Bake Off winner and TV chef Nadiya Hussain remembers being a “little dreamer” as a girl, but says things changed when she became a teenager. Now a mother of three, she was asked by the BBC’s podcast Dear Daughter to write a personal letter to her youngest son.
Here, Nadiya reflects on how her childhood shaped her and ends with the words she created for her 13-year-old self.
From the moment she was born, I realized that I was not ready to bring into the world a daughter who considered herself inferior to everyone else.
She is my youngest child. She also has two sons with me – they are 16 years old and she is 17 years old.
I knew growing up as a brown Muslim boy would be difficult for them both, but they didn’t have to deal with the hurdles and challenges their daughter was facing.
There’s an affirmation that I taught them all, but I taught her in particular: “stick your elbow out.”
You need to have space for yourself wherever you go.
Now that she’s a teenager, I don’t want her to lose the big dreams and bold ambitions that I lost as a girl.
I remember learning about historical world leaders at school in Luton in the early 1990s.
“That’s what I want to be,” I thought. “I’m going to be prime minister.”
But then someone will say, “So, have you ever seen a brown prime minister?”
And that dream will be shattered.
It makes me think about how far we have come today.
Queen Elizabeth II cutting the cake Nadiya baked for her 90th birthday
As I approached my daughter’s age, Nadiya, the dreamer, disappeared.
I realized that the path ahead of me was going to be different from that of my brothers.
There was a hierarchy in my family, and men were always at the top.
My brothers had freedom, socialization, and education.
I wanted to study hard for my A-levels and go to university, but my mother told me it would never be possible.
“You are a girl, so you need to get married,” she said.
I felt like the person who had been so full of life was gone.
But looking back now, I’m proud of who I’ve become. I think my children are the same way.
Nadiya tells Namranta Kombo about a letter she wrote to her 13-year-old daughter.
When I was little, you never saw people like me on cooking shows on TV.
OK, I may never become Prime Minister, but my passion for baking has put me in the public eye as a British-Bangladeshi.
Baking gave me confidence and helped me deal with my anxiety. I have her PTSD and panic disorder. Sharing food helped me connect with people.
Maybe girl Nadiya’s big dreams weren’t so unrealistic after all.
Both my daughter and my eldest son love baking. My second son washes the dishes. My husband, on the other hand, is a terrible cook. One time, while he was boiling an egg, the egg exploded and hit the ceiling.
My daughter is very smart, loyal, and kind. She sometimes rolls her eyes when I give her advice, but I know she’s really listening deep down in her heart.
When I sent this letter to my daughter’s cell phone, she asked if she could frame it and display it in her room.
“Sure, I’ll frame it,” I said. I never want to lose the line of communication.
My letter to my daughter:
This is your mother, and I know she doesn’t listen when I tell her. not much. You shrug. When I suggest that I might know better, you dismiss and disgust. When you look at me, all you see is your mother. She’s that woman, someone you’ve known all your life.
I can see what is standing in front of me, even though I am often held back. I am here. I’m your mother. That’s all you can see. She is not the person she was before her. Let her tell you a little about that little girl.
That girl, well, looked nothing like your mother. This girl was wild. She had great ideas and even greater dreams. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. She spoke about her feelings. She talked about change. She preached about fairness. Even at her tender age. She knew where she wanted to be. Despite the lockdown her life had in store for her.
Sometimes I daydream and wonder where that little girl went. How did she disappear from the public eye so quickly? Then I looked at you and realized you were that little girl. Same, but completely different. Fierce, bold, and bright, like your mother before you.
This is your mother. Even if I speak, I know you won’t listen. Know that the little girl inside me that I once was and once lost is holding your hand. And we will never lose another little girl. Let your fire always be strong. May your purpose guide you. Be the brightest shining light.
