Words: Alice Olins
Image: Barney Beech

My daughter Pearl, 3 years old, recently told me that my favourite colour is pink. Nothing strange there, except that for adult vanity reasons, I like to pretend that my favourite colour is actually grey. Pathetic, I know, but there you go. Not once have I told Pearl about my covert pink fetish. But she knows the truth.

She knows because our brains work in the same way. She thinks like me. She acts like me. We reason in the same way. Pearl kind of is me, just in a younger, fresher form. My husband finds the whole thing fascinating. He’s right; it’s wonderful – and mind-boggling – to see how the genes game plays out. To put things into context, Tallulah, daughter number 2, is exactly like her father.

As Pearl has transitioned from toddler to little girl, the ways we interact, we love, we joke, we chat, they have all changed and it’s got me thinking about this whole mother/daughter thing. Because we are so similar, both possessing the same observant eye, the same sharp tongue, we are either in a state of adoration or emotional chaos.

The fallouts… They come in two, angry flavours: big and shouty or quiet and scowling, and it’s not hard to guess who comes out on top. Pearl can out-silence me at a mealtime impasse and her skilful ability to play not only her father, but the au pair against me, raising them up as heroes whilst I’m metaphorically left to rot, is as sophisticated as it is terrifying.

These extremes, which switch in an instance from joy to war, play on my mind. Over the past few months, as Pearl’s emotions – and tactics – have matured, I see that we could be headed for rocky waters. How can two females, who inhabit the same space and think in the same way, not end up constantly at odds?

I have a complex and delicate relationship with my own mother, so I am acutely aware of how tricky things can get. And I don’t want tricky things with Pearl. I tell myself to just sit back and enjoy her – to chill out. They niggle though, these worries. So I decided to talk to some other mothers, canvas a bit of opinion on the subject. It would be wise, I thought, to chat to ones with older children, ones with daughters who are already at school, even mothers who are now grandmothers. Most excitedly, I searched out mothers with a sideline in professional therapy.

Mothers like clinical psychologist Dr Roni Cohen-Sandler, author of the bestseller, I’m Not Mad I Just Hate You! A New Understanding of Mother Daughter Conflict. In her opinion, the power of this relationship means that to make it work, both sides need to apply themselves: “It is a gift when mothers and daughters can form close, strong relationships that are mutually enjoyable and satisfying. Because of how powerfully they affect each other, mothers and daughters may have to work extra hard to monitor their feelings and expectations and communicate, interact, and resolve conflicts in ways that keep them close.”

After sending over her professional thoughts, Dr Cohen-Sandler confided that she, too, had had a difficult relationship with her own mother and that she’d been resolute, once having children, that history would not repeat itself. And she’s done this by maintaining a strict family pecking order – and crucially, not crossing the line into best friend territory: “Girls need their mothers to act as mothers – to instruct, guide, provide limits, correct – especially during the growing up years. When mothers are so focused on being their daughters’ best friend, they are typically afraid to say or do anything that might risk their daughters’ disapproval or wrath. But that is exactly what mothers must sometimes do. Keeping one’s daughter safe should be a woman’s priority over meeting her own need for having a best friend.”

This sounds sensible. Friendship is based on equality; the relationship between parents and their children is built on an inevitable hierarchy. When Pearl comes into my room, chats to me about my clothes, tries on my shoes and asks me why Daddy is a boy, I can’t help but feel that we’re friends. We are friends and to a degree I think that’s OK. She’s not my best friend though. I don’t need a best friend. Her Godmother does a very good job of that already, plus I couldn’t possibly provide Pearl with the in depth knowledge of Peppa Pig supplied by Beatrice, Grace and Romy.

For Amelia Ainley, 34, mother to Kitty, 10, Rosie, 8, and her little boy Bertie, 3, the key to smooth parenting of girls is to graciously – and repeatedly – accept change: “Kitty is becoming a teenager; that means I need to negotiate her needs with the needs of the family as a whole. She’s desperate to go off with her friends, which is a shift from when she spent hours constructing Playmobil scenes with her sister.” Amelia is also strict when it comes to manners: “I’ve always been consistent about what I expect from them (beds made, manners at the table) because then it’s more fun when you dish out praise.”

This is good, practical advice. Don’t become best friends, always ensure they do their chores, enjoy complimenting your children; I am already feeling like a more in-control, less panicked mother. And then the sentimental stuff started arriving into my inbox: “Mothering is a totally giving experience. You are likely to receive masses back from your relationship but it cannot be based on any expectation of receiving or it will be taking.” This is the touching opinion of parenting coach Alison Banks of parentingtutor.co.uk. It caught me off guard. I found her words strangely heart-wrenching; don’t we all, in the midst of everyday life, expect something back?

Taking on board what Alison had said, and in turn letting go of my need for perfection, felt freeing. I felt a similar lightness after my transatlantic phone call with fashion designer Helene Berman. Mother to Sara, 39 and Amiee, 35; Berman thinks a successful relationship is based on three core elements: chemistry, enjoyment and what’s now become a theme, acceptance: “The connection between a mother and her daughter is delicate, but it is a wonderful. I felt like I was the luckiest thing in the world to have my two daughters.” For Berman, it has been the landmarks of life, births, deaths, marriages, which could have complicated matters, but she wouldn’t let any of them touch her basic need for her girls: “I just always wanted them to be happy. That is enough.” Her parting words to me: “Just enjoy your girls, they are gifts.”