love

Even At The End, She Can’t Tell The Truth

~ Rochelle ~ Leave a comment

Even in her final days, my mother chooses lies over love—and I’m left holding decades of heartbreak.

A Lifetime of Manipulation

From the moment I was old enough to recognise emotional manipulation, I saw it in my mother. She has always been a master of twisting narratives, of turning situations to suit her needs, and of denying her behavior while accusing others—especially me—of the very lies she tells. Growing up with a narcissistic parent is like walking through a minefield blindfolded. Just when you think you’re safe, something explodes.

And now, here we are. My mother is in the hospital, dying. A wound on her foot became infected—so severely that the infection entered her bone. Her body is giving out. But somehow, the manipulations continue.

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Lies, Even Now

I recently received a message from her saying she had vomiting and diarrhoea. Concerned, I called the hospital. I wanted to know if there was a virus going around her ward, if it could be related to her infection, or—worst case—if it was a sign of sepsis. The nurse I spoke to was kind, but also confused.

“There’s been no vomiting. No diarrhoea,” she told me.

I thanked her and hung up, but the sting stayed. My mother lied to me. Again. About something so ridiculous, so pointless. And I still don’t understand why.

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A Final Opportunity, Lost in Deceit

This should be a time for healing, for final moments filled with truth and forgiveness. But my mother—true to form—continues to weave her web of deceit, spinning stories for her medical team, for the family, and for me. She manipulates conversations, embellishes symptoms, plays the victim. And even now, facing the end, she clings to the same patterns that poisoned our relationship.

She has accused me of being the liar, the manipulator, the untrustworthy one, my entire life. But now the truth is bare. The lies were always hers. Still are.

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Grieving the Mother I Never Had

I’m grieving, but not in the way people expect. I’m grieving the mother I never had. The nurturing, honest, stable presence I longed for. The kind of mother who might have used her final moments to say, “I’m sorry. I see you now.” Instead, I’m left with the weight of her fabrications, even as the machines beep beside her hospital bed.

Sadly this is not just about a woman dying. It’s about a lifetime of damage that never found a moment of repair. It’s about the pain of knowing that not even death can change some people.

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The Day I Became a Mother and Homeless

~ Rochelle ~ Leave a comment

A Beautiful Beginning, and a Brutal Ending

Becoming a mother and becoming homeless on the same day is a reality few can fathom. One minute, I was cradling my newborn son—this perfect little bundle of warmth, love, and hope. The next, I was facing the cold reality that I had nowhere to go. No roof. No plan. No safety net for the most fragile moment of my life.

That was the day my mother kicked me out.

The Cost of Defiance

She did it the same day her first grandchild was born.

My husband and I were in our twenties. Grown, but still tethered to family expectations. Our love wasn’t the issue—permission was. And we knew we would never receive it. So we chose each other, and we chose our child, fully aware that it would come at a cost.

But we underestimated just how steep that cost would be.

A City With No Shelter

We searched tirelessly across Sydney for housing. Queue after queue, inspection after inspection, rejection after rejection. No one wanted to take a chance on us—too young, no credit history, no references. And then, in a hospital bed with my baby in my arms, my husband delivered the final blow: the Department of Housing had a ten-year waiting list.

That was the moment I truly understood fear. I’ve been held at gunpoint before, but nothing compares to the terror of not knowing how you will protect your child.

A Mother’s Love—Conditional

I’ve tried to make sense of it. Why did my mother cast me out when I needed her the most? Was it because I was pregnant out of wedlock? Because I disobeyed her wishes? I was still her daughter. I was carrying her grandson.

But all I received was shame. Disappointment. Rejection.

What I’ve never understood is this: why does a son deserve more love than a daughter?

History Repeating in Reverse

Sixteen years later, the pain remains. Especially now—watching history repeat, but in reverse.

My brother has a girlfriend. They’ve only been together a month. They’re not married. She isn’t pregnant. But my mother is happy to open her home and heart to her without hesitation. No lectures. No judgment. Just warmth and support.

Everything I needed and never received.

Mother’s Day: A Time for Silence

Mother’s Day is the hardest. The world tells us to honour our mothers with cards and gratitude. But what do you write to a woman who discarded you when you needed her most?

How do you express gratitude to someone who made your most fragile moment even more terrifying – who kicked you and your newborn baby out with nowhere to go?

I’ve considered telling her the truth. Pouring all my pain into a single letter. Telling her exactly what she’s done, how deeply she’s hurt me, how much her favoritism destroyed any hope of closeness. But I know how she would react.

She would turn it around. Call me stupid. Remind me of the money she spent on my private school education. Accuse me of being ungrateful, useless, a disappointment. She’s said it all before.

So instead, I stay silent. Or I write something generic, like people do in Christmas cards for people they barely know.

Maybe I’ll write something like: “Season’s greetings this Mother’s Day. Congratulations on birthing your son. I hope his girlfriend is everything you ever wanted in a daughter.”Maybe that’s as honest as I can be without inviting more pain.

“Best of luck with everything hopefully you don’t destroy your potential daughter-in-law in the same way that you destroyed me.”

“May you continue to move faster than your karma”  – now that’s a nice one, especially towards someone who has been nothing but cruel to their child for their entire life.

How about – “you kicked me out of home when I was most vulnerable with a newborn baby and absolutely nowhere to go – this Mother’s Day, and always, I hope you remember everything that you’ve put me through” – realistically it sounds so much better than saying something along the lines of “I hope the universe treats you as fairly as what you have treated me my entire life”… that wish although filled with sincerity would not go down very well.

The Truth I Carry

Maybe one day I’ll forgive her. Maybe I won’t.

But this is my truth:

I became a mother and lost a mother in the same breath.

And every year, on the second Sunday in May, I remember it all over again.

The First and Last Mother’s Day

~ Rochelle ~ Leave a comment

When Love, Loss, or Survival Reshapes How We Honour Our Mothers

A Day That Means Many Things

Every year, as Mother’s Day approaches, I find myself sitting with a mix of feelings—some warm, others sharp, many unspoken. It’s a day drenched in expectation and sentimentality, but for those of us with complicated histories, it often feels heavier than a bouquet of flowers can carry.

This year, I wanted to explore what Mother’s Day really means when your relationship with your mother isn’t simple or sweet—and how both the first and the last Mother’s Day can reveal more about us than we expect.

The First Mother’s Day: A Memory We Never Made

Our first Mother’s Day is really just a dream. A haze. None of us can truly remember it—what we wore, what we said, whether we made our mothers smile or feel special. We don’t remember if there were flowers or cards or the scent of breakfast being made in a chaotic kitchen.

And yet, we were there. Just babies in their arms.

At that point in life, there is no decision to be made. We love without thinking. We give ourselves over completely, because we have no choice. Whether our mothers deserved that love or not is another matter altogether.

In those early years, Mother’s Day isn’t for us—it’s for them. And no matter what kind of mother we had—kind, distant, nurturing, unpredictable—we were too small to choose anything different. We were their children, and that was that.

The Last Mother’s Day: The One That Stays With Us

But the last Mother’s Day—that’s something different.

That’s the one that stays with us.

That’s the one that asks something of us.

Some people don’t even know it’s the last. Life doesn’t always come with warnings. One day you’re bringing flowers and awkwardly worded cards, and the next, the seat at the table is empty. There’s an ache in your chest, and you wish you had said more, done more, asked more.

For others, the last Mother’s Day doesn’t arrive quietly. It builds slowly, with a kind of dread. Not because of loss, but because of harm. Because the woman who gave birth to you doesn’t feel safe. Because honouring her feels dishonest, painful—even harmful.

And yet, on that day, we’re expected to smile, to entertain, to act as though she’s the greatest woman on earth.

When Honouring Feels Like a Lie

But what if she wasn’t?

What if she hurt you more than she held you?

What if being around her drains every ounce of your strength and makes you forget who you are?

That’s when the last Mother’s Day becomes something else entirely.

It becomes a choice.

And that’s what makes it powerful.

For the first time, you get to ask:

Do I want to spend this day with the woman who gave me life? Or do I want to protect the life I’ve built in spite of her?

That choice is not easy. It comes with guilt, with judgment from others, and sometimes with a lingering grief for the mother you wish you had.

But it also comes with truth.

Choosing Peace Over Performance

You get to choose peace.

You get to choose distance.

You get to say:

This day is sacred, and I will no longer perform love for someone who has harmed me.

That doesn’t make you cold. It doesn’t make you cruel.

It makes you whole.

It makes you brave.

So whether you spend Mother’s Day at her side, across the country, or surrounded by the people who feel like family—you get to decide.

Maybe the last Mother’s Day isn’t about her at all.

Maybe it’s about you—choosing yourself, your sanity, your healing.

Maybe that’s the most sacred act of all.

Honouring Your Truth

Mother’s Day doesn’t look the same for everyone, and it’s time we stop pretending it should. For some, it’s a joyful celebration. For others, it’s a quiet reckoning. And for many, it’s something in between.

Whatever this day brings up for you—grief, relief, love, loss, confusion—you’re allowed to feel it fully. You don’t have to perform. You don’t have to explain. You just have to honour the truth of your experience.

That, too, is an act of love.

A note for you and a reminder for myself-

If this piece resonated with you, please know you’re not alone. Mother’s Day can stir up complicated emotions—grief, guilt, anger, even relief—and all of those feelings are valid. Whether your relationship with your mother is loving, painful, or somewhere in between, your experience matters.

You’re allowed to protect your peace, honour your truth, and give yourself the care you may never have received.

If you’re navigating this day with a heavy heart, I see you. I’m walking it too.

She Denied Me Food, Love, and Truth – And Still Claimed She Was a Good Mother

~ Rochelle ~ Leave a comment

There are some days etched into your memory so deeply that you feel them pulse with every breath you take. For me, it was the day of my daughter’s 10th birthday—a milestone that should have been filled with joy, love, laughter. Instead, it became the day I shattered a lifetime of silence and paid the price for seeking truth from a mother who never saw me as her daughter, only her mistake.

I thought maybe, just maybe, this would be the right moment to try again. To offer peace. To fight for understanding. After all, she was in a hospital bed, vulnerable and confronting her mortality. If there was ever a moment for redemption, surely this was it.

But I was wrong. So painfully, achingly wrong.

The Slow Build of a Lifetime of Hurt

In the weeks leading up to that day, I had gently—so gently—tried to talk to her about the differences in how she treated me and my brother. I wasn’t attacking. I wasn’t blaming. I was pleading. Trying to open a door that had always been slammed shut in my face.

My brother—the golden child. The sun she orbits. The one she can never seem to do wrong by. She loves him so much she even extends that unconditional warmth to a girlfriend she’s never even met.

And me?

I don’t remember being loved. I don’t remember being wanted. I don’t remember being enough.

I think she hated me from the moment I was born. Maybe even before that.

Today, She Couldn’t Walk—and I Couldn’t Stay Silent

Today was also the day she realized she couldn’t walk anymore. She’d been pretending to the medical staff that she could—swearing she was walking in secret like it was some twisted game. Delirious, yes. But manipulative? Even more so. She’s spent a lifetime crafting illusions and bending reality to serve her. She’s a master of deceit. And I was tired of being the student of her cruelty.

The final crack in the dam came when she proudly told me she had just given my brother $250—for groceries.

That was it.

I told her I wished I had even a fraction of that kindness. I told her I wished she had ever seen me as her daughter the way she sees him as her son. I asked her the question I’ve carried for decades:

“What’s the difference between me and him? Is it because I was born with a vagina?”

She didn’t answer. Not really. She didn’t have to.

A Starving Daughter, A Favoured Son

When I lived at home, I paid rent. And the groceries I bought for myself? Fed to her five dogs.

Yes, you read that right. I would buy food with my own money, and she would feed it to the dogs. Sometimes, my grandmother would wait until I made a meal and then demand half—only to give it to the dogs, right in front of me, as if my hunger was a joke.

I was pregnant once, starving, not allowed to leave my room because my mother was home and in a fury. I went the entire day without food, growing life inside me while starving, while they all feasted.

Meanwhile, my brother? A grown man with a full-time job. She gives him money for food. Pays for him and his girlfriend to go to the nail salon. Funds their weekends away. Offers him the luxury of love I’ve never tasted.

I Asked Her Why—and She Hung Up

I asked her why. Why she hated me. Why she couldn’t love me. What was wrong with me.

She claimed she never treated me badly. Denied everything. Even when I listed the moments of pain like beads on a rosary, she insisted she treated me “well.”

And then she said something that broke me even more than I thought possible:

“We can’t be friends if you keep asking these questions.”

As if we were ever friends.

And then—she hung up.

I Don’t Regret Speaking My Truth—Even If It Cost Me a Mother

Maybe my daughter’s birthday wasn’t the right day. Or maybe it was. Because watching her turn ten, watching her feel seen and celebrated, reminded me exactly what I never had—and what I will fight like hell to give her.

I chose truth over silence. I chose healing over pretending. I chose to stop begging for a love that was never mine to begin with.

And maybe that’s the most painful kind of freedom.

Are All Curry Mothers This Vile?

~ Rochelle ~ 1 Comment

Why is there such a vast difference when it comes to the way a daughter is treated in comparison to a son – especially in a Sri Lankan household?!

Are all curry mothers just this vile? 

Do all curry mothers just simply worship the ground that their sons walk on – all whilst treating their daughters like absolute garbage?!

I think what hurts the most is the way that my mother not only treats me as though I am second-best when it comes to my brother and myself – but the way that she now accepts and  showers love on my brother’s new girlfriend.

And it’s not just love – it’s the financial freedom that my brother and his girlfriend are so very blessed with as well.

When I was still living at home, there is no chance in hell that I would be permitted to use a cent of my mother’s money for anything that I needed – especially once I had a job.

Not food, not groceries and most certainly not clothing or anything luxurious.

Yet here I am watching on as my mother financially supports my 33 year old brother and his new girlfriend on their shopping extravaganzas – all whilst he holds down a full-time job.

It feels as though it’s a cultural thing – where my mother feels obligated to shower her son and his girlfriend with whatever they need.

Or maybe it’s just a ‘black sheep’ of the family thing – something that my brother is privy to because he was always wanted, the perfect golden child… whereas I wasn’t, more than likely, because I am female and completely unwanted.

On one hand, I am falling down a steep spiral of jealousy as I watch my mother doing this for my brother – and yet on the other hand I keep reminding myself that at least I can hold my head up high knowing that I didn’t have this luxury extended to myself or my husband.

I can’t help but question though – what is wrong with me? How could she never have cared about me in that way? I was so desperate for clarity that I even tested her just the other day to see if anything had changed… I told her that I was hungry… and asked her if she would please buy me some food… and she abused me for asking… I wish I hadn’t have tested her in that way especially when deep down inside I knew what the answer would have been… I know that in reality I am no one and nothing to her…

Realistically, I feel so stupid for even asking, but part of me just had to know if anything had changed over the years. If she was just waiting for me to extend myself and ask for help… but she wasn’t.

Unconditional love, financial freedom and unwavering support are the luxuries reserved only for my mother‘s son.

My maternal grandmother used to always say “you can’t close one eye and open the other” – this was something that she used to say when it came to treating children equally… not that she had the right to say this considering she was just as guilty of being equally as cruel.

And therein lies the answer to how this could have all unfolded – it’s a generational curse which has been handed down from mother to child from my grandmother to my mother – and I wonder how far back it goes… all whilst praying to God that I don’t do this to my own children.

As happy as I am for my brother and his girlfriend, I am also deeply, soulfully crushed as I mourn the life and love that could have been for myself – if only I had been born a boy.

The Cowardice of Modern Dating: Love in the Age of Apps

~ Rochelle ~ 1 Comment

People entering the dating scene today are absolute cowards!

It’s no wonder they have to hide behind apps on their devices to try and find the love of their life – if that’s even what they’re genuinely looking for.

They say it’s because they’re ‘time poor’ that they need to invest themselves into technology to be able to find their soulmate – but how much time are they spending on these apps themselves?! And are they really saving themselves ’time’, or is it more that they’re saving face by using a more cowardly method of introduction.

How easy is it for them to portray themselves as the perfect catch when they have the opportunity to edit and alter what they say – especially with the introduction of AI into chat features…

They can be whoever they want to be – manipulate their words into being the perfect representation of how they want to portray themselves – it’s all nothing but a farce from the get go.

It’s no wonder that so many of these online relationships go downhill the minute people meet in real life – when they can no longer rely on the assistance of artificial intelligence to give them the perfect answer to questions or the gift of time to be able to come up with the perfectly worded response themselves and merely ‘send’ it through to their partner once they’ve edited their response enough.

Apps can help people take their time in the search for love, but they don’t offer any guidance on how to treat others with decency.

These apps should, but don’t provide counselling for when things go wrong or when people just don’t turn out to be the person they were pretending to be.

When someone who was spending hours on the phone with you is suddenly stopping all contact with you – without any explanation nor reasoning or closure for what went wrong when everything seemed to have been going so right.

These dating apps seem to cause just as much heartbreak as they do help people find connections – maybe even more!

Or perhaps it’s not the app itself, but the kind of people who use them. Maybe there’s a certain type of coward who opts for the app route instead of seeking love in real life because they want to avoid getting hurt. They may be unwilling to face the risk of breaking their own hearts in reality, so they end up hurting others online instead – since the stakes feel lower for them.

Whatever it may be, we need a more human way of finding love moving forward – especially with groups on social media like ‘Sis, Is This Your Man?’, ‘Sis, Is This Your Home-wrecker?’ and other online groups such as ‘Is He Safe To Date?’ that you can join on social media to enable you to get some sort of background check on a person before you date them – in reality you can run background checks on whomever you want – but what about treating that person as someone with feelings and emotions just like you? Who deserves respect and empathy just as you do!

We need to be providing the actual human with a genuine reason when we break up with them – something to give them peace and closure.

It’s not about abruptly cutting off all contact with them once you’re no longer interested. There are more considerate ways to communicate that you want to end the relationship. It’s important to handle these situations with care and respect for the other person’s feelings.

We need to state why we’re not invested – what has changed – people can’t be so cold and callous!

If someone isn’t who you expected them to be after exchanging photos, messages and talking on the phone for hours on end then the least you can do is express to them what went wrong and why you’re breaking up with them or why you’re no longer interested in them.

It doesn’t just provide them with the closure that they so desperately need, but it gives them the opportunity for growth and to be a better person for themselves as well as for somebody else. It provides them with guidance into how to better live their life to their fullest potential – we are all human at the end of the day, we all make mistakes and personal growth is such an integral part of life.

I understand that there might be situations where people may not feel safe in letting the other person know why they have broken things off with them – in that case, let the police know so that the authorities can keep everyone else safe as well as informing the person about their inappropriate conduct.

No matter what the situation is, we need to communicate and not leave people hanging!

How hard is it to provide feedback and closure – especially if you’ve already wasted so much of someone’s time?! Something as simple as “Meeting up was not what I expected, I’ve noticed a lot of red flags so I’d prefer not to pursue this any further” or “Sorry, you remind me too much of my ex, so I’m going to have to call it quits with you.” or “Listen, I just don’t feel a spark. There’s no vibe between us…” just something, anything – rather than absolute silence.

Blocking someone does not equal ending a relationship – it’s just sad and cowardly and the only ‘end’ that they’re experiencing is from knowing that the person who’s done it is an absolutely awful human being.

Or maybe it all boils down to the type of person who engages in this type of app to find love – maybe if you’re not responsible enough to be able to make time and seek someone out in real life then you’re simply not the type of person to put yourself out there to be able to end a relationship decently either.

Rather than ending things in a civil manner they continue to rely on technology and simply block people as a means of letting them know that they’re no longer interested – because they believe they don’t have the time even to be decent.

That’s when their true colours shine the brightest, they make their real identity known and as for their victims – hopefully one day they will realise what a massive bullet they dodged.

If you can’t show bravery when seeking love then at the very least don’t be a coward when ending it!