When Blood Meant Nothing And I Chose My Own Family

Chapter One: Why I Don’t Speak to Them Anymore

When people ask, “Why don’t you speak to your mum? Your sister? Your family?” It’s never an easy answer. For a long time, I didn’t know how to respond. I held so many secrets. I lied for people I loved because I thought that was how love worked. As a child, I didn’t know who I could trust. I didn’t feel safe speaking up. So I stayed quiet.

But silence cost me everything.

Because when it came down to it, none of them protected me. Not once.

After I left my mother for the last time and went into care, I started working and slowly began to see what life could look like when it wasn't full of fear. That’s when I made the hardest decision: I cut ties with all of them, my mother, my sister, and anyone who ever chose to hurt me or stay silent about the pain I endured. They didn’t want to love me. They wanted to use me. And when I stopped giving, they stopped calling.

Chapter Two: The Return That Should’ve Never Happened

I didn’t speak to my mother for ten years.

Then, after my second son was born, my ex-husband began pushing for me to give her another chance. He didn’t know the full truth about the abuse, the grooming, the prostitution I witnessed in her home. He only saw the surface. The illusion of a mother.

Eventually, I gave in.

One visit turned into another. When my ex went on a fishing trip to Nelson Bay, I packed up my 4-month-old and my 3-year-old and took a trip to Newcastle to visit her. I had boundaries. I made it clear: I won’t force a relationship. If you want to be a part of my children’s lives, you show up. I will reciprocate the efforts put in.

But even then, I could see the patterns. Her life once again revolving around a new man this time, a boyfriend she had reshaped herself for. Suddenly she was into bike riding, outdoor bike tracks, campervan life and everything he liked. It was a story I’d seen before.

Chapter Three: What He Did to My Son

We visited his parents' place, just down the street. I didn’t want to go, but my mum insisted. She wanted to parade the grandchildren she had only just met, pretending she had been part of their lives all along. Like how she would screenshot our Instagram images and print the off and display them in her housed like she had been sent them, when I didn’t send pictures. I wasn’t that kind of seeing person of validation.

And then it happened.

My son, whom since this incident has been diagnosed with ASD, but still doesn’t excuse the behavior of a 40-year-old man abusing a 3-year-old boy, was tapping a wooden duck on the arm of her boyfriend in the repetitive way kids often do. Instead of redirecting or asking for space, the man snapped. He yanked my son’s arm and struck him multiple times with the duck. Mocking him. “How do you like that?” he said.

I was right there holding my baby, watching this unfold while my mother sat beside me right next to my son and said nothing, did nothing to stop it.

I exploded.

I grabbed my boys and left immediately. The three-hour drive home took me seven hours. Between feeding, nappies, and the deep betrayal burning in my chest, I drove in a fog of rage and disbelief.

Chapter Four: The Woman Who Let It Happen

On the drive home, I tried calling my Ex, and he wasn’t answering, the only person I had to talk to because our lives revolved around him, wasn’t available. I then finally got a call as I pulled up at home. Several hours after the even, I told my ex-husband. He was ready to drive up there. But I said, “Don’t lower yourself to their level.”

And still, the biggest betrayal hadn’t happened yet.

Not only did my mother stay with that man after he hurt my son, but she defended him. Said he didn’t mean it. Came to stay with us at Christmas, pretending she had left him and two weeks later? She went to my sister’s house, then straight back to him.

She chose him, and abuse over the right thing. Over my children. Over her own blood.

I should’ve gone to the police. I had the messages. The photos. Everything. But I stayed silent again. I feared what he would do to her if I spoke up. But now I realise: why did I care, when she didn’t?

I failed to advocate for my son that day. And I swore to myself never again.

Chapter Five: Standing Beside My Abuser

If there was ever a moment that sealed the truth for me, it was this: the day my mother walked into the courthouse… on the side of my abuser.

She stood beside my ex-husband. Beside his family. Supporting the man who emotionally, mentally, and physically abused not only me but her grandsons. But this didn’t shake me or even upset me, I honestly wasn’t even surprised, I actually anticipated it.

That wasn’t just betrayal. That was the moment I knew for certain; blood doesn’t make someone your family.

This wasn’t new. This was the same woman, tried grooming me as a child and neglected me, just ran out on my birthday to take the car back to my ex-husband, as soon as I got the call from the police about it. To the man who had abused me and my boys. A man who I had finally reported, another mind game and power play of a controlling abuser.

Chapter Six: My Real Family Wears Little Shoes

I learned with refection that you don’t have to love your family. You choose to and I choose my boys. All day and every day.

They are my family, they are my purpose and I will protect them from anyone even the ones who share our blood especially the ones who didn’t protect me or them and support hiding abuse.

My mother had every chance to change. To choose me. To stand up and every time, she chose silence, control, and men who didn’t care about us.

So I choose love that is honest. Fierce. Protective. The kind that shows up. The kind I never had and I will never again feel guilty for choosing peace over proximity, and protection over performance.