When I was seventeen, my father left us. My mum worked tirelessly, juggling two jobs but barely scraping by. We saved on everything we could. Our family only had fruit and sweets on special occasions, like Christmas. I never dared ask my mum for anything. I tried to earn my keep on my own. I have a younger sister, and along with our mum, we did everything possible to make sure she didnt feel left out.
Sadly, my fathers death wasnt the end of our troubles. My mum suffered a stroke and ended up in hospital. Since then, shes not been able to walk. She received disability benefits, but it was nowhere near enough. Times were hard, but I kept hoping things would improve.
I had to drop out of college, becoming the sole provider for our family. It was incredibly difficult to care for a sick mum and my little sister. Lots of people offered to help me, but I always declined. Before her illness, my mum had been a genuinely kind and honest woman. But after the stroke, everything changed.
She started out complaining about her bad luck, then shifted her unhappiness onto my sister and me. We were told we couldnt cook properly, didnt clean thoroughly, or spent too much on ourselves.
I tried to ignore her constant criticism. I understood; she was ill. Still, it hurt to be treated that way when I did everything for her, and she never seemed to appreciate it. Friends often urged me to hire a carer for my mum and change jobs. There were other jobs where I could earn much more, but then I wouldnt be able to look after my mum. How could I let a stranger care for her when she had two daughters? I just couldnt do it.
My mum began to complain more and more, scolding us for any purchases, no matter how frugal we were.
For a long time, I kept silent and was patient. But one event changed the way I saw my mum forever.
I fell ill. My head throbbed, my temperature soared, and I coughed non-stop.
I couldnt sleep all night, and by morning, I decided to see a GP. My sister saw how unwell I was. She got ready for school, gave me a hug, and pleaded with me not to put off the doctors visit. As usual, my mum insisted I didnt need any treatment. I was young; my body could fight off anything. She reminded me she was in far worse shape. We needed all the money we could get. If I spent money on check-ups and doctors, only to find out it was a normal flu, it would be wasted. She accused me of neglecting her and wanting her dead.
I listened to it all, tears silently streaming down my face. I honestly didnt have much strength left. Id quit my studies and taken on tough work for the sake of my mum, even though I had much better options. I mustve been worn out from everything, because I snapped and had an argument with my mum, letting out everything Id been bottling up.
The diagnosis was pneumonia. The doctor strongly recommended hospital treatment, but that was out of the questionI couldnt leave my sister alone with our mum. I bought the medication and went to my friend Sophies house.
Sophie let me in and immediately told me off for trudging about town instead of resting in bed. We talked for a long time. I poured out everything about my mum and asked for her help finding a carer. I also needed somewhere to stay. I couldnt go home anymore.
Sophie offered me a room at her place while I went back to get my things.
At home, my mum was waiting, shouting as soon as I stepped through the door. She didnt ask how I was, just went on about the money again. I fed her, then retreated to my room to rest. I knew I couldnt live there any longer.
My friend came through for me. She found a carer and gave me a place to stay. I changed jobs, and I dont visit my mum anymore. Perhaps it makes me look uncaring, but I did everything possible for her, and never once did I receive a thank you. Was it worth all the effort? The futures still ahead of me.
Each month, I put money aside for my mums needs and to pay the carer. In fact, I send even more than is required. Victoria, the lady who now looks after my mum, says she remembers us less and less each day. Our mum never remembers our birthdays any more, though my sister and I always remember hers. But thats not the most important thing. Ive managed to start a new job, and soon Ill move out of Sophies. My sister and I are planning to rent a flat together. She supports me, and often says, You have to look after your parents, but not when theyre slowly destroying you.Slowly, the guilt that weighed me down all those years began to loosen its grip. I could breathe again. My sister and I started filling our days with laughter and simple joyscooking cheap meals side by side, repainting old furniture found on the curb, planning out all the things we never had the freedom to dream about before. We promised ourselves wed travel one day, see the world past the narrow windows of duty and sacrifice.
Sometimes, in quiet moments, I catch myself thinking about my motherthe woman she was, the woman she became, the fragments that linger between. Theres sadness, yes, but also a gentler understanding. Loving someone doesnt always mean staying near. Sometimes it means letting go, so that lovewhatever shape it takescan survive in both of you.
Were still learning what it means to put ourselves first. But step by step, were building something new. The bruises are still there, softening with time, making room for hope. For the first time in years, when my sister turns to me and smiles, I feel it: the slow, stubborn pulse of a life not owed, but chosena life thats finally our own.
