One of my most endearing qualities is my kind heart and my willingness to go the extra mile for others. I’ve always been the type of person who helps out without expecting anything in return.

Sadly, this is a trait my family either never noticed—or if they did, they never appreciated. But the world outside my family? They’ve always seen it. And that makes me proud.

How My Work Team Made Me Feel Valued

I currently work as an administrative caseworker in the Civil Service. My job is fairly simple on paper: checking application forms, ensuring the information matches our scanned system records, and fixing small errors like spelling mistakes or missing sections. It might sound basic, but I love what I do—and more importantly, I love my team.

We’re a team of ten, and honestly, it feels more like family than colleagues. We chat, share gossip, enjoy team meals (under the excuse of “team meetings”), and help each other out when things get tough. That support is what makes us so great together.

One key part of our role is keeping our task lists up to date. These include cases where information is missing or a scanned page didn’t come through. We have to chase missing details by contacting customers or checking physical files. Any incomplete work goes onto a priority task list, which gets flagged as deadlines approach.

Usually, I clear 4–8 high-priority tasks a day, but some days are impossible—like after a bank holiday when we’re swamped with calls.

The Day I Needed Help (and Got It)

Last week, our main manager was off, and one of my colleagues stepped in as acting manager. He sent a message reminding us to update our task lists because he’d be checking them.

When I looked at mine, my jaw dropped. Two and a half pages of high-priority tasks—about 50 cases. And I had only 2–3 hours to work on them before my early Friday finish. Plus, I was still taking calls.

I messaged him straight away, saying, “There’s no way I can get through all this, but I’ve started working on them.” He told me to do my best and ask for help if needed. Without hesitation, I replied, “I need help.”

I worked through about 10 cases before getting stuck on a 25-minute call. When I refreshed my list, I was stunned—my priority list was down to half a page. My acting manager had jumped in and cleared most of it for me!

Then he messaged me: “Your task list is up to date, but please review one case—I think there’s an error.” Turns out, I hadn’t made a mistake; I was just waiting on a filing department response. He even emailed the head of that department to chase it up, cc’ing me so I could see the progress.

He didn’t have to do that. He could have told me, “It’s your responsibility—do what you can.” But he didn’t, because we’re that kind of team. And maybe because he knows that I’m always the first to help others when they need it.

Where This Helpful Nature Comes From

This isn’t new for me. I’ve been like this since my first proper job at a bank in London.

I still remember November that year when my branch manager asked me to organize Secret Santa. She probably expected something basic like slips of paper in a bowl. Instead, she got beautifully designed name cards in sealed envelopes. She was so impressed that I became the official Secret Santa organizer every year after that.

I did eight Secret Santas in ten years (I was on maternity leave twice—one for each of my daughters). Every year, I outdid myself. My last Secret Santa even included mini origami Santas as gift tags. Word spread across North London branches, and three other branches asked me to make them too! They even covered the material costs.

After that first Christmas, my reputation was set—I was “the helpful one.” If something needed doing that didn’t involve tills, I volunteered. Whether it was loading ATMs, handling money deliveries, or even testing ATMs’ audio systems with headphones (yes, that’s a real thing!), I did it.

And when it came to the dreaded annual tests, I helped everyone—cashiers, personal bankers, even managers—because after failing twice early on, I memorized all the answers!

How It Shows Up in My Current Job

This helpful, friendly attitude has followed me to the Civil Service.

At first, our team had a rule: your birthday month meant organizing the next person’s birthday. When my birthday came, I organized the next one—and then volunteered for the next…and the next.

By November, I had also volunteered for Secret Santa (of course!). Just like at the bank, I wowed everyone with creative name tags and envelopes. From that moment on, I became the unofficial social events organizer—team birthdays, festive events, team-building activities—you name it.

I’ve organized almost every single birthday since joining the team in February last year. (Except for one person whose birthday is in September—my month. I draw the line there!)

Even when I try to take a break, I get roped in—like now. I was supposed to be event-free this September, but guess who’s booking the venue for the team meeting? Yep, me.

Why This Means So Much to Me

I have a great reputation in my team and even among other managers as someone who is always willing to help. And honestly? I love that.

My family may never have appreciated my caring, helpful nature—but my colleagues do. And that’s something I’m incredibly proud of.

Judging people before truly knowing them is something I know all too well. I’ve been judged my entire life—my surname, my looks, my weight, even the smallest things. The harshest judgments didn’t come from strangers, though; they came from my own family. But we’ll get to that later.

Judgment isn’t unique to one culture—it exists everywhere—but in Indian culture, it often feels like a family affair. When someone judges you, they usually drag your parents into it too.

Take this example: I can’t cook Indian food. My mum tried teaching me, but I wasn’t interested—I never loved Indian food. When my extended family discovered this, they didn’t just judge me; they judged my parents for “failing” to teach me. The same thing happened when I became a parent.

When Maanvi wasn’t potty trained by the age of three, the comments started:

“My child was out of nappies by two.”

“Still in nappies? Does she want to stay a baby forever?”

And then came the judgment aimed at me:

“You’re lazy. You’re not putting in the effort.”

The truth? I started potty training at two and a half. But Maanvi began forcing herself to pee every 20 minutes because she thought that’s what was expected. So I stopped. I waited until she was ready. At four, she trained in a week—with only three accidents.

Everyone learns at their own pace. There’s no universal deadline for milestones. Yet, as parents, we feel pressured, compared, and judged. And as individuals, we’re often judged for things beyond our control—like our skin or our weight—or for choices we make for our own well-being.

When Judgment Crosses the Line

I once read a post on an Indian parenting forum. A new mum asked if she could extend her parents’ visa to stay longer after helping her with the baby. Most responses were helpful—except one.

This one commenter accused her of using her parents as babysitters, saying things like:

“If you can’t handle your baby, hire a nanny.”

“Parents shouldn’t be called over—they have a better life in India.”

That comment hit a nerve. Why? Because I had done exactly what she was criticizing. My in-laws came to the UK after both my girls were born, and I’m not ashamed of it. They were my lifeline during those early months when I battled postnatal depression—twice. They encouraged me, supported me, and gave me the strength to be the mother I wanted to be.

Their visits didn’t steal their freedom—they still had the life they loved in India. They now enjoy the best of both worlds: quality time with us via regular video calls and their community back home. Everyone wins.

The Nosy Neighbour Syndrome

Indian communities take “it takes a village” to the next level. Growing up, I saw how connected everyone was. Back in my dad’s village, I could roof-jump from one house to another, wander into strangers’ homes, and no one blinked an eye—because my dad was part of the community. They even looked out for me.

But the same people who once cared later judged me harshly when I developed eczema as a teen. Suddenly, I wasn’t welcome. They feared they’d “catch” my condition.

It didn’t hurt much when strangers judged me. Their opinions didn’t matter. But when it came from people I knew—my own family—that was different.

Family Judgment Hurts the Most

I’ve written before about my sisters-in-law—especially my youngest brother’s wife—who seemed to despise me. Most of the judgment I faced was because of my skin. Severe eczema since I was 14 left dark patches on my face and arms. People assumed it was contagious.

Then there was my weight. Many assumed I was lazy or addicted to junk food. The truth? As a child, I was given cod liver oil tablets, and my body reacted by piling on weight rapidly—tripling in size in six months. No diet or exercise worked long-term.

The only time I lost significant weight was during a four-month trip to India for herbal treatment in my 20s. The “diet” was so strict I survived on powdered medicine and one chapati a day—no dairy, no proper meals. I dropped 10 kg in two months but was so weak I could barely function. And yes, the weight crept back when normal life resumed.

Judgment from non-Indians often came as backhanded compliments or subtle digs. Indians? Brutally direct. “What happened to your skin? You used to be so pretty.” Those comments cut deep.

The Bright Side: Kindness Exists Too

Not everyone judges. My husband’s family has been nothing short of amazing. My in-laws treat me with love, respect, and zero criticism. They compliment me, encourage me, and make me feel valued—something I rarely experienced growing up. Their words build me up instead of tearing me down.

The other day, they told me, “You light up a room wherever you go.” I carried that compliment with me all day. I wish my own parents had said things like that.

Breaking the Cycle for My Daughters

Because I grew up in an environment where compliments were rare and judgment was constant, I vowed my daughters would never feel “less than.” I make it a point to praise their efforts and celebrate their strengths.

Maanvi: Becoming Her Own Person

Maanvi is no longer the little girl people judged for being “late” with potty training. She’s on the edge of a whole new chapter—starting Year 7, moving into secondary school, and slowly stepping into her teenage years.

She’s curious about her appearance now, experimenting with hairstyles and dabbling in makeup, which makes me smile because it reminds me of my own growing-up years—but with a lot more confidence than I had. Her taste in TV shows has matured too; she’s all about series like Wednesday and Doctor Who, which spark conversations about independence, identity, and what it means to be different.

Of course, with growing independence comes growing emotions. She has her moody days (don’t we all?) and moments where she wants her space. And as much as it tugs at my heart, I know this is healthy—it means she’s finding her voice. My job is to guide her, especially when it comes to big things like mobile phone safety and understanding the digital world.

We’ve also started teaching her basic life skills, like cooking simple meals, because independence isn’t just about having a phone or walking to school alone—it’s about knowing how to take care of yourself. It’s a balance between letting go and holding on just enough to keep her safe.

Jiya: The Free Spirit

Jiya is thriving as she gets ready to start Year 3. She’s my social butterfly—always chatting, making friends, and charming her teachers at every parents’ evening. She’s fiercely independent in her own way and loves trying to do everything by herself (even when she needs help).

She’s creative, playful, and full of energy—the kind of child who turns the simplest day into an adventure. And though she and Maanvi still have their epic sibling squabbles, they also share moments that melt my heart, like teaming up to put on an impromptu dance show or giggling together over a silly joke.

Watching Jiya grow reminds me that confidence starts young, and I want her to hold on to that fearless spark for as long as possible.

Final Thoughts: Judgment Is Inevitable—But It Doesn’t Define You

Life will always have judgmental people. I can’t change that. But I can raise my daughters to be confident, resilient, and unapologetically themselves. That’s the best defense against judgment—and the greatest gift I can give them.

When most people hear the term domestic abuse, they think of violence between romantic partners—black eyes, broken bones, or screaming matches behind closed doors. But domestic abuse is not limited to romantic relationships, nor does it always leave visible bruises. One of the most overlooked, insidious forms of domestic abuse happens in childhood, within toxic families.

This kind of abuse often flies under the radar because it doesn’t look like what society traditionally labels as “abuse.” It’s quieter, more psychological, and often dismissed as “strict parenting” or “just how families are.” But growing up in a toxic family—one ruled by manipulation, fear, control, guilt, and emotional neglect—is domestic abuse. And it leaves deep, long-lasting scars.

If this resonates with you, you’re not alone. I explore this deeply in my biography Breaking Free, where I share my journey of surviving and healing from a toxic family environment.

Recognizing the Signs of Abuse—In the Home You Grew Up In

Domestic abuse typically includes a clear set of behaviors:

• Constant criticism or belittling
• Gaslighting—making someone question their memory or perception
• Emotional blackmail and guilt-tripping
• Isolation from support systems
• Control over decisions, autonomy, or emotional expression
• Fear of upsetting the abuser
• Walking on eggshells to keep the peace
• Being blamed for things that aren’t your fault

Now take those same signs and place them in the context of a childhood home.

A toxic family environment mirrors this abuse almost identically. Parents or caregivers may:

• Dismiss your emotions as overreactions
• Accuse you of being “ungrateful” or “too sensitive”
• Withdraw love when you fail to meet impossible expectations
• Shame or mock you in front of others
• Compare you to siblings to foster competition or resentment
• Use affection as a weapon—something earned, not freely given

The result? A child who learns to suppress themselves to survive. A child who internalizes the message that their feelings, needs, and even their perception of reality are wrong.

The Emotional Fallout: When Victims Blame Themselves

One of the cruelest effects of this form of abuse is that it convinces the victim that they are the problem. Just like survivors of partner abuse, children in toxic families often believe:

• “If I just try harder, maybe they’ll love me.”
• “It must be me—I’m the common denominator.”
• “I shouldn’t complain. Other people have it worse.”
• “Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe it wasn’t that bad.”

This conditioning leads to lifelong struggles with self-worth, boundaries, trust, and emotional safety. Many adult survivors of toxic families grow into people-pleasers, chronic self-doubters, or emotionally distant individuals. They question their instincts, invalidate their own pain, and often repeat the cycle by entering toxic friendships or relationships later in life.

Why Naming It Matters

Calling what happened abuse can feel heavy. It can feel disloyal. It can stir up guilt, shame, or fear of being dramatic. But giving it the correct name isn’t about assigning blame—it’s about validating the truth.

Many survivors hesitate to label their upbringing as abusive because “they never hit me,” or because “my parents had it worse.” But abuse doesn’t need to be physical to be real. Emotional, psychological, and verbal abuse are deeply harmful, especially when they come from the people who were supposed to make you feel safe, seen, and loved.

Naming it gives you permission to heal. It breaks the silence that keeps people trapped in shame. And it opens the door to reclaiming your story.

You Are Not Alone

Toxic families are more common than most people realize, and the silence around them is deafening. But if you grew up in a home where love felt conditional, where safety was unpredictable, or where you were made to feel responsible for someone else’s emotions—you didn’t imagine it. You survived it.

And survival is powerful.

Healing from this kind of abuse is possible. It starts with acknowledging the truth, giving yourself compassion, and slowly unlearning the lies you were told about yourself. You are not broken. You are not too sensitive. You are not at fault.

You are someone who endured the unimaginable with resilience. And now, you have every right to heal in peace, at your own pace.

Further Reading & Resources

If you’re looking for more support or want to hear a personal story that may mirror your own, check out my biography:

📘 Breaking Free – My true story of surviving and healing from a toxic family

Available now on Amazon: https://amzn.to/3ymr2M0

🎙️ Listen to My Podcast on Spotify – I discuss toxic family dynamics, emotional recovery, and healing journeys:

Search for me on Spotify or click here to listen (replace with direct link if you’d like)

Thank you for reading—and remember, healing is not only possible, it’s your right.When most people hear the term domestic abuse, they think of violence between romantic partners—black eyes, broken bones, or screaming matches behind closed doors. But domestic abuse is not limited to romantic relationships, nor does it always leave visible bruises. One of the most overlooked, insidious forms of domestic abuse happens in childhood, within toxic families.

This kind of abuse often flies under the radar because it doesn’t look like what society traditionally labels as “abuse.” It’s quieter, more psychological, and often dismissed as “strict parenting” or “just how families are.” But growing up in a toxic family—one ruled by manipulation, fear, control, guilt, and emotional neglect—is domestic abuse. And it leaves deep, long-lasting scars.

If this resonates with you, you’re not alone. I explore this deeply in my biography Breaking Free, where I share my journey of surviving and healing from a toxic family environment.

Recognizing the Signs of Abuse—In the Home You Grew Up In

Domestic abuse typically includes a clear set of behaviors:

• Constant criticism or belittling
• Gaslighting—making someone question their memory or perception
• Emotional blackmail and guilt-tripping
• Isolation from support systems
• Control over decisions, autonomy, or emotional expression
• Fear of upsetting the abuser
• Walking on eggshells to keep the peace
• Being blamed for things that aren’t your fault

Now take those same signs and place them in the context of a childhood home.

A toxic family environment mirrors this abuse almost identically. Parents or caregivers may:

• Dismiss your emotions as overreactions
• Accuse you of being “ungrateful” or “too sensitive”
• Withdraw love when you fail to meet impossible expectations
• Shame or mock you in front of others
• Compare you to siblings to foster competition or resentment
• Use affection as a weapon—something earned, not freely given

The result? A child who learns to suppress themselves to survive. A child who internalizes the message that their feelings, needs, and even their perception of reality are wrong.

The Emotional Fallout: When Victims Blame Themselves

One of the cruelest effects of this form of abuse is that it convinces the victim that they are the problem. Just like survivors of partner abuse, children in toxic families often believe:

• “If I just try harder, maybe they’ll love me.”
• “It must be me—I’m the common denominator.”
• “I shouldn’t complain. Other people have it worse.”
• “Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe it wasn’t that bad.”

This conditioning leads to lifelong struggles with self-worth, boundaries, trust, and emotional safety. Many adult survivors of toxic families grow into people-pleasers, chronic self-doubters, or emotionally distant individuals. They question their instincts, invalidate their own pain, and often repeat the cycle by entering toxic friendships or relationships later in life.

Why Naming It Matters

Calling what happened abuse can feel heavy. It can feel disloyal. It can stir up guilt, shame, or fear of being dramatic. But giving it the correct name isn’t about assigning blame—it’s about validating the truth.

Many survivors hesitate to label their upbringing as abusive because “they never hit me,” or because “my parents had it worse.” But abuse doesn’t need to be physical to be real. Emotional, psychological, and verbal abuse are deeply harmful, especially when they come from the people who were supposed to make you feel safe, seen, and loved.

Naming it gives you permission to heal. It breaks the silence that keeps people trapped in shame. And it opens the door to reclaiming your story.

You Are Not Alone

Toxic families are more common than most people realize, and the silence around them is deafening. But if you grew up in a home where love felt conditional, where safety was unpredictable, or where you were made to feel responsible for someone else’s emotions—you didn’t imagine it. You survived it.

And survival is powerful.

Healing from this kind of abuse is possible. It starts with acknowledging the truth, giving yourself compassion, and slowly unlearning the lies you were told about yourself. You are not broken. You are not too sensitive. You are not at fault.

You are someone who endured the unimaginable with resilience. And now, you have every right to heal in peace, at your own pace.

Further Reading & Resources

If you’re looking for more support or want to hear a personal story that may mirror your own, check out my biography:

📘 Breaking Free – My true story of surviving and healing from a toxic family

Available now on Amazon: https://amzn.to/3ymr2M0

🎙️ Listen to My Podcast on Spotify – I discuss toxic family dynamics, emotional recovery, and healing journeys:

Search for me on Spotify or click here to listen

Thank you for reading—and remember, healing is not only possible, it’s your right.