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The Silent Knife: When Friends Cut You Out on Purpose

~ Rochelle ~ Leave a comment

The Cruelty of Invisible Violence

Exclusion is not an accident. It is one of the most insidious forms of bullying, because it leaves no bruises but cuts deeper than a blade. When a group of friends creates a chat and deliberately leaves one person out, it is not just “kids being kids.” It is a calculated act of erasure.

To the person excluded, the message is clear: you don’t belong, you don’t matter, you don’t even deserve to exist in our world.

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Why They Do It

Bullies rarely admit the truth about their motives, but here is what’s really happening:

• Control: Exclusion gives them power. They know you’ll notice you’re missing. That knowledge feeds their egos.

• Jealousy: Sometimes they envy the person they exclude. Cutting you out feels like cutting down the threat you represent.

• Insecurity: Those who are truly secure don’t need to hurt others to feel important. Exclusion is the weapon of the weak.

• Cruel enjoyment: Some bullies simply take pleasure in watching someone squirm. It’s entertainment, but at the cost of someone’s soul.

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The Pain You Feel Is Real

If this has happened to you, understand: the pain is not imagined. Science has proven that social exclusion activates the same areas of the brain as physical pain. That stabbing in your chest? The ache in your stomach? That’s your body responding as if it has been physically attacked.

This is why it feels so unbearable. You have been socially stabbed, and the wound is invisible.

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The Hidden Message They Send

By creating a group and deliberately excluding you, they are saying:

• “We control the narrative.”

• “We can erase you whenever we like.”

• “We decide when you’re worthy of being seen.”

This is psychological warfare. And for those who created the chat: you may think it’s a harmless joke, but what you’ve done is take a knife to someone’s sense of belonging. You’ve shown them that cruelty can be planned, and that you’re willing to wound for sport.

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What To Do If It Happens to You

• Do not beg for entry. Begging hands them victory. They want you to chase, to prove their power. Don’t.

• Pull your energy away. Invest in friendships and activities that don’t demand you shrink yourself to fit.

• Name what happened. Call it what it is: exclusion. Don’t sugarcoat it.

• Remember their behavior is a mirror. Their exclusion reflects their insecurity, not your worth.

• Talk it out. With a parent, a teacher, or a trusted friend. Silence only strengthens their grip.

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What Never to Forget

The right friends will never cut you out just to watch you bleed. The right friends will never weaponize belonging. If they do, they are not friends.

And to the bullies reading this: you may think this is nothing, that it will be forgotten in time. But the truth is—it will not. Every exclusion leaves a scar. One day, when you look in the mirror, you’ll see the face of someone who chose cruelty when kindness was an option. You will remember the moment you decided to make someone else feel invisible.

And the shame will follow you, because deep down, you will know: you were the coward who needed to hurt someone else to feel strong.

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Skincare Won’t Save You from Being a Terrible Person

~ Rochelle ~ Leave a comment



When the ugliest thing in the room is the way you treat people.

She thought they were friends.

She thought it was safe to speak.

She was wrong.

My daughter overheard a conversation between girls she believed were her friends. They were talking about skincare — lightheartedly, like many 13-year-olds do — and one girl mentioned she was going shopping with her parents for some products. My daughter smiled, joined in the conversation, and suggested a skincare brand she genuinely loves.

That was her crime.

It wasn’t to one-up. It wasn’t to shame. It wasn’t to hurt anyone.

It was just a human being joining in a conversation she was already invited into.

But the girl she responded to wasn’t a friend at all.

She was a fraud.

Instead of accepting what was clearly a thoughtful and friendly contribution, this girl twisted it into something cruel. She ran to others — perhaps hungry for attention, perhaps poisoned by her own insecurity — and said:

“She only said that just as I was starting to feel confident about my skin.”

As though my daughter’s words were a surgical strike.

As though she had any malicious intent.

As though talking about skincare — during a skincare conversation — is bullying.

This wasn’t sensitivity. This was strategy.

And it worked. Because others believed her.

But here’s the truth:

You cannot beautify a heart that is rotten.

This girl — so concerned with the clarity of her skin — doesn’t realise that her soul is the thing that actually needs healing. Her face may one day glow with the most expensive serums in the world, but what lives inside her?

Cruelty.

Bitterness.

Calculated deception.

There is no product on this planet that will cleanse that.

And her best friend?

She tried to test my daughter — and failed miserably.

Later, her little sidekick thought she was being clever. She messaged my daughter and said:

“You look exactly like [the girl who took offence to the skincare comment].”

She expected my daughter to be insulted. To flinch. To squirm.

But what she didn’t realise is that her statement was an insult to her own best friend. If she genuinely thought looking like her friend was a put-down, then she just exposed how little she actually thinks of her.

And my daughter? She didn’t blink.

“Thank you,” she said, with a quiet grace they will never understand.

Because her worth isn’t built on fragile games.

Because her confidence comes from within.

Because she knows how to be kind, even when others are acting ugly.

What they don’t understand is this:

People who are truly beautiful never try to destroy others.

It’s easy to mock, exclude, twist, and hurt — especially in the age of WhatsApp and group chats and fake smiles in school corridors.

But it takes strength to stay soft.

It takes integrity to stay kind.

It takes courage to speak your truth — and not shrink when someone tries to cut you down for it.

My daughter has that courage. She has that strength. And even in the face of cruelty, she’s still trying to be kind.

But make no mistake: this wasn’t a misunderstanding. This was manipulation, played out by girls so obsessed with being the main character that they had to rewrite a story just to feel important.

And in the process, they showed the world exactly who they are.

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You Drew Blood on a 13-Year-Old’s Face

~ Rochelle ~ Leave a comment

This Is Not Just a Doodle

You didn’t just scribble over a photo.

You drew a target.

You took the image of a real girl—a child—and desecrated it with violence. You covered her in metaphorical blood. You sent a message: She is nothing. She is disposable. She is hated.

You knew what you were doing.

And don’t even pretend it was a joke.

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Hate Is a Choice. You Made Yours.

There is a word for what you did: dehumanisation.

It’s what people do before they commit acts of cruelty. Before they gang up. Before they destroy.

And it always starts the same way—by erasing the humanity of the person they’ve chosen to hurt.

You joined a hate group with eight others. You added a deceased  girl to that group—one who knew exactly what bullying felt like. And then, as if that weren’t enough, you bled red ink all over a young girl’s face like it was entertainment.

What does that make you?

A follower?

A coward?

Or something worse?

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Do You See Yourself Yet?

The truth is, this is no longer about my daughter’s shoes. Or her voice. Or whether she corrected a spelling error. You don’t even know what you hate her for anymore.

You just hate her.

Because someone else told you to.

And that makes you small.

That makes you easy to control.

That makes you someone who would deface a photo, not because it made you feel brave, but because it made you feel like you belonged.

But here’s the lesson:

If your place in a group is earned through cruelty, then you were never accepted to begin with. You were used.

And now you’ve got a stain on your conscience that not even time will erase.

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A Girl Bled for Real. And You Still Drew Red.

Melody.

She died five weeks ago.

She lived through trauma that none of you could bear to speak of when she was alive—and now you’ve dragged her ghost into a hate group. What kind of person does that?

My daughter stood at her funeral with real tears, real loss, and real grief in her heart.

You?

You made a spectacle of yourself, and then you used her name in a group chat meant to destroy someone else.

You didn’t just cross a line.

You incinerated it.

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What You Will Remember

There will come a night when you lie awake, older than you are now, and you will think of that photo.

You will remember the peace sign.

The face of a girl you hated for no reason.

The scribbles.

The blood you painted on her cheeks.

And the way your stomach turned when you realised—

You were the villain.

That moment will find you.

And it will stay.

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Learn This Now. Before It’s Too Late.

Because maybe you’re still redeemable.

Maybe you’re still a child who made a terrible choice and needs to make it right.

But if you don’t?

If you let this kind of hate define you?

Then you are exactly what you made my daughter out to be:

Unrecognisable.

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The Birthday Call That Broke Something In Me

~ Rochelle ~ Leave a comment

When you give your children a choice, and they choose kindness – only to have cruelty meet them at the door.

This morning, I stood at a painful crossroads. It was my mother’s birthday—a woman who has caused me years of pain, manipulation, and deep emotional wounds. A woman who has, despite everything, managed to live on with strength seemingly drawn not from grace or goodness, but from control and narcissism.

And today, I gave my children a choice. I sat with them and explained the truth: that they were not required to wish her a happy birthday, that they were free to do whatever they felt in their hearts.

Some of them chose to call her—soft-hearted, young, and innocent—“just in case it’s her last birthday,” they said.

They were being bigger than the pain. They were doing what they thought was kind.

And so we called.

And called.

And called again.

Only to discover the truth: my mother has blocked me. Her phone wouldn’t ring. Her number refused our calls. The hopeful little faces beside me slowly turned to confusion, then sadness.

She blocked me—and by doing so, she blocked her own grandchildren too.

Not even for her birthday would she allow us the dignity of reaching out. Not even for the sake of the children.

And I realised, in that moment, how deep her cruelty runs.

This wasn’t just rejection—it was deliberate. Strategic. Her own warped version of punishment. A final insult wrapped up in silence.

I watched my children try to make sense of it. I watched them hurt, quietly. And I ached, not just for them, but for the part of me that still, after everything, hoped for decency. Hoped for something better.

But this is the lesson.

This is the truth.

You cannot force love where love has never lived.

And no matter how good you are, how pure your heart, how brave your children…

You cannot squeeze water from a stone.

And you cannot heal through hope alone.

Today, my children saw what I’ve spent a lifetime surviving.

Today, I stop feeling guilty for the boundaries I set.

And today, I hold my head high, knowing that even if the door was slammed in our faces, we tried. We tried with grace.

We tried with love.

And she chose silence.

That’s not our failure.

That’s her legacy.

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What They Should Be Feeling

~ Rochelle ~ Leave a comment

You didn’t put her in the ground. But you were part of the reason she couldn’t stand to be here anymore.

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She’s gone. And you kept living like nothing happened.

Not a flower at the gate.

Not a card. Not a candle.

No teddy bears. No quiet circles of grief.

No stunned silence in the hallway.

Just school. As usual.

Laughter. As usual.

Cruelty. As usual.

And that’s the most damning part of all.

When a child dies and no one flinches, no one gathers, no one mourns—what does that say?

What does that reveal about the people who surrounded her in her final days?

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You didn’t have to kill her to help erase her joy

She was already avoiding school. She was already staying home, afraid to walk the halls.

She was already dreading each morning.

She was already broken long before her final breath.

And you knew that.

Some of you saw it.

Some of you laughed at it.

Some of you made it worse.

And now—she’s gone.

Whether her death was an accident or not isn’t even the point anymore.

The point is: her life became unbearable—and some of you made sure of it.

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To the one who told her to kill herself—

Are you sleeping well?

Do you hear your own voice in the dark?

Telling her the exact thing that so nearly came true?

What did you expect? That your words would disappear?

That she’d bounce back? That she’d just laugh it off?

She didn’t.

She didn’t laugh.

She didn’t bounce.

And now you will have to live with that voice in your head for the rest of your life.

The one that said it. Out loud. To a girl who is no longer here.

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To the parents of the bullies—what exactly are you raising?

Do you still believe your child is “just a kid”?

Do you still think it’s harmless teasing?

Do you still tell people your child would never be that cruel?

Because here’s the truth: they were. And they weren’t alone.

Your child’s words might not have ended her life,

but they chipped away at it,

day after day,

until it barely felt worth living.

If that doesn’t shake you to your core, you’re failing your child just as much as they failed her.

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You don’t get to rewrite what you did

She’s gone.

You can’t take back the texts.

You can’t undo the silence when she sat alone.

You can’t reverse the decision to “just walk away” while she was drowning in humiliation.

You don’t get to decide now that you “weren’t part of it.”

You were.

And even if you weren’t throwing stones—you still stood and watched her get hit.

That makes you part of the damage.

That makes you part of the story.

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Imagine what her last month could have looked like

She could have laughed more.

She could have come to school without fear.

She could have sat with friends at lunch,

instead of hiding in corners or staying home completely.

She could have made memories.

She could have felt light, even once.

But she didn’t.

Because of you.

Because of your kids.

Because of what this school allowed.

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The lesson?

If you are cruel to someone,

and they die—accident or not—you are not innocent.

If your words drained the colour from her days,

you don’t get to pretend your hands are clean.

You don’t get to look the other way now.

You helped dim her light.

You helped teach her that the world was unkind.

You helped make life unbearable, even if you didn’t make death inevitable.

And if that doesn’t haunt you—

you’ve learned nothing.

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No Flowers at the Gate: What Silence Says When a Child Is Gone

~ Rochelle ~ Leave a comment

When a School Forgets, the Pain Echoes Louder

There were no flowers tied to the school gates.

No ribbons.

No teddy bears.

No candles.

No cards.

No signs of heartbreak.

No signs that a child—one of their own—had just disappeared forever.

If this was truly unexpected… where is the shock?

If this was truly an accident… where is the devastation?

What we see instead is silence. An eerie, telling silence that speaks volumes about what this community really feels—and what it doesn’t.

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The Hidden Cost of Protecting Bullies

This student—bright, fragile, kind—was hidden away from regular classes “for her own protection.” Her attendance faded. Her light dimmed. She was removed from classrooms rather than removing the ones tormenting her. She was made invisible, as though her pain was inconvenient.

The bullies? They stayed. They were allowed to learn, laugh, exist—untouched.

The school didn’t teach accountability. It taught cruelty a safe place to thrive. It showed the entire student body that if you push hard enough, we won’t protect the victim—we’ll erase them. Quietly. Without fuss. Without justice.

And now they’ve erased her completely.

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No Signs of Grief, No Symbols of Shock

In the wake of any true tragedy—especially the sudden, accidental death of a child—you expect to see a community shaken to its core. You expect flowers. Cards. Mourning students clustered at the gates. A ripple of grief that cannot be contained.

But here? There’s nothing.

Not a single child has tied a ribbon.

Not a single tribute stands at the place where she once walked.

This isn’t just silence. It’s willful erasure. It’s guilt. It’s complicity.

Because deep down, they all know.

They know what she endured.

They know how many years she was targeted, pushed, alienated.

They know what they said to her—and what they didn’t say when it mattered.

They know what kind of school culture allowed this to happen.

So there are no flowers. Because that would mean facing it.

And facing it would mean admitting they were part of it.

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What Are We Really Teaching Our Children?

The message is loud and clear:

If you are cruel enough, the school will protect you.

If you are suffering, we will hide you—then forget you.

This is not just a tragedy. It is a teaching moment lost. A warning silenced. A life erased without consequence.

What the school is doing now—brushing it under the rug, refusing to speak her name, pretending nothing happened—is the same thing they did when she was alive. Deny. Minimize. Move on.

But the pain lingers. The questions remain. The truth doesn’t go away.

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Silence Isn’t Respect—It’s Evasion

Some say we should respect her memory by not asking questions.

But how can you respect someone’s memory if you won’t even acknowledge their pain?

How do you honor a life while pretending the cruelty that shadowed it never happened?

This isn’t respect. It’s fear.

It’s fear of accountability.

It’s fear of confronting the toxic culture that was allowed to flourish under their watch.

And that fear has cost a life.

Let this not be another forgotten name.

Let this silence not be the final word.

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The Lesson Behind a Tragedy: When We Don’t Listen, We Lose More Than a Child

~ Rochelle ~ Leave a comment

A reflection on grief, silence, and what happens when we look away for too long

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A Devastating Loss, and a Divided Grief

Recently, a young girl lost her life — suddenly, tragically. Her parents believe firmly that it was an accident. Out of deep respect for their grief, their wishes must be honored. They deserve peace, and their daughter deserves dignity.

But grief has many faces. And for those who loved her, who knew her quiet pain, the tragedy feels layered… and unbearably familiar.

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The Unspoken History

Before her death, this girl had not attended school for weeks — possibly months. She had faced years of ongoing bullying, starting in primary school and tragically continuing into high school. The very same bullies followed her into a new chapter of life and made sure she carried the trauma with her.

She withdrew. From school. From friendships. From the joy that should have belonged to her youth.

Friends recall messages — raw, confessional — about suicidal thoughts. She told people she didn’t want to be here anymore. She was told to kill herself. Her absence from school wasn’t about laziness or disinterest — it was fear. It was emotional exhaustion. It was a desperate attempt to escape cruelty.

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Respecting the Family, While Also Respecting the Truth

This article isn’t meant to point fingers or assign blame. The family has stated that this was an accident. That must be heard.

But so must the rest.

To deny the bullying — to erase it from the story entirely — is to erase years of pain. It sends a dangerous message to every child who has ever felt the same. It makes the others feel unseen. And it lets those who inflicted that pain walk away without reflection, responsibility, or change.

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What Happens When We Pretend It’s Not Real?

When we strip bullying out of the conversation after a tragedy, we do more than protect reputations. We protect the problem.

We raise children who learn that cruelty is consequence-free. We raise systems that respond to crisis only when it becomes unignorable. And we leave grieving friends — like my daughter — to wrestle with impossible questions:

“Why did no one stop this?”

“Why is everyone acting like this had nothing to do with it?”

“Why did her mum tell me not to let the bullies win… and then say it was just an accident?”

That contradiction is what breaks the heart open again and again. It’s not about blame — it’s about integrity.

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The Real Lesson We Can’t Afford to Miss

The lesson here isn’t to point at the past and burn it down. It’s to illuminate it. To say, loudly:

• Children don’t lie about being bullied.

• School refusal is not a character flaw — it’s often a trauma response.

• When kids tell us they’re scared, or thinking about ending their lives — we must believe them.

• And when someone is lost, we must examine the full truth. Not just the parts that feel easiest to manage.

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Honouring Her by Changing What Must Be Changed

This beautiful, gentle girl should never have had to carry such a heavy burden. The lesson behind her death — whatever the cause — is not just that life is fragile.

It’s that we have to do better.

We owe it to her. To every student who suffers in silence. To every family who shouldn’t have to wonder if a child’s life could have been saved by compassion, early intervention, and accountability.

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Keep Your Condolences — They Mean Nothing Without Courage

~ Rochelle ~ Leave a comment

When grief becomes performative, silence is more honest.

It’s a strange kind of cruelty — offering your condolences with one hand, and turning your back with the other.

My daughter received a message — soft, kind, sorrowful — from someone who used to be her friend. Someone who had once laughed with her, and more recently, laughed at her. Someone who once knew her inside out, and now won’t even stand beside her in the hallway.

This girl messaged my daughter after the death of her best friend. She offered condolences. Words of comfort. A digital candle in the storm.

And when my daughter — raw, grieving, desperate for connection — said, “Can we please rebuild our friendship?”

She was met with silence.

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You don’t get to break someone, then pretend to care when they’re shattered.

No.

Worse than no.

Nothing.

Ghosted. Erased. Forgotten again.

Because some people only want to be seen grieving, not actually feel it — not sit in it, not show up for the ones left behind.

The silence screamed louder than any message. And the grief? It got heavier.

You don’t get to offer your sympathy, pose as the wounded soul, and then bolt the moment someone needs you. If you do, then your sympathy was never real. It was a mirror for yourself — not a light for someone else.

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Friendship doesn’t end at the funeral gates.

True friendship doesn’t dissolve under pressure. It doesn’t hide when the moment is hard.

It doesn’t vanish when someone asks for warmth.

You can’t send your “I’m so sorry for your loss” texts and then vanish when someone asks for human connection. That’s not kindness — that’s cowardice.

And to those who perform compassion while refusing to practice it — let me tell you something painful:

Your fake condolences are more hurtful than saying nothing at all.

Because pretending to care is not harmless.

It’s another form of emotional abandonment — and sometimes, it hurts just as much as the loss.

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🕊 A Message From My Heart — About the Recent Tragedy, the School’s Email, and What I Truly Meant 🕊

~ Rochelle ~ Leave a comment
Screenshot

I never imagined I’d be writing something like this – especially not after something so heartbreaking.

As many of you know, a local teenage girl recently passed away. A beautiful soul – gone far too soon.

In the midst of deep grief, I made a private post in a mums’ group. I didn’t mention any names. I didn’t mention the school. I never claimed to know exactly what happened. I simply expressed what many others were already quietly wondering – whether long-standing, well-known bullying could have played a role.

Because the truth is – this young girl had not attended school for weeks, possibly months. She had been severely bullied for years, by the same students, all the way from primary into high school.

And yes – there are text messages that clearly referenced painful thoughts. (These are now known and will be passed to the appropriate people.)

So no –  it was never my intention to spread misinformation or make accusations.

It was never about blame.

It was about grief. Shock. Patterns too painful to ignore.

What truly confused and shook my daughter – and many others – was a message she received from the girl’s mother shortly after her death:

“Don’t let the bullies win.”

That one sentence has been echoing in our home.

But now, we are told by the school and others that this was simply a tragic accident – and had nothing to do with bullying.

And I want to say: I hear that. I accept that. And if this was a complete and unrelated tragedy, then I am truly, genuinely sorry for ever implying otherwise.

But I also want to say this…

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The School’s Email Felt Like a Public Shaming

Today, the school issued an email that referred to my post, stating it made “incorrect claims” and was “not factual.”

Let me be very clear:

  • I never claimed to know the full truth.
  • I never identified the child, the school, or any individuals.
  • I spoke from a place of concern, sadness, and compassion.

The fact that this email was sent to the entire parent community felt like a public attack on my character, as if I had maliciously spread lies – which I did not.

And now, I’m being bullied – again – by the same group of mothers whose children have bullied my own daughter for years.

The irony and pain of this is not lost on me.

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So, Here’s What I Want to Say

Before I receive any more hate…

Before I’m judged or blamed or shamed any further…

Let me raise my hands and say: I’m sorry.

I’m sorry if my post caused anyone more pain in an already heartbreaking time.

I’m sorry if it came across as insensitive – that was never, ever my intention.

I now understand that the family believes this tragedy was not related to bullying, and I respect that. And I will never speak over a grieving parent.

But please, understand that I am grieving too.

My daughter is grieving her friend.

And so many of us are just trying to make sense of a senseless loss.

The coincidences, the history, the silence – it all left us stunned. The emotion behind my post came from that space.

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Let’s Remember Why This Hurts So Much

Because a child has died.

A beautiful child who should still be here.

Let’s not let our fear of being wrong make us cruel to those who are hurting.

Please – let’s lead with kindness. Let’s give one another the benefit of the doubt. Let’s protect our kids – and each other – with love, not control.

With sincerity and heartbreak,

Rochelle

The Woman Who Never Wanted My Son Now Wants Him as Her Carer

~ Rochelle ~ Leave a comment

She Starved Me When I Was Pregnant With Him

There were days when I was pregnant and still living under my mother’s roof that I wasn’t allowed to eat. She would watch me grow weaker. I was carrying my firstborn son, and she made sure I suffered for it.

She told me she hoped I’d rip from end to end giving birth to him. That I’d suffer. That I’d never forget the pain. She said it with hatred in her voice — a mother wishing agony upon her pregnant daughter. I can still hear it.

She Assaulted Me. Screamed at Me. Isolated Me.

She hit me with a phone. She screamed at me. Every single day.

My own brother, my own grandmother — people I loved — weren’t even allowed to speak to me. I lived under that roof, pregnant and afraid, silenced by the one person who was supposed to protect me.

The emotional abuse didn’t stop when I gave birth. It only got worse. She kicked me out with nowhere to go and a newborn baby in my arms.

She’s Never Been a Grandmother to Him

She has never cooked a meal for my son.

She has never babysat him.

She has never cared for him, never nurtured him, never been a safe space or a warm hug.

My mother has never loved him the way grandmothers are supposed to love their grandchildren.

What she has done is try to destroy my family. She caused division. She manipulated. She insisted I host separate parties just for her — without lifting a finger to help — because she couldn’t stand to be in the same room as my in-laws or our extended family. She only brought drama, never support.

And Now… She Wants Him to Be Her Carer

Today I got a phone call from the hospital.

My mother — the woman who never once cared for my son — has listed him, my teenage boy, as her full-time carer.

The child she wished pain upon.

The child she never fed, never held, never helped.

The child she ignored, excluded, and emotionally neglected.

And now that she is bedbound and can’t walk, toilet, or bathe herself, now she thinks she has the right to demand his care?

No. Just No.

She is not dying. She is expected to live many years in this state. And she wants him — a child she’s done nothing but hurt — to be the one to sacrifice his future, his freedom, and his well-being to take care of her.

It’s a level of selfishness and delusion that has left me in shock. I shouldn’t be surprised — but I am. Deeply.

She’s not a mother. She’s not a grandmother. She is a user. A destroyer. An architect of pain.

And I will not allow her to harm my son the way she harmed me.