“You’ve no one to blame but yourself for looking like a bloated cow!” Mum spat at me when my husband walked out, leaving me with the kids.
My name’s Emily. My life shattered the day Daniel, my husband, abandoned me with our two young children. I turned to my mother for comfort, but instead of solace, I got venom. “Look at the mess you’ve made of yourself! No wonder he left!” Her words cut deeper than any knife. Alone, with my kids clinging to me, no home, no hope—I was drowning. And the cruelty of the one person who should’ve held me up only pushed me further under. How do I keep going when even my own blood blames me for everything?
I grew up in a quiet village outside Manchester. Weight had always been my battle. Mum, Evelyn Hartley, was slender, sharp-tongued, never missing a chance to jab at me. “Back at the biscuit tin again, are we? Want to end up like your father, dead before fifty from his own greed? Just look at you—spilling out of your clothes!” she’d sneer when I was a girl. I starved myself to please her, but food was the only thing that dulled the ache. She watched every bite, and her words burned like hot coals.
I fought. I ran, starved, cut out sweets—but keeping the weight off was torture. Before the wedding, I lived on nothing but oatmeal and water for months. Daniel was lean, athletic; we ate clean together. He cheered me on, made me feel beautiful. Then the pregnancy changed everything. The doctor warned, “Stop worrying about weight. Just keep the baby healthy.” Daniel agreed. “Em, focus on our daughter. We’ll get you back after.”
The first baby left me heavier, but not ruined. Daniel still said he fancied me. Mum, though? She seethed. “Is this what a wife’s supposed to look like?” Her poison tainted every joy. When our daughter, Lily, turned one, I was pregnant again. Daniel dreamed of a son. “We’ll fix it after,” he promised. But the second pregnancy wrecked me. I ballooned. The doctors shrugged. “Bodies don’t bounce back the same. It’ll come off.” Lies.
Our son, Oliver, is nearly two, and the weight won’t budge. I starve, I chase the kids till my legs ache—but Daniel only saw failure. “You’re not even trying!” he’d snap. “I’m living on air and running myself ragged!” I’d scream back. But he stopped seeing me as a woman. A month ago, he dropped the bomb. “I’m not attracted to you anymore. I want a divorce.” He walked out, left me with Lily and Oliver.
Daniel pays child support, visits sometimes, but the house feels hollow. With no home of my own, I crawled back to Mum’s, desperate for kindness. Instead, she unleashed hell. “This is your doing! Look at the state of you—who’d want that? You drove him away, let your kids grow up without a father!” Every word is a punch I can’t block. She doesn’t see the tears, the exhaustion, how I’m breaking just to keep them fed. It’s easier for her to blame me than to hold me.
I’m hanging by a thread. The sleepless nights, the shame, Mum’s acid tongue—it’s too much. Maternity leave keeps me trapped, no job, no escape. I wanted her to be my safe place. Instead, she’s the judge sentencing me. Why can’t she see how hard I’m fighting? Why does love feel like a blade? I need to be strong for Lily and Ollie, but I’m running on empty. Where do you turn when your own mother’s the enemy? Has anyone else survived this? How do you breathe when the people who should love you just… don’t? My heart’s screaming, but no one’s listening.