motherhood

You Mock My Daughter’s Face? Then You’re Exactly What’s Wrong With This World

~ Rochelle ~ Leave a comment

The Envious Die Not Once, But As Often As The Envied Win Applause

Let’s not pretend anymore.

Let’s not sugar-coat cruelty with the words “kids will be kids.”

Let’s call this exactly what it is: violence.

Today, during a quiet school moment that should have been safe—a grade assembly—a girl decided it would be hilarious to mock my daughter’s face.

Yes.

Her face.

The one thing she can’t change.

The face I’ve kissed a thousand times. The face I adore.

This evil little creature, who’s been trailing my daughter since primary school like a bad smell, decided that it was her moment to shine. She contorted her face—mimicking, mocking, humiliating—in front of the entire Year 8 cohort.

To impress her five likeminded friends.

To get laughs.

To dehumanize my child.

Her actions didn’t stop there — next came her verbal assault:

“Look at her shoes—they look retarded.”

That’s what she said — it’s part of who she is as a person. That’s what a child raised by other humans thought was acceptable.

⸻

These Girls Aren’t Mean. They’re Monsters in Training.

Let me be very clear: this is not a phase. This is not a mistake.

This is cruelty.

This is violence.

This is premeditated emotional destruction.

And it didn’t stop there.

Another girl—from an entirely different toxic group of students—decided she would throw a pen at my daughter shortly after.

Two different packs of wolves.

One target.

This is pack mentality, and their only goal is to break her.

⸻

Don’t You Dare Say “It’s Just Kids Being Kids”

No. These are not harmless kids. These are bullies being raised by adults who model this behavior.

Because it’s not just in the school yard—it’s in their homes.

Parents who excuse it.

Parents who enable it.

Parents who make snide remarks about families like mine, because they assume we’re “better off.”

Because they see a child with nice shoes and decide that child deserves to be torn apart.

This isn’t about shoes. This is about jealousy.

This is about poverty of character.

⸻

Let’s Talk About Those Shoes, Shall We?

Powder pink Nike Shox.

A bold, iconic staple in the Nike brand.

Expensive. Well-loved. Desired.

If they’re so “hideous,” why are they flying off the shelves?

Why are they everywhere in the fashion scene?

Why are people lining up to buy them?

Because they’re not hideous.

Your insecurity is.

And those shoes?

They weren’t easy to afford.

They didn’t come from nowhere.

⸻

I Sacrifice So Much for My Children—And I’d Do It Again Tomorrow

I don’t spend my weekends getting my nails done.

I don’t splurge at the hair salon.

I don’t party or go clubbing or waste money on things that don’t matter.

You know what I do?

I sacrifice.

So I can give my children joy.

So I can see their eyes light up when they get something special.

So I can build them up in a world constantly trying to tear them down.

And then a pack of miserable, mean-spirited children tries to rip that joy away.

⸻

Bullies Don’t Just Happen. They’re Raised.

The comments we’ve already heard from their parents this year?

Unforgivable.

Things like:

“You wouldn’t understand where we’re coming from.”

“It must be nice to be you.”

“We’re just trying to get by.”

Translation?

“If someone seems to have more than us, let’s torment them for it.”

What kind of twisted logic is that?

You hate your own poverty so much, you attack a child for having a pair of shoes?

Let’s be real.

If you’re raising a child to hate others for having nice things, you’ve failed as a parent.

And if your child is bullying others for their face?

You’ve raised a monster.

⸻

Jealousy is a Mental Cancer

To the girl who threw the pen:

Your aim is weak, just like your character.

To the girl who mocked my daughter’s face:

You will never break her. You will never reach her level. You don’t even deserve to be in her presence.

And to the parents of these girls:

Do better.

Your children are proof that hate starts at home.

You don’t raise your kids. You program them to hate, and then let them loose in the world to hurt others.

But let this be known:

My daughter is not the weak one.

She’s the one walking away from your warzone with her head held high—and powder pink Nike Shox on her feet.

She will thrive.

Your daughters? They will rot in their own bitterness.

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.

He Made Me Give Birth As Though I Were A Prisoner Of War

~ Rochelle ~ Leave a comment

During the birth of my son, the doctor told me that he wasn’t going to allow me to have any pain relief until I told him how I planned on proceeding with birth control.

He said that he needed me to feel the pain of birth because he believed that after the birth I would forget how much pain I was in and choose to have more children.

I asked him if he could guarantee the life of the baby that I was about to birth – if he could promise me that I wasn’t going to give birth to a stillborn – especially given the fact that I was birthing whilst COVID-19 positive. He said this was beside the point.

I was COVID-19 positive, I could hardly breathe, in labour and having a man use pain as a means of coercing me to give him the answer he so desperately wanted to hear. He did not stop badgering me until I told him that my husband had a vasectomy – at which point, he shook my husband‘s hand and congratulated him!

Of course I understand that most people would share this doctors sentiments on the number of children a person has. But what if one day this same doctor’s belief changes from the number of children I have as being “too many”, to the concept of “one and done”…

What if one day a mother is in the midst of having her second child and because this doctor has been able to successfully get away with torturing women during birth he pushes his beliefs even further and tortures mothers as he deems necessary.

I’m sure a lot of people would appreciate or at least claim to understand his barbaric treatment of me, especially when considering the number of baby that I was birthing – however, using pain as a method of coercing someone to give you answers is against basic human rights.

I am beyond grateful that I got to walk away with a living, breathing baby. And I have always held the belief that pain relief is only a luxury. But when it’s withheld, when pain is used as a means of coercion then it places pregnant women at the mercy of terrorists and that is deeply troubling.

I feel peace that I was able to decline an epidural – but what if I genuinely needed one? What if I was relying on one? And as it stood, he thought he was holding out on something that he believed I wanted.

It took me a long time to share this because I know that society does not approve of big families – but it’s important to keep in mind that everyone is different, and what if one day a doctor comes along who’s core belief is that three children are too many or two children are too many… how would you feel if this happened to you…

What this doctor did was torture. Modern day torture.

My advice – never expect anything out of pregnancy – not pain relief, not walking away from hospital with a baby, nothing. That way you’re never going to be disappointed!