For years I stayed silent and put up with my mother. But one event changed everything

When I was seventeen, my dad walked out on us. My mum worked herself ragged with two jobs, but she didnt earn much. We cut back on absolutely everything to make ends meet. Fruit and sweets were treats we saved for at Christmas. I never dared ask Mum for anything, so I tried to earn my own keep wherever I could. Ive got a younger sister too, and both of us did our best, along with Mum, to make sure she never felt left out or second best.
Sadly, losing Dad wasnt the end of our family’s troubles. Not long after, Mum suffered a stroke and had to go into hospital. Ever since, she hasnt been able to walk. She started receiving disability benefits, but it was nowhere near enough. Times were hard, but I clung to the hope that things would get better eventually.
I had to give up my place at university, as I became the only one in the house supporting the family. Looking after my ill mother and my sister was a tremendous responsibility. Plenty of people offered to help, but I always turned them down. Before she fell ill, Mum was the kindest and most genuine person you could meet, but the stroke changed her.
At first, it was endless complaints about her misfortune, then she turned her frustration on me and my sister. Our cooking wasnt good enough, the house wasnt spotless, or we were frivolous with money.
I tried my best to ignore her grumbling, understanding that she was unwell, but her attitude towards us really stung. I did everything for her and she never seemed to notice how much I sacrificed. Friends often told me to hire a carer for Mum and find a better job. There were places where I couldve earned more, but then Id have to leave Mum in someone elses care. How could I? Were her daughtershow could I ask a stranger to look after her? I just couldnt bring myself to do it.
The complaints from Mum only increased. Shed have a go at us for buying anything at all, even though we were as frugal as could be.
I kept quiet for ages, bottled up my feelings, and tried to be patient. But then something happened that changed the way I thought about my mother for good.
I fell ill myself. I had a dreadful headache, fever and a cough.
I spent a sleepless night tossing and turning, and by morning, I decided to see the doctor. My sister noticed how poorly I looked. She got ready for school, gave me a hug, and begged me not to delay getting checked up. Mum, true to form, declared I didnt need any treatment. “Youre young,” she said, “youll get over it on your own. I need more help than you do. Youll just spend all the money on tests and doctors, and itll turn out to be nothing more than the flu.” She accused me of neglecting her and suggested I wanted her dead.
I just stood there listening, crying quietly. Honestly, I hadnt any strength left. Id given up university and taken on hard work for Mums sake, when I could have chosen an easier path. I must have been so exhausted, so overwhelmed, that I finally lost my temper and shouted at Mum, telling her everything Id been holding back.
The doctor diagnosed me with pneumonia. He wanted me in hospital right away, but that simply wasnt an optionI couldnt leave my sister to care for Mum alone. I bought the prescribed medicine and headed to my old friend Emmas house.
Emma let me in, scolded me for being out and about instead of tucked up in bed, and we had a long talk. I told her everything about what was happening at home, and asked for her help in finding a nurse for my mum. I also needed a place to stay; I just couldnt live there any longer.
Emma offered me her spare room, and suggested I go home, pack what I needed, and move in with her for a while.
When I got home, Mum was waiting, and flew into a rage as soon as I stepped through the door. She didnt ask if I was alright, she was just counting pennies again. I made her some lunch and then went to my room to restI knew then I couldnt stay another night.
Emma acted quickly: she found a nurse for Mum and welcomed me into her home. I found a new job and stopped visiting my mother. Maybe that makes me look harsh, but I know I did absolutely everything I could for her. I never once heard a word of thanks. So, was it worth it? I suppose only time will tell.
Every month, I send money to cover Mums bills and pay the nurse. I even send more than is needed. Victoria, the woman looking after Mum, says she remembers less of us every week. She never gives us birthday wishes anymore, though my sister and I both remember hers every year. But that isnt what matters most now. I managed to find a better job, and soon, Ill move out from Emmas place. My sister and I plan to rent a flat together. She supports me, too, and often says, You have to look after your parents, but not if its destroying you.Those words stayed with me. Our lives have begun to shift: for the first time in years, theres laughter between my sister and me that isnt tinged with worry. We cook pasta late at night, dream of city lights, and tease each other about who will land the bigger room. My body is healing, but so is my heart, slowly, as I shed the guilt Ive carried for so long.
Sometimes I walk by the old house and look at it from across the street, its windows glowing dully through the curtains. Grief and comfort rise together, and I realize I miss what my mum used to be, not who she is now. I still love herand always willbut I finally understand that loving her doesnt have to mean sacrificing myself.
The other day, my sister and I bought a small carton of strawberries. We split them on the park bench, juice sticky on our fingers, giggling like we used to as kids on Christmas morning. It wasnt much, but for us, it felt like everything wed always wanted: freedom, hope, the sweet taste of possibility.
Maybe our family doesnt look like most families anymore. Maybe there are wounds that time cant ever fully heal. But as the sun dipped behind the rooftops that evening, I looked at my sister and sawreally sawwho wed become: two girls who made it through, braver than we ever knew.
And I realized, finally, that was enough. That we were enough.