It did not start with me becoming distant.
It started years ago.
As a child. As a daughter.
In a house where entitlement lived louder than gratitude.
Where sacrifices were expected, not appreciated.
Where expenses were shifted.
Where responsibilities were absorbed by one woman who should have been protected instead of drained.
I grew up watching my mother. Mother children she never bore.
Fitting bills that were never hers to fit.
Carrying weight that was never meant for her tender shoulders.
Furnishing needs that were never her responsibility.
Stretching herself thin so others could live comfortably in their entitlement.
And somewhere in all of that, my future was treated like it could wait.
Like it was optional.
Like I would “be fine.”
Do you know what that does to a child?
It takes away her voice, silences her in a very raw way. It emotionally and mentally makes her small.
It makes her believe her dreams are negotiable.
I was pushed aside in ways subtle enough to deny, but loud enough to shape me. Made to feel like my aspirations were secondary. Like my security could be sacrificed. Like my voice did not carry weight.
And for years, I internalised it.
I apologised for wanting more.
I minimised my hurt.
I convinced myself that loyalty meant silence.
But now, going through my own struggles, navigating financial strain, fighting battles that feel too heavy some days, I cannot even begin to imagine what my mother carried.
The weight. The pressure.
How burdened she must have been, silently holding it all together while slowly breaking underneath it.
She was like a pressure cooker, stuffed and stuffed, the lid forced shut, left on the stove, for far too long.
And then came that moment.
The silent explosion. And there I was.
Robbed yet again.
Robbed of more time with my mother.
The exhaustion. The quiet heartbreak.
The things she must have swallowed to protect everyone else.
And now I understand something clearly..
A lot was fabricated.
Narratives were built to protect entitlement.
Stories were twisted to preserve comfort.
Blame was redirected to maintain control.
So let me make this crystal clear.
I do not owe my family a thing.
However, there are debts owed.
There are answers required.
There are truths that will no longer be buried under “keep the peace.”
Firstly, let me clear up this self-created misconception, because the way people exaggerate starts an itch in a place that cannot be reached to scratch 😂
I am not sitting with a bank balance bursting at the seams.
I am not secretly thriving whilst pretending to struggle.
I am, however repaying my debt to ALLAH.
I am surviving what was left behind.
I am rebuilding what was compromised.
And I will no longer apologise for stating that.
From here on out, I will speak my truth.
Controlled. Measured. But unfiltered.
And yes, sadly it will sting.
Because the truth is bitter to those who benefited from the lie.
What you do unto others eventually rests at your own feet.
That is not revenge. That is divine balance.
And NO..
I have never wished ill on the family ALLAH chose for me. I never will.
I am grateful.
Not for the pain. But for the lessons.
Because those lessons shaped me.
They taught me discernment.
They taught me boundaries.
They taught me how to stand without trembling.
But hear me clearly..
I will not keep digging at my scars just to validate someone else’s pain.
I will not keep apologising for being right.
And I will never again allow myself to be treated like that oppressed, afraid little girl I once was.
That girl still exists.
But she now stands behind unbreakable glass.
Watching. Observing.
Seeing how ALLAH turns tables without her lifting a finger.
I cannot take credit for what ALLAH has decreed.
There were many chapters I did not understand whilst I was living them, chapters filled with confusion, exhaustion, misplaced loyalty, and silent suffering.
But when you step back, you see the pattern.
The book may close.
But a new one is released every time you make a wise decision after brutal lessons.
And I have made mine.
A new journey began the day I stopped shrinking.
It is a path I must walk alone for now.
Not bitter. Not angry. Just aware.
Until ALLAH writes the next chapter.
Access Denied is not hostility.
It is protection.
It is me finally choosing forward, step by step, without dragging history behind me.
To my family, I wholeheartedly thank you.
Not because the pain brought happiness.
But because it gave me courage.
Courage to leap.
Courage to leave comfort.
Courage to stop living small.
And I have never been happier or more at peace and content.
The oppressed little girl, she grew up.
She does not ask for permission anymore.
Because ALLAH already signed off on her permission slip.
And for as long as ALLAH is pleased with me, nothing formed against me and nothing meant to break me will succeed. Except by HIS will.
I will walk this path with grace.
And obedience to ALLAH.
