I cut off contact with my mother because she sided with my ex-husband and blamed me for our divorce.
My mother made her priorities clear long before I finally left my first husband. She treated him like a saint while painting me as the cause of every argument and misunderstanding. After the divorce, she kept in touch with him, never missing a chance to tell my current husband how “perfect” her first son-in-law had been.
Naturally, these conversations poisoned my relationships—both with my husband and my mother. Eventually, I made a decision: if Mum valued my ex so much, she could keep him. I was stepping out of this drama.
I married James straight out of university. Our romance was intense—everything moved fast, and within months, we had a lavish wedding. Mum adored her new son-in-law, practically carrying him on a pedestal. At first, it seemed sweet, but soon it grated on me.
The first six months were bliss—affection, love, tenderness. Then something broke. James grew aggressive, irritable, and hostile. The shouting matches started. I fled to Mum’s a few times, hoping for support, but all I got was blame. She always took his side.
When she visited, she’d walk in and immediately criticize—the cleaning, the cooking, the ironing. No matter how exhausted or unwell I was, it didn’t matter. *”A woman must keep the home! If you don’t like it, let your husband complain! He’s a catch, and you—you’re plain, difficult, and ungrateful!”* She chanted it like a mantra.
I tried reminding her she’d been divorced twice herself, but that only unleashed a storm of insults. James and I lasted just over two years. The end came when he hit me for the first time. I packed my things silently and left. The next morning, I filed for divorce.
Mum was furious. She claimed if a man raised his hand, I must’ve driven him to it. James came begging—apologies, suicide threats. Mum piled on the pressure, but I stood firm. A few months later, I moved out, unable to bear being told I’d failed as a woman by losing “such a husband.” It took me a year to recover.
Then Max came into my life—gentle, caring, understanding. We dated for over a year before marrying. I hid the relationship from Mum, knowing her reaction. Sure enough, at our first meeting, she compared Max to James—and not in his favor.
She didn’t hold back, even at her own birthday party. She invited my ex and spent the evening sneering, praising him, and belittling Max. We walked out. After that, the calls came thick and fast—how I’d married a worthless man beneath me. Every plea to stop just fueled more abuse.
One morning, I woke up and realized—my mother was destroying me, my marriage, my sanity. I feared for the future: for Max, whom I loved, for any children who’d endure her cruelty too. I refused to let anyone tell my kids they weren’t good enough—like she’d once told me.
So I made my choice: no more contact. I wanted my own life. I wouldn’t let my second marriage crumble like the first—not because of her poison. If she loved my ex so much, she could have him. I was choosing the man who truly loved and valued me.
And for the first time in years… I felt free.
