For years I stayed silent and tolerated my mother. But one event changed everything.

When I was seventeen, my father passed away. My mum worked two jobs, but she never earned much. We scrimped and saved at every corner. Our family would only have fruit and sweets at Christmas. I never dared to ask my mum for anything. I tried to earn my own money and cover my own expenses. I have a younger sister. Mum and I did everything we could to make sure she never felt inferior or left out.
Sadly, losing Dad wasnt the end of our troubles. Mum suffered a stroke and was rushed to hospital. Afterwards, she couldnt walk anymore. She was granted a disability pension, but it barely covered our basic needs. It was never easy, but I tried to hold onto hope that things would get better.
I had to leave university because from then on, I was the sole breadwinner. Taking care of my ill mum and my sister was incredibly difficult. Many offered help, but I always refused. Before her illness, mum was warm-hearted and honest. After the stroke, something changed.
She started complaining about her unlucky fate, then about my sister and me. She would say we cooked badly, didnt clean properly, or spent too much on ourselves.
I tried to ignore her constant criticism. She was unwell, and I tried to be understanding. Yet it still hurt, her attitude towards us. I did everything possible for her, and she never appreciated my efforts. Friends kept urging me to hire a nurse for mum and change jobs, reminding me I could earn far more elsewhere. But if I did, I couldnt look after mum myself. How could I let a stranger care for her when she has two daughters? I just couldnt bring myself to do it.
Mums complaints only grew. She scolded us for any purchase, no matter how frugal we were.
I kept quiet and remained patient for a long time. But one event forever changed my feelings towards her.
I became ill. My head pounded, I had a fever, coughthe works.
I didnt sleep all night, and in the morning I decided to see the GP. My sister saw my state, got ready for school, hugged me, and begged me not to put off seeing a doctor. But Mum, as usual, insisted I didnt need treatment. She said I was youngmy body could deal with itand she was in a far worse state than me, needing more money. She accused me of wasting money on doctors, convinced Id only have a bit of the flu. She claimed I didnt care about her and wanted her dead.
I listened, quietly crying. Truthfully, I was exhausted. For Mum, I gave up my studies and took on tough jobs, even though I had other options. I think I was so worn out I finally snapped. I shouted at Mum and told her honestly what I thought.
The tests showed pneumonia. My doctor insisted I get admitted, but I just couldnt leave my sister with Mum. I bought the necessary medication and went to my friends house.
Emma opened the door. She scolded me for wandering around instead of resting under a duvet. We talked for ages. I told her everything about Mum and asked her to help find a nurse. I needed somewhere to stay too. I simply couldnt live at home anymore.
Emma suggested I move in, and told me to fetch my things from home.
At home, Mum was waiting, shouting as soon as I opened the door. She didnt ask about my health, only counted the money again. I fed her, then retreated to my room to rest. I wasnt going to stay here anymore.
Emma acted quickly. She found a nurse and welcomed me into her flat. I changed jobs, and I don’t visit Mum now. Maybe people think Im cold, but I did everything I possibly could. And I never received even a simple thank you. Was it all really worth it? I still have my whole life ahead.
Each month, I send money for Mum and to pay the nursemore than is needed, just in case. Victoria, the nurse, says Mum is fading and rarely remembers us. She doesnt wish us happy birthday, though my sister and I always remember hers. But thats not what matters most. I managed to change jobs, and soon Ill be moving out of Emmas place. My sister and I plan to rent a flat together. She supports me, saying, You should care for your parentsbut not when they slowly destroy you.Sometimes, I think back to when everything felt hopeless. But the truth is, Im learning that hope is not something you findits something you build, piece by piece, from courage and the kindness of others. My sister and I have our own traditions now, sharing laughter over simple meals, dreaming about the futures we both deserve. On rainy days, I watch the clouds gather, but I no longer feel trapped under their weight. If pain shaped me, it also taught me how to survive, and how to let go.
The wounds remain, but theyre lighter when carried together. I still send money, and Victoria texts updates that sometimes make me ache, but I no longer wait for gratitude that will never come. Now, life holds space for possibilityfor love, adventure, and quiet moments that belong only to us.
One evening, as my sister and I unpack boxes in our new flat, she looks up and says, It’s finally our turn. Her words echo in the empty rooms, filling every corner with hope. I smile, knowing that no matter how difficult the past was, it brought us hereto a place where joy can bloom again. And that, I realize, is more than enough.