**Diary Entry**
I cut ties with my mother because she took my ex-husband’s side 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 and never missed a chance to tell my current husband how *perfect* her first son-in-law had been.
Naturally, this poisoned my relationships with both my husband and my mother. At some point, I made a decision—if Mum valued my ex so much, she could keep him. I was done with the drama.
William and I married straight out of university. It was a whirlwind romance, everything moved fast, and within months, we had a lavish wedding. Mum adored him—practically carried him around on a pedestal. At first, it seemed sweet. Then it just got annoying.
The first six months were bliss—love, affection, tenderness. But then something broke. My husband grew aggressive, irritable, even cruel. The rows became relentless. I turned to Mum for support, only to be met with blame. She always took his side.
When she visited, her first words were always criticism—the house wasn’t clean enough, dinner wasn’t right, the ironing was sloppy. No matter if I was exhausted from work or feeling ill. *”A woman’s duty is to keep the home! If you can’t handle it, let your husband speak his mind! He’s a catch—look at you, no charm, no grace, and that dreadful temper!”* It was her mantra.
I reminded her she’d been divorced twice herself, but she’d just hurl insults. William and I lasted just over two years. The end came when he hit me for the first time. I packed my things in silence and left. The next morning, I filed for divorce.
Mum was furious. *”If a man raises his hand, you must’ve driven him to it,”* she snapped. William came begging—apologies, suicide threats. Mum piled on the pressure. But I stood my ground. A few months later, I moved out, unable to bear being told I was worthless for losing *”such a good husband.”* It took me a year to recover.
Then Max came along. Gentle, caring, patient. We dated for over a year before marrying. I hid the relationship from Mum, knowing how she’d react. Sure enough, at our first meeting, she compared Max to William—and not favourably.
She didn’t hold back, even at her own birthday party. She invited my ex and spent the evening sneering, praising him, belittling Max. We walked out. After that, the calls came thicker—*”You married beneath you, a nobody!”* No matter how I begged her to stop, the insults only worsened.
One morning, I woke up and realised—my mother was destroying me, my marriage, my peace. I was terrified for the future. For my husband, whom I loved. For any children we might have, who’d face her scorn. I refused to let anyone tell my kids they *weren’t enough*—like she’d told me.
So I made my choice. No more contact. I wanted to live my own life. I wouldn’t let this marriage fail like the first—not because of her poison. If she loved my ex so much, she could have him. I wanted to be with someone who truly loved and valued me.
And for the first time in years… I felt free.
**Lesson learned:** Family doesn’t mean permission to endure cruelty. Sometimes walking away is the only way to keep yourself whole.
