor
is infuriatingly covered with mounds of flung, mostly black, clothing. These
days I am woken in the night, not by cries, but by too-loud speakerphone chats
with other nocturnal teenagers. Much has changed. But one thing remains the
same.
I would still fight or
die to protect her.
The Bad Mother by C J Parsons
(HarperCollins Publisher) Out 27 August 2026
Natasha was plunged into every parent’s ultimate nightmare when her son was taken from hospital shortly after his birth. Worse still, in the vital twenty-four hours after Baby Justin went missing, the police focused on the wrong suspect. TV producer Chloe, greedy for a quick headline, broke the rules by revealing the suspect's identity. The mistake derailed the case, and her career. Now Chloe has a chance at redemption. New evidence surrounding Justin’s abduction has come to light. But for both Natasha and Chloe, revisiting the past means facing up to their own decisions. And unspeakable secrets…
More information
about the author and her work can be found on her website. She can also be found on
Instagram @CJParsons2021. On X @charlopar and on Facebook @CJ Parsons Author.
