Did you know that maternal relationships can literally shape our brain development? I’ve always been fascinated by how these powerful bonds influence who we become! In Australia, maternal figures take many forms beyond biological mothers—grandmothers, aunts, stepmothers, and other nurturing women who provide essential care and guidance. This article explores the profound importance of maternal figures in our personal development, emotional wellbeing, and broader society. Whether you’re reflecting on your own maternal relationships or seeking to understand their significance, join us as we examine the multifaceted impact these vital connections have on our lives.
Understanding the Different Types of Maternal Figures
Growing up in suburban Melbourne, I never realised how narrow my definition of “mother” was until my own family structure changed. When I was twelve, my parents divorced, and within two years, my father remarried. Suddenly, I had two maternal figures in my life—my biological mother and my stepmother, Sarah.
At first, I resisted Sarah’s attempts to connect. I viewed her presence as a threat to my relationship with my mom. But Sarah was patient. She never tried to replace my mother; instead, she carved out her own unique space in my life. She taught me that maternal figures come in many forms, each bringing their own gifts to our lives.
The Australian Institute of Family Studies reported in 2023 that nearly 30% of Australian families now exist outside the traditional nuclear family model. This statistic reflects my own experience and that of so many others I’ve encountered through the years. Maternal figures today include stepmothers, grandmothers raising grandchildren, aunts who step in during crucial moments, foster mothers providing temporary but essential care, and countless other women who nurture and guide children who may or may not share their DNA.
I think about my friend Jenna, whose grandmother became her primary caregiver after her mother’s struggle with addiction. Or my colleague David, who was raised by his aunt after losing both parents in an accident. These relationships don’t diminish the importance of biological mothers but rather expand our understanding of maternal love and care.
In my work with Aboriginal communities in North Queensland, I’ve witnessed the beautiful complexity of kinship systems where maternal responsibilities are shared among extended family networks. “In our community,” Elder Auntie May once told me, “every child has many mothers. It takes a village, and every woman in that village has maternal responsibilities.”
The Psychological Impact of Maternal Bonds on Development
The first time I recognised the profound impact of my maternal bonds was during therapy in my early twenties. My psychologist explained attachment theory, helping me understand how my relationship with my mother had shaped my ability to form connections with others.
“Secure attachment,” she explained, “is like building a house on a solid foundation. Everything else in your life stands more firmly because of it.”
I was fortunate. Despite the divorce and family restructuring, my mother remained a consistent, loving presence. She created what psychologists call a “secure base” from which I could explore the world, knowing I always had somewhere safe to return.
My friend Ellis wasn’t so lucky. His mother’s untreated depression meant their attachment was inconsistent. As an adult, he struggles with relationships, often expecting abandonment or dismissing his own emotional needs, patterns directly linked to his early maternal bond.
The Australian Psychological Society has conducted extensive research on how these early bonds influence our emotional regulation. I see this in my own life—when faced with stress, I often hear my mother’s calm voice in my head, guiding me to take deep breaths and approach problems methodically. These aren’t just habits; they’re internalised patterns formed through thousands of interactions with her throughout my childhood.
What fascinates me most is how these maternal relationships continue shaping us well into adulthood. When I faced a devastating breakup at 27, it was my stepmother, Sarah, who helped me rebuild my self-concept. “You are not defined by one relationship,” she insisted during our weekly coffee dates. “You are whole on your own.” Her unwavering belief in me became part of how I saw myself.
The Biological and Neurological Effects of Maternal Care
When my sister had her first child, I witnessed something remarkable—a biological transformation that seemed almost magical. This fiercely independent woman, who once travelled solo through South America for six months, suddenly became attuned to her baby’s tiniest sounds. She could distinguish between her daughter’s hungry cry and tired whimper within days.
“It’s the oxytocin,” she explained, referencing what she’d learned from her midwife. “They call it the love hormone for a reason.”
The biology of maternal bonding fascinates me. University of Queensland researchers published a groundbreaking study in 2024 showing how physical contact between mother and child triggers cascades of oxytocin, dopamine, and other neurochemicals that not only strengthen their bond but literally shape the developing architecture of the child’s brain.
I experienced this biological connection from the other side when I became a foster mother to six-year-old Lily. Though we didn’t share the initial biological bonding of pregnancy and infancy, I was amazed to discover how my body physically responded to her needs over time. After several months together, I would wake moments before she did during the night, as if my system had become synchronised with hers.
The neurological impacts of maternal care became painfully clear when Lily first arrived in my home. Having experienced neglect in her early years, she struggled with emotional regulation and showed developmental delays. Working with her therapist, we created a consistent, nurturing environment that her brain desperately needed. Within a year, the transformation was remarkable—her ability to process emotions, form relationships, and even her cognitive skills improved dramatically.
Cultural Perspectives on Maternal Figures in Australia
My understanding of motherhood expanded enormously when I began working with the multicultural community centre in Western Sydney. There, I met women whose maternal practices differed dramatically from my Anglo-Australian upbringing.
Fatima, a Lebanese-Australian grandmother, described her role: “In my culture, grandmothers are not just occasional babysitters. We are essential to the family structure. I live with my son’s family and care for my grandchildren on a daily basis while their parents are at work. This is not unusual—it’s expected.”
During a community art project, I worked closely with Aunty Jess, an Aboriginal elder who explained the concept of maternal kinship in her community. “Our children belong to all of us,” she said while guiding young girls in a traditional weaving circle. “Your mother’s sisters are also your mothers. They have different names but the same responsibilities. Children are raised by the community, not just the birth mother.”
The contrast with how Australian media portrays motherhood couldn’t be more striking. Despite our multicultural reality, our magazines, advertisements, and television shows often present a narrow view—typically a white, middle-class woman juggling career and children, with perhaps a nod to single motherhood. These portrayals rarely capture the rich diversity of maternal experiences across our nation.
I remember watching a Vietnamese family celebrate Vu Lan, a festival honouring maternal figures, at a local Buddhist temple. The tenderness with which adult children washed their elderly mothers’ feet brought tears to my eyes. “This is how we show our gratitude,” explained Minh, a second-generation Australian. “In our culture, the debt to our mothers can never fully be repaid.”
Supporting Maternal Figures in Contemporary Australia
The morning my friend Leah returned to work after maternity leave, I found her crying in the office bathroom. “I feel like I’m failing at everything,” she confessed. “I’m not giving enough at work or at home.”
This moment crystallised for me the impossible standards we place on maternal figures in Australia today. Despite policy improvements in recent years, the practical support for mothers remains inadequate. Leah’s experience is common—the Workplace Gender Equality Agency reported in 2024 that 62% of mothers feel torn between work and family obligations, with significant impacts on their mental health and career progression.
When my sister became a single mother after her divorce, I watched her navigate a system that often seemed designed to make her life harder rather than easier. The childcare subsidy covered some costs, but the administrative hurdles were enormous. “I spend hours on paperwork that could be with my kids,” she complained one evening while filling out yet another form.
The financial pressures on maternal figures are immense. I volunteer at a community centre where I’ve met mothers working multiple jobs just to keep a roof over their children’s heads. One woman, Diane, works nights cleaning offices after her day job as a receptionist. “I barely see my kids during the week,” she told me, “but what choice do I have?”
Mental health support for maternal figures remains woefully inadequate. When my neighbour developed postpartum depression, the waiting list for specialised support was three months long. “They tell you to reach out for help,” she said bitterly, “but what good is reaching out when there’s nobody there to take your hand?”
The Absence or Loss of Maternal Figures and Its Effects
The teacup sat untouched on my kitchen shelf for nearly a year after my mother died. It was her favourite—delicate porcelain with hand-painted violets. I couldn’t bring myself to use it, nor could I pack it away. It became a symbol of my grief, tangible yet untouchable, just like the memories of her that both sustained and haunted me.
Maternal loss creates a unique form of grief. When my mother passed away from breast cancer three years ago, I found myself adrift in a way I hadn’t anticipated. At 35, I considered myself thoroughly adult and independent, yet her absence created a void that seemed to reach back through time, making me feel orphaned in some fundamental way.
“The mother-child bond is primal,” my grief counsellor explained. “When that bond is severed, whether through death, abandonment, or estrangement, the impact resonates through every aspect of one’s life.”
I’ve seen this in my friend Miguel, whose mother left the family when he was eight. Even now, in his forties, he struggles with abandonment fears that have sabotaged promising relationships. “I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop,” he confessed during a late-night conversation. “For the people I love to decide I’m not worth staying for.”
Australian support services for maternal loss have improved, but gaps remain. The bereavement group I joined after Mom died was helpful, but focused primarily on spousal loss. The unique nature of maternal grief wasn’t fully addressed. I found myself turning to online communities where I connected with others who understood the specific pain of losing a mother.
One unexpected source of comfort came from my former stepmother, Sarah. Though she and my father had divorced years earlier, she reached out after Mom’s funeral. Our shared memories of my mother created a bridge between us. She became a surrogate maternal figure during my darkest days, proving that maternal care can come from unexpected sources when we need it most.
Celebrating and Honouring Maternal Figures
Last Mother’s Day, instead of the usual flowers and breakfast in bed ritual, I asked my aunt what would truly make her feel appreciated. Her answer surprised me.
“I’d love a day where someone notices all the invisible things I do,” she said. “Not just the cooking and cleaning, but remembering everyone’s schedules, maintaining family relationships, managing the emotional climate of our home. Just someone noticing would be a gift enough.”
Her response made me reflect on how we honour maternal figures in Australia. The commercial holiday with its cards and gifts barely scratches the surface of acknowledging the profound work these women do. Real celebration requires seeing—truly seeing—the multidimensional labour of maternal figures.
In my family, we’ve developed traditions that feel more meaningful than the commercial holiday. Each year on my mother’s birthday, we gather to prepare her favourite meal together. As we chop vegetables and stir sauces, stories naturally emerge—funny memories, life lessons she taught us, ways we see her reflected in ourselves and each other. This ritual connects us to her and to each other in ways no store-bought card could achieve.
I’ve learned that honouring maternal figures isn’t a once-yearly event but a continuous practice. When my friend became a new mother, I discovered that the most meaningful support wasn’t bringing gifts for the baby but bringing meals for her, offering to fold laundry, or simply sitting with her during those isolated, overwhelming early weeks.
The relationships we have with maternal figures evolve throughout our lives. As a teenager, I fought constantly with my mother, asserting independence in ways that now make me cringe. In my twenties, we slowly rebuilt a friendship alongside our mother-daughter bond. By my thirties, as I faced my own adult challenges, I began to appreciate her wisdom in entirely new ways.
Final Thoughts
The importance of maternal figures extends far beyond their basic caregiving role—they shape our neural pathways, emotional development, and capacity for relationships throughout life. In Australia’s diverse society, we’re fortunate to recognise and celebrate maternal figures in their many forms, from biological mothers to the countless women who nurture, guide, and support us. As we’ve explored, these relationships profoundly impact our individual well-being and collectively strengthen our communities. I encourage you to reflect on the maternal figures who have shaped your life and perhaps reach out to express your gratitude. By understanding and honouring these vital relationships, we can better support maternal figures and ensure their invaluable contributions continue to be recognised and celebrated throughout Australian society.
