My Own Mother Threw Me Out of Our Flat Because She Cared More for My Stepfather Than for Me!

My own mum kicked me out of our flat because she cared more about my stepdad!

Honestly, the happiest time of my childhood was living with my dad until I was five. When he died, Mum just seemed to stop caring about me and focused on building a new life for herself. When I turned eight, she remarried, and suddenly I had a stepdad who tried to control everything about me and my mum, and my whole world just flipped.

We lived by a schedule set by my stepdad he decided on the chores, but he never actually did anything himself because he was always absolutely knackered from work. Mum would make me do whatever he asked because she was scared he’d get cross and they’d have one of their big rows.

When I hit my teens, I started pushing back; it drove me mad coming home after school just to cook, tidy up, wash my stepdads car, anything they could think of while the loved-up couple just lounged in front of the telly. If I complained, Id get a slap and a lecture about how ungrateful I was, seeing as they were giving me so much.

Beyond a roof over my head and food which I basically earned by doing all the cleaning and chores they gave me nothing. If I ever asked about doing a course, getting a tutor, or joining a gym, theyd just mock me and say I should learn to earn money first before spending it. New clothes were rare presents, and if I did get something, theyd bang on about it for weeks.

At eighteen, after finishing school, Mum told me point-blank it was time to find my own place. No way was I going to university, I had to get a job straight away, as I couldnt live with them any longer.

Were from a tiny town, and jobs arent exactly easy to come by. If Im honest, I didn’t really want to start working full-time I still hoped my parents would wisen up when they saw I was trying to study by myself. But Mum just kept pushing, so for the last three months, instead of revising for my A-levels, I worked as a waitress ten to twelve hour shifts earning peanuts, barely any tips, just enough to cover two months rent. I ended up having no idea what Id eat. My grades were a mess because I’d missed so many crucial classes, so I couldn’t get into any proper unis, and no one would pay my tuition anyway.

That summer I quit my job and tried finding something better paid, mostly because Mum and my stepdad kept asking when I was finally going to move out until eventually they just kicked me out.

I tried working in a shop selling cleaning supplies but, after a few days, I got quite ill from some chemicals. When I tried to go back, theyd already found someone else. Time was running out. I hopped between jobs, but nothing decent enough to actually support myself.

My birthday came, slap bang in the middle of summer, and my aunt came to visit. I hadnt told anyone about what was going on, but when she asked privately, I just burst into tears and let everything out. That very day, she helped me pack my stuff and took me to her place. Id done what Mum wanted and moved out; in some ways, it felt like a weight off.

My aunt properly looked after me. She helped me find a nice job at a bookshop in town, which meant I had time to study on the side. The following year, I managed to sort my A-levels and finally got into a decent uni by myself. Whenever my parents popped up again, going on about how awful and ungrateful I was, my aunt kept me grounded and didnt let me dwell on it.

Time went by, I finished university, and landed a proper job. Im so grateful to my aunt for never leaving me to struggle by myself. I always try to look after her now, take her on fancy holidays, just to show her how much it means that she was there for me when I really needed someone.