The Power of Chosen Family: A Love Beyond Blood

One thing that always lingered in the back of my mind when I cut ties with my siblings and their families was that my daughters would grow up without cousins, aunts, and uncles who would love and spoil them. I worried they would miss out on the kind of family bond that comes from extended relatives.

But looking back now, I realize I was worrying for no reason. My daughters are surrounded by love, not because of family ties, but because of the incredible people who have chosen to be in our lives—our chosen family.

Nadia: The Godmother Who Spoils with Love

The first person who holds a special place in our lives is Nadia, my ex-manager and the godmother to both Maanvi and Jiya.

When I worked at the bank, Nadia was my manager, but she quickly became much more than that. She was the one person I felt completely comfortable around, someone I knew always had my back. I had other wonderful colleagues—Monica, Gill, and Phyliss—but Nadia was different. She was like the mother figure of our branch. As the assistant manager, she was often in the office more than the actual branch manager, so many of us turned to her for help, whether it was dealing with difficult customers or workplace challenges.

My relationship with Nadia, however, was unique. I can’t quite explain it, but she became my confidant. During the difficult times with my family, I would vent to her, and she would always listen calmly. Our bond grew even stronger after I cut ties with my side of the family, and she even helped me and Nitin financially when we needed it. Of course, we always paid her back, but her willingness to support us in those moments meant the world.

So, when Maanvi was born, it was an easy decision to ask Nadia to be her godmother. Since Nitin is Christian and Maanvi was to be baptized, it felt right. Over the years, Nadia has spoiled Maanvi endlessly, and when Jiya was born, she naturally became her godmother too—officially so after Jiya’s baptism last summer. If she’s unsure what to buy for the girls (since she only has adult sons herself), she simply transfers money into their savings accounts and asks me to pick something out. But no birthday or Christmas ever goes by without gifts from their favorite Aunty Nadia.

Dee: My Best Friend, My Sister, and My Daughters’ Maasi

The next person who plays a huge role in my daughters’ lives is Dee, my best friend from university. Dee and I have always been like sisters, so it was only natural that she would embrace my daughters as her nieces, just as I have done with her daughter.

What makes it even more special is that Dee’s daughter is just two years older than Maanvi. This means my girls have grown up alongside her, not just as friends, but as true cousins. They treat each other like family, and their bond is unbreakable.

Dee is another person who never fails to spoil my daughters. Every time she visits, she brings gifts for them. Jiya, in particular, absolutely adores her. In fact, I sometimes joke that Jiya might love Dee more than she loves me! They share the same sense of fashion, similar hobbies, and even a similar personality. When we’re out together, people often assume Jiya is Dee’s daughter, and honestly, if it were anyone else, I might feel a little jealous. But not with Dee.

Our relationship has always been one where my kids are her kids, and her kid is mine. We’re so comfortable with this dynamic that Maanvi has Dee’s number saved in her phone, and Dee’s daughter has mine. They call us whenever they need advice—sometimes about things they don’t want to discuss with their own mothers because, as they say, their Maasi (the Hindi word for maternal aunt) is way cooler than their actual mom!

Tabz: The Friend Who Insists on Giving

The newest addition to my daughters’ list of honorary aunties is Tabz, my friend from secondary school. Over the past two to three years, she has made it a tradition to send gifts to Maanvi and Jiya every Christmas. No matter how many times I tell her it’s unnecessary, she insists on sending something thoughtful that the girls absolutely love.

A Christmas to Remember

Thanks to these incredible women, my daughters had the best Christmas last year. The way everything worked out, it felt like they had four Christmases instead of one!

• On Christmas Day, they received gifts from us as parents and from their grandparents.

• On New Year’s Eve, Aunty Nadia’s presents arrived, slightly delayed due to the holiday postal rush.

• On New Year’s Day, Dee and her daughter came to stay for a few days and brought even more gifts.

• And finally, at the end of January, Tabz’s package arrived—one last surprise that extended the holiday season for them!

But it’s not just Christmas—this happens for their birthdays too. Every time one of these amazing women visits, my daughters receive gifts, love, and affection in abundance.

The Beauty of Chosen Family

Looking at all of this, I can confidently say that my initial worries were completely unnecessary. Yes, my daughters may not have their biological aunts, uncles, and cousins in their lives, but they are far from lacking love, support, and doting family members. In fact, they might just have the best kind of family—the one that’s chosen, not bound by blood but by pure love and unwavering care.

Nadia, Dee, and Tabz have filled the gaps in ways I never imagined. They’ve not only stepped into the role of doting aunties but have also given my daughters a sense of belonging, love, and connection that I once feared they would miss out on. Their generosity isn’t just about gifts—it’s about the time, effort, and thoughtfulness they pour into my girls, and for that, I will always be grateful.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned through all of this, it’s that family isn’t just about shared DNA. It’s about the people who show up, who love you unconditionally, and who make your children feel cherished. And in that sense, my daughters are truly blessed.

From People-Pleasing to Self-Acceptance: My Journey

Over the last few weeks, one thing has become abundantly clear to me—I am no longer the person I was growing up or even the person I was 10 years ago.

From People-Pleasing to Standing My Ground

I’ve always considered myself a people person. But in the past, that often meant I was more focused on pleasing others, even if it meant taking the blame for things beyond my control. I avoided conflict at all costs, sometimes to the point of making myself anxious at work, afraid of making mistakes or getting in trouble.

I remember when I worked at a bank, I had to ask my manager to be direct with me whenever they needed something. Phrases like “Usha, can I talk to you when you have a minute?” would immediately trigger anxiety. I’d spend the time before the conversation worrying about what I might have done wrong, only to find out they just needed me to take a late lunch or help with the ATMs.

This reaction was deeply ingrained in me. Growing up in a toxic household, I was hyper-aware of my surroundings, always on my best behavior to avoid conflict. I saw how my father put my siblings down when they didn’t behave as he expected, and I never wanted to be on the receiving end of that. As a result, I carried this fear into my workplace, constantly worried about letting people down.

Another thing that haunted me was the fear of making mistakes and looking foolish. I had been laughed at, called stupid, and made to feel small over minor errors or misunderstandings. This fear held me back from standing up for myself or admitting when I was wrong.

A Defining Moment at Work

But recently, I realized something—I’m not that person anymore. And I had two moments, on the same day, that proved it.

I’ve been with my current team for about a year, and I’ve built a strong reputation as a perfectionist, a fast worker, and a friendly, reliable colleague. That day, I started work at 6:10 AM (one of the perks of flex hours, since I needed to leave early for the school run). By 9 AM, I had already completed 30 cases—well ahead of my target. Since I was so far ahead, my manager asked me to handle file returns, a process where we return incomplete or incorrect applications to the sender.

As I was processing a case, I noticed that the original caseworker hadn’t followed the correct procedure. I flagged this to my manager, who agreed and asked me to email the caseworker and their manager, requesting that they correct their mistake.

Not long after, I received a slightly aggressive email in response, insisting they had followed procedure (which they hadn’t). The old me would have panicked, doubted myself, and possibly backed down. But this time, I felt something different—I was angry. I knew I was right, and I wasn’t about to be talked down to.

So, I responded firmly but professionally, explaining exactly what had been done incorrectly and why their justification didn’t hold up. I backed it up with the necessary evidence, pointing out that there was no recorded action to support their claims.

The best part? Twenty minutes later, I received another email from them thanking me for “clarifying.” And when I checked the case, they had gone back and processed it correctly.

I was so proud of myself for standing my ground. Ten years ago, I wouldn’t have had the confidence to do that.

Embracing Mistakes Without Shame

That same day, I also had a moment of pure silliness—and instead of feeling ashamed, I just laughed it off.

In my department, we work in units, and each unit has designated office days. At the end of January, we received a schedule listing office days from February through June. Since my husband and I plan around my office days for school runs and holidays, I always mark them on my phone’s calendar and send him a screenshot.

For some reason, when I was adding the office days, I completely skipped March. I didn’t notice the mistake and somehow convinced myself that I had no office days that entire month. I was even excited, thinking I could work from home and have an easier time with the school run.

So, for weeks, I confidently told my acting manager that I had no office days in March. He was skeptical, but I insisted I had checked the schedule properly. He just smiled and suggested I double-check.

And when I did? I realized I had overlooked an entire column. My unit did have office days in March.

The old me would have been mortified and spent the rest of the day feeling stupid. But instead, I just burst out laughing and admitted my mistake. My manager laughed too and reassured me that it happens to everyone.

Growth Is in the Small Moments

These might seem like small moments to most people, but to me, they symbolize how much I’ve grown since leaving my old, toxic life behind. I’ve learned to trust myself, stand up for what I know is right, and even embrace my silly mistakes without fear or embarrassment.

For the first time, I truly accept myself—flaws, strengths, and all.

15 Years of Growth: A Love Story

Last week marked 15 years since Nitin and I had our first date, and it got me thinking about everything we’ve been through together—the highs, the struggles, and the moments that have shaped us.

To be honest, it doesn’t feel like 15 years. It feels more like five or six.

I think the reason for that is because, in many ways, we’ve only truly been living our lives on our own terms for the last seven years, ever since we moved to the Midlands. Before that, life felt like it revolved around the legal case, constant fear, and the weight of depression. I didn’t feel safe, I didn’t feel happy, and looking back, I don’t think I even fully experienced motherhood the first time around.

The Early Years: Building a Life Together

When I think back to the early years of my relationship with Nitin, I do remember moments—some clearer than others. One of our favorite things to do was go to the movies, especially Indian films. Our nearest Indian cinema was a 35-minute bus ride away, but that didn’t stop us. It became our little tradition—every weekend, or at least once every two weeks, we’d go.

This was around the time when Nitin and I had moved out of the house I owned with my parents. We were on our own for the first time, living in a small one-room flat in Leytonstone, trying to figure out life as a couple. There was something exciting about that time—being young, being in love, and just enjoying each other’s company. But at the same time, we were also carrying so much emotional weight.

Looking back, I realize that even though we had great moments, we weren’t fully present in them. Life was stressful, and without realizing it, we were just trying to survive.

Motherhood and the Struggle to Connect

My relationship with Maanvi was always off to a rough start. I suffered from postnatal depression for over six months, and during that time, I felt so disconnected from everything—including my baby.

I was lucky to have support from the Parent-Infant Psychology (PIP) team, who worked hard with me to help me build a connection with Maanvi. I had weekly therapy sessions at home because I couldn’t even leave the house to go to their office. The weight of depression was too heavy, and it made everyday tasks feel impossible.

Because of this, I don’t have strong emotional memories of Maanvi’s early years. I know I was there. I know I held her, fed her, played with her, and loved her. The photos prove it. But unlike with Jiya, I don’t feel those moments when I look back. It’s as if they belong to another version of me—one I’ve worked hard to move on from.

The Turning Point: Moving to the Midlands

Moving to the Midlands was a turning point in our lives. It gave me a fresh start, away from all the toxic people I had ever known. That alone brought a sense of freedom that I had never felt before.

For the first time in years, I felt like I could create the life I wanted—a life that wasn’t defined by fear, sadness, or the past.

This move wasn’t just about geography. It was about breaking free from everything that had weighed me down—the negativity, the bad memories, the feeling of being stuck. I finally had space to breathe.

Rediscovering Love and Family Life

Over the last six years, Nitin and I have truly been a couple. We’ve lived our lives the way we wanted, without the burden of the past.

We finally got to experience normal family moments—taking the kids to the zoo, to the park, enjoying simple weekend outings. For the first time, we weren’t just going through the motions. We were actually living those moments.

As a couple, we also started setting goals and achieving them together. One of our biggest dreams was to own our first home, and last summer, we made that dream a reality. Buying our own home felt like the ultimate symbol of how far we had come—not just financially, but emotionally.

The Lost Memories of Love

While I have clear memories of these recent years, I still struggle to remember the early days of our relationship.

I vaguely recall our late-night texts when we first started dating, the excitement of seeing his name pop up on my phone. But when I try to truly connect to those emotions, it feels like they belong to someone else’s life.

When Nitin brings up stories from our time in London, like the time he broke the base of our Christmas tree while I was pregnant with Maanvi, I smile and nod. I remember the story because he tells it every year. But if I’m honest, I don’t remember how I felt in that moment. It’s a memory without an emotional imprint.

On the other hand, I clearly remember Jiya’s first Christmas. By then, we had moved to the Midlands. I remember holding the tiny premature baby clothes I had ordered, feeling both joy and shock at how small they were. I remember dressing her in her little reindeer outfit and feeling overwhelming love. I remember her sleeping through the New Year’s fireworks as Nitin and I watched at midnight.

I remember those moments because I was truly present in them.

Healing, Growth, and Looking Forward

Looking back, I don’t think we truly enjoyed being together as a couple for the first 9–10 years. Even though I know we had some incredible moments, the emotional detachment makes it feel like they happened to someone else.

But here’s the thing: healing takes time.

It’s easy to grieve the lost years, but I also recognize how much we’ve grown. The last six years have been ours—free from past burdens, full of love, laughter, and the ability to truly experience the present.

If I could go back in time and give advice to my younger self, I’d say:

“You will find joy again. You will feel love again. You will have the life you’ve always wanted—just hold on.”

And maybe that’s the lesson in all of this. Time moves forward, whether we’re ready or not. The past may be blurry, but the present is crystal clear. And that’s what truly matters.

The Complex Relationship with My Father: Love, Control, and Letting Go

Today, while at work, I came across a client with the same initials and surname my dad once had. His signature was about 60% similar to my father’s, and for a moment, it hit me—I missed him so much.

My dad was a narcissist. There’s no doubt about that. He ruled the house with his strict “my way or no way” mindset. But deep down, I know I was his baby girl. I saw glimpses of his loving side, even if they were rare. He also broke a few traditional gender norms for me—something I know my sisters-in-law resented when they married into our family.

Breaking Gender Norms in a Traditional Household

One of the biggest departures from tradition was that I was raised as a non-vegetarian. In many Hindu families, especially from my parents’ region, girls could cook meat if they chose to, but they weren’t supposed to eat it. My mother took it a step further and refused to even cook it. Yet, I vaguely remember my sisters-in-law making chicken curry when I was a child—though they never ate it. But I did.

Another tradition I escaped was that girls were expected to handle all the housework and cooking while the boys did nothing. That rule never applied to me. I remember my dad often telling my mom or my sisters-in-law that I was too young to be in the kitchen. Even when I was older, it was just me and my parents at home, so no one expected me to do anything.

Of course, I cleaned up after myself, but unlike my sisters-in-law, who had to cook and clean for everyone, I only took care of my own needs. This difference in upbringing made them resent me. I endured over 25 years of their bullying, but that’s a story for another time—it’s all in my book.

A Father’s Control, Not Unconditional Love

With my dad, things were complicated. He didn’t exactly bully me, but he didn’t love me unconditionally either. As long as I followed his rules and behaved the way he wanted, life was peaceful. Since that was the only life I knew, I never realized how controlling he was until I got married.

Unlike my siblings, I had a “love marriage.” I chose my husband, Nitin—he wasn’t picked by my parents. The reason for this was simple: my dad had seen my sister’s disastrous marriage. To put it mildly, her husband was useless, and her in-laws were mentally abusive—perhaps even physically, though I can’t confirm that since I was a child when she married. I only know she had it tough. If it weren’t for her strong mindset, she might not have survived that marriage.

I had heard stories of my dad and one of my brothers being beaten up by my sister’s in-laws. I had also heard stories of her being bullied. Yet, 30 years later, she remains in that marriage, raising their now-adult daughter.

Because of her experience, my dad made a deal with me: I would find my own husband. He knew I was sensitive, and if I ended up in a marriage like my sister’s, I might not survive it. So, when I started receiving marriage proposals at 16, he always had an excuse—first, that I was too young and needed to focus on my studies, and later, that I was a British-born girl beyond his control. By the time I graduated from university, it was clear that I would choose my own partner.

Finding My Own Path to Love

The search for my ideal husband wasn’t easy. God knows how many men I met. But I knew what I wanted, and I remained hopeful. Eventually, I found him.

Nitin and I didn’t have a typical Bollywood-style romance. In fact, I really didn’t like him when we first met. He was a player, cocky, and not very down-to-earth. But something about me intrigued him, and he kept begging me to meet up for a meal.

For over a month, I refused. Then, as Valentine’s Day approached, the hopeless romantic in me didn’t want to be alone. So, I finally agreed to meet him a few days before February 14—just in case it turned out to be a disaster. I didn’t want a bad date to ruin my Valentine’s Day.

But the universe had other plans.

Fifteen minutes into our date, I knew—I was going to marry this man. There was something about the way Nitin spoke about his parents and sister that felt right. Yes, he was a playboy who partied and chased women every weekend. But deep down, he was a decent, family-oriented guy. And I swear, I fell for him right then and there.

Of course, I didn’t tell him that. But something clicked, and from that moment, we were inseparable. We got engaged eight months later and married two months after that.

Marriage and My Father’s Wrath

That’s when the trouble with my dad started.

As the only child still living at home, and with Nitin’s parents in India, we decided that Nitin would move in with my parents to help take care of them. Most parents of daughters would be thrilled—they’d keep their daughter close and gain a son to share responsibilities. But not my dad.

Even though I was legally part-owner of the house, I always called it my parents’ home out of respect. But once I was married, my priorities naturally shifted. I was still the dutiful daughter—I did all the grocery shopping and paid all the bills—but I also wanted to spend time with my husband. I wanted to go to the movies on weekends, have a meal out, and enjoy the marriage I had fought for.

My dad couldn’t handle it. He refused to share me with Nitin.

Nitin, despite his past as a “bad boy” in India, kept quiet and bit his tongue to maintain peace. He worked hard, contributed to the bills, cooked for my parents, and even took on two jobs when I fell ill and had to reduce my work hours. Yet, my dad never saw the good in him.

All he saw was a man who had “stolen” his daughter.

The breaking point came after a massive fight. I had a complete emotional breakdown—I was shaking, crying, and broken. That was when Nitin lost it. He packed a bag, gave my dad a piece of his mind, and we walked out.

I saw my dad one last time when a friend tried to help us reconcile. But even though Nitin and I were willing to forgive and forget, my dad wasn’t.

He passed away four months later while on holiday in India.

The Good Memories Still Remain

Despite how things ended, I still miss my dad.

Our best times were in India. As an NRI, he was a big deal, and having a British-born daughter made him even prouder. In India, I was his princess. I sat in the front seat of his 4×4, went with him to meet important people, and was showered with attention.

Looking back, even those moments weren’t entirely about me—they were about him maintaining his reputation. I was part of his image, the perfect, obedient Indian daughter raised by his rules.

But despite everything, he was still my father. And I still miss him—especially our road trips in India

Embracing Imperfections: My Battle with Skin and Hair

I’ve never been someone who focused on appearances. To be honest, I’ve never had much reason to. Growing up with eczema and later losing teeth after my pregnancies, I became accustomed to ignoring the societal pressures of looking a certain way.

But recently, something unexpected has made me feel self-conscious for the first time in my life: hair loss.

Why I Never Cared About My Appearance

My teenage years were defined by my battle with eczema, a condition that left my skin dark, leathery, and extremely sensitive. At a time when most girls were experimenting with makeup and skincare, I couldn’t join in. Even to this day, I struggle with basic moisturizing creams because my skin is so reactive.

As I got older, things didn’t get easier. After giving birth to my daughters, Maanvi and Jiya, I lost 12 teeth due to a combination of pregnancy-related nutrient loss and my bad habits. I’ve always had a sweet tooth, but during my pregnancies, it went into overdrive. I drank cola like water, indulging daily without realizing how much damage I was doing to my teeth.

For those who don’t know, pregnancy can deplete your body’s calcium levels, as your baby takes what they need to grow. Combine that with excessive sugar intake, and my teeth didn’t stand a chance.

By the time my youngest was born, I needed 12 teeth extracted. While I was given dentures, they made me gag, so I eventually stopped wearing them. Missing teeth didn’t bother me—I could eat and talk just fine, and my self-worth was never tied to my looks. I wasn’t vain, so I didn’t feel the need to “fix” myself.

Why Makeup Was Never an Option

With my skin challenges, wearing makeup has always been out of the question. While makeup tutorials online show incredible transformations, I could never follow suit because:

         1.     My skin is too sensitive.

My eczema reacts to most products, and the itching from wearing foundation all day would be unbearable.

         2.     I can’t find the right foundation shade.

The eczema darkened my skin unevenly, leaving my face several shades darker than my natural tone. To make matters worse, my nose is much lighter—about eight shades lighter than the rest of my face. No foundation I’ve tried could even out my complexion without looking unnatural.

When Confidence Came Naturally

Despite these challenges, I was always confident. My skin and missing teeth didn’t define me, and the people around me valued me for who I was. I felt no need to hide my “flaws” because no one treated them as flaws.

Life was good. I learned to embrace my imperfections because they were part of who I was.

When Hair Loss Shook My Confidence

Then came hair loss, and for the first time in my life, I found myself feeling self-conscious about my appearance. Unlike my teeth or skin, my thinning hair made me feel exposed in a way I’d never experienced before.

My hair started thinning at the sides, leaving visible patches that I couldn’t ignore. To cope, I changed my hairstyle to pigtails, which help cover the hair loss on the sides of my head. While this has helped to some extent, I’m constantly aware of it.

For someone who’s never cared about looks, this newfound feeling of vanity is unsettling. I hate feeling this way, but I can’t deny it’s there.

How I’m Learning to Cope

What I’ve realized through this journey is that caring about how I look doesn’t make me vain—it makes me human. It’s okay to want to feel confident in my skin, even if that means taking small steps to adapt to changes like hair loss.

For me, pigtails are a way to regain some of that confidence. They allow me to minimize the appearance of thinning hair without losing myself in the process.

At the end of the day, my hair loss doesn’t define me. Just like my eczema and missing teeth, it’s another part of my story. I’m learning to give myself grace, to embrace the changes that come with life, and to remember that beauty is so much more than what we see in the mirror.

Final Thoughts

Hair loss, eczema, or missing teeth—none of these things determine my worth. What truly matters is the person I am and how I live my life. While it’s okay to care about how we look, it’s important not to let those feelings overpower the confidence we have in who we are.

For anyone struggling with similar challenges, know that you’re not alone. Whether it’s hair loss, skin conditions, or any other change, your imperfections don’t diminish your value. They make you human.

From Fictional Escapes to Personal Freedom: My Writing Journey

Writing has always been more than a hobby for me—it was my lifeline, my refuge, and my way of escaping a reality that often felt too overwhelming.

Growing up in a challenging home environment, with narcissistic parents and little emotional support, I often felt isolated and unheard. Writing fiction became my sanctuary. Through my stories, I created worlds where love, support, and kindness existed—worlds I wished I could experience in real life.

Writing as a Teen: A Journey of Escape

Between the ages of 13 and 17, I wrote four fictional romance novels. These weren’t just stories; they were escapes. My characters were strong, resilient women who found the kind of love and emotional support I longed for in my own life.

My writing process back then was simple yet deeply personal. I would draft story outlines in old diaries, carefully mapping out characters, plots, and twists. Then I would transform those outlines into full-fledged novels. Writing became a safe haven, a way to express emotions I couldn’t share with anyone else.

But while I loved writing, it wasn’t something my family encouraged. In fact, I was often discouraged and told that writing was a waste of time. One of the most painful moments came when my personal diary was stolen, and someone read it aloud to me. That experience left me humiliated and shattered my confidence. For years, I stopped writing altogether, afraid of being ridiculed again.

Finding Love and Healing

Life took a turn when I met my husband at the age of 29. He is everything I had dreamed of and more—a kind, supportive, and loving partner who truly understands me. His family embraced me with open arms, becoming the support system I had always needed but never had.

With their encouragement, I began to heal from the trauma of my childhood. For the first time in years, I felt safe enough to dream again, to write again. They reminded me that my voice mattered and that my stories had value.

Rediscovering My Passion for Writing

It wasn’t an easy journey back to writing. For years, I carried the fear of being judged or mocked. But in 2023, I finally reached a place where I felt ready to write again. The story I had been carrying in my heart for years, Breaking Free, finally came to life.

I wrote the entire book in just 16 weeks during the summer of 2023. Those months were a whirlwind of emotions—excitement, healing, and fulfillment. Writing Breaking Free wasn’t just about putting words on paper; it was about reclaiming my voice and telling the story I had always wanted to share.

Why Writing Matters to Me

Looking back, I realize that writing has been a constant thread in my life, even during the times I couldn’t actively pursue it. As a teenager, it gave me an escape from a difficult reality. Now, as an adult, it gives me a way to reflect, connect, and share my journey with others.

Through writing, I’ve learned that healing is possible. With the right people by your side—people who love and support you unconditionally—you can overcome even the deepest wounds. Writing is no longer just about creating fictional worlds; it’s about embracing my truth and using my words to inspire others who may feel as lost as I once did.

Keeping the Writing Habit Alive

Since publishing Breaking Free, I’ve made it a priority to keep my writing habit alive. Blogging has been an incredible way to stay connected to my craft and reflect on my journey. Each post is a reminder of how far I’ve come—not just as a writer, but as a person who overcame years of self-doubt and fear.

What Writing Has Taught Me

Writing has taught me so many lessons, but the most important one is this: your voice matters. Even if the world tries to silence you, even if you face setbacks and doubts, there is strength in your story.

For me, writing was about creating a safe space as a teenager. Today, it’s about celebrating how far I’ve come and connecting with others who may see a part of themselves in my journey.

What About You?

Have you ever rediscovered a passion or dream you thought was lost? Maybe it was a creative hobby, a goal you set aside, or something you’ve always wanted to pursue but didn’t feel ready for.

If so, I’d love to hear your story. Writing has taught me the power of perseverance, healing, and self-expression—and I believe that everyone has a story worth sharing.

Healing from Narcissistic Family Dynamics

Parenting is one of the most influential forces in shaping who we are, yet not all parents provide the nurturing and unconditional love children deserve. For those raised in narcissistic families, love often comes with strings attached, leaving lasting emotional scars. Recognizing the dynamics of a narcissistic family and taking steps to heal can transform pain into strength.

This is my story—one of realizing the truth about my upbringing, hitting rock bottom, and finding the courage to reclaim my life.

Traits of Narcissistic Family Members

Narcissistic parents often display patterns of behavior that revolve around control and self-centeredness. These traits can create a toxic environment where children’s emotional needs are neglected. Some common behaviors include:

1. Excessive Control: Dictating every aspect of a child’s life, from career choices to friendships.

2. Lack of Empathy: Dismissing or invalidating the feelings and needs of their children.

3. Validation-Seeking: Constantly needing admiration and expecting their children to fulfill that need.

4. Conditional Love: Affection is granted only when the child meets expectations or enhances the parent’s image.

5. Manipulation and Gaslighting: Twisting reality to maintain control and avoid accountability.

For years, I didn’t realize these dynamics weren’t normal. It took stepping away from my family to see how deeply these behaviors had shaped my life.

The Emotional Toll on Children

The effects of growing up in a narcissistic family run deep. Children often carry the weight of these experiences well into adulthood:

• Low Self-Esteem: Constant criticism leads to feelings of inadequacy.

• Anxiety and Depression: The relentless pressure and lack of support impact mental health.

• Boundary Issues: Without healthy boundaries, children struggle to set limits in relationships.

• People-Pleasing Tendencies: Seeking approval becomes second nature, often at personal cost.

• Struggles with Trust and Intimacy: Learned patterns of mistrust and manipulation can spill over into adult relationships.

For me, these effects manifested as years of depression, self-doubt, and a fear of standing up for myself.

My Story: Growing Up in a Narcissistic Family

Growing up, I didn’t realize my family dynamics were unhealthy—this was the only life I knew. My father, the textbook narcissist, controlled me through emotional blackmail. As the youngest and the only child living at home during my teens, I was guilt-tripped into prioritizing my parents over everything else. Socializing with friends or pursuing hobbies was framed as selfish or disloyal.

With my siblings, the dynamics were different. My father undermined my brothers to the point that they became passive and unwilling to stand up for me. My sister, who was once my father’s favorite, fell out of favor when she chose her marriage over his approval. This shifting favoritism created tension and resentment, leaving me isolated and confused.

The turning point came in 2013, during the most challenging year of my life. That February, my father passed away—the same day I found out I was pregnant for the first time. Weeks later, I suffered a missed miscarriage and needed surgery. While grieving these losses, my family’s bullying escalated. They pressured me to sell the house I legally owned, trying to strip me of both my independence and my sense of self.

Hitting rock bottom gave me the strength to fight back. With nothing left to lose, I stood up to my family and embarked on a legal battle that would last nine years. This wasn’t just about the house—it was about reclaiming my freedom and breaking free from a toxic past.

Finding Strength in Healing

Healing from a narcissistic family is not a straightforward journey. For me, it took years of therapy, self-reflection, and support from the people who truly cared about me—my husband and his amazing family.

Here are the steps that helped me find peace and rebuild my life:

1. Acknowledgment: The first step was recognizing that my upbringing was unhealthy. This meant letting go of the excuses I made for my parents and acknowledging the pain they caused.

2. Therapy: Professional counseling gave me the tools to process my emotions and address the deep wounds left by my family.

3. Boundaries: Learning to say “no” and prioritizing my needs was transformative. It allowed me to protect myself from further harm.

4. Self-Care: Engaging in activities that brought me joy and focusing on my mental health helped me rebuild my confidence.

5. Support Network: Surrounding myself with loving, supportive people—like my in-laws—showed me what unconditional love truly looks like.

Breaking Free and Moving Forward

Breaking free from my narcissistic family wasn’t easy, but it was necessary for my growth. My journey taught me that healing isn’t about forgetting the past—it’s about learning from it and using those lessons to build a better future.

If you’ve experienced similar struggles, know that you’re not alone. Recovery takes time, but with self-awareness, support, and perseverance, you can reclaim your life and create a path of your own.

Remember: your worth isn’t tied to anyone else’s approval, and you have the power to define your own happiness.

Have you experienced a similar journey? Share your story or thoughts in the comments below—I’d love to hear from you. Let’s build a community of support and healing together.

Breaking the Cycle of Generational Trauma

Generational trauma is more common than we realize. It’s the emotional and behavioral baggage passed down through families, often without anyone fully understanding its impact. It can come from various sources—abuse, neglect, addiction—and subtly shape how families function, sometimes for generations.

As someone who has lived through the effects of generational trauma, I know firsthand how hard it is to break the cycle. But I also know it’s possible, and the effort is worth it.

What Is Generational Trauma?

Generational trauma refers to patterns of toxic behavior and emotional responses passed from one generation to the next. These can manifest in:

   •       Emotional Dysregulation: Struggling to manage anger, anxiety, or depression.

   •       Relationship Challenges: Difficulty forming healthy connections.

   •       Low Self-Esteem: Persistent feelings of inadequacy.

   •       Addiction and Abuse: Repeating cycles of harmful behavior.

For me, these patterns played out in my family in different ways. Growing up, I witnessed the emotional weight of my dad’s narcissism. He praised his children only when they succeeded in ways that reflected well on him. If we failed, he labeled us as “useless” or “spineless.” My older sister, who shared his business acumen, was his golden child. My brothers, with their different dreams, were dismissed.

The toxic cycle didn’t stop with us siblings. As I watched my brothers raise their own children, I saw the same harmful patterns repeating—one neglectful, the other harshly authoritarian. My sister, in her own way, continued the cycle by sending her daughter away to India, creating a relationship void that never fully healed.

How Generational Trauma Affects Families

When families are caught in the grip of generational trauma, it often creates an environment where toxic behaviors seem normal. Children learn these patterns as coping mechanisms or internalize them as part of their identity, unintentionally passing the pain to the next generation.

In my family, I saw how the lack of healthy parenting shaped all of us. My brothers carried neglect and physical punishment into their own parenting. My sister prioritized work over her child. These cycles left scars that could easily have continued with me—but I knew from a young age I had to change things.

Breaking the Cycle

Healing generational trauma isn’t easy, but it’s possible with awareness, effort, and support. Here are some strategies that helped me break the cycle:

1. Awareness and Acknowledgment

Recognizing toxic patterns is the first step. As a teenager, I began to notice the dysfunction in my family. I promised myself that, if I became a parent, I wouldn’t let my kids feel ignored or unloved the way I had.

For example, I learned from my eldest brother to prioritize my children’s needs over my own social life. From my other brother, I knew physical punishment was not the answer. From my sister, I understood the importance of building a close relationship with my children.

2. Seeking Professional Help

Therapy can be life-changing. It was for me. In my teens, I struggled with depression and suicidal thoughts, which led to my school arranging therapy. For the first time, I had a safe space to process my emotions. Therapy helped me develop healthier coping mechanisms and gave me the tools to face my family’s toxic dynamics without carrying them forward.

3. Open Communication

Growing up, communication in my family was nonexistent. Opinions weren’t welcome, and emotions were stifled. In my own family, my husband and I made a pact to communicate openly—with each other and our daughters.

It hasn’t always been easy, especially during conflicts, but I’ve found ways to express myself. Sometimes, I write down my feelings when speaking them is too hard. By modeling open communication, we’re teaching our daughters to voice their thoughts and emotions without fear.

4. Setting Healthy Boundaries

Boundaries are essential to protect yourself from toxic influences. As the youngest sibling, I grew up watching my family from a distance. This separation gave me clarity and protected me from adopting their behaviors. Now, I’ve set clear boundaries with my extended family to protect my mental well-being.

5. Education and Self-Reflection

Learning about generational trauma has been a key part of my healing journey. I’ve reflected deeply on how my childhood shaped me, and I’ve worked to unlearn harmful patterns. As a parent, I’ve trusted my instincts and leaned into the love and support I wanted so desperately as a child.

Moving Forward

Breaking the cycle of generational trauma is a lifelong journey. It requires patience, empathy, and the courage to confront painful truths. But it’s also deeply rewarding.

As a mom of two amazing daughters, I see every day how the effort has paid off. I’ve created a loving, supportive environment for my girls—one where they feel seen, valued, and safe. While challenges remain, I know I’ve broken the cycle.

If you’re working to overcome generational trauma, know this: change is possible. With awareness, support, and determination, you can rewrite your family’s story and create a brighter future.

Final Thoughts

Generational trauma doesn’t have to define you or your family. By recognizing the patterns and making intentional choices, you can be the change your family needs.

What’s your experience with generational trauma? Share your thoughts or journey in the comments below. Let’s heal together.

Friendship Beyond Blood: The Joy of Chosen Family

This New Year’s Day, Dee came to stay with us for a few days, and as always, it was a time filled with laughter, joy, and love. For those of you who don’t know, Dee (short for Dipika) is my best friend from university days. We met when I was in my first year and she was in her last, and we just clicked. Fast forward 20 years, and she’s no longer just a friend—she’s the sister I chose.

Considering that I’ve been estranged from my biological sister for over seven years, that says a lot. With Dee, I never have to filter myself. I don’t have to worry about what I look like, what I say, or how I act. I can simply be me—sarcastic humor, rebellious streak, and all. And she’s exactly the same with me.

Laughter, Memories, and the Magic of Fireworks

The atmosphere during her visit was lively and lighthearted, just the way I love it. The kids—my two daughters, Maanvi and Jiya, and Dee’s almost-teen daughter, Kiki—spent most of their time playing and giggling. Dee and I had plenty of time to catch up, reminiscing about old times and teasing each other mercilessly, as we always do.

One afternoon, we took the girls to their favorite sandwich shop for lunch. It’s a simple tradition, but it never fails to make them happy. Later, we exchanged Christmas gifts—a tradition we both cherish. The joy on the girls’ faces as they tore open their presents was infectious and reminded me how much I value these shared moments.

But the highlight of the visit was definitely the fireworks. That night, we stepped outside to light some in the crisp winter air. The sharp pops and crackles, the bursts of color against the dark sky, and the laughter echoing all around made it unforgettable. My husband supervised as Kiki, with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, lit a few fireworks herself.

I doubt Kiki would’ve had the chance to do something like this at home. Her dad is strict, and fireworks are probably out of the question there. But here, under our careful watch and with her mum’s quiet approval, she got to experience something new. The joy on her face was priceless—a mix of pride, wonder, and pure fun.

Welcome Home

Dee and I don’t have formal traditions, but there’s one ritual we always seem to follow. Whenever she walks into my house, her first words are, “It’s nice to be home.” And my reply? Always the same: “Welcome home.”

It’s a simple exchange, but it captures the essence of our relationship. My house is her safe haven, just as her presence is mine. There are no boundaries when it comes to our kids either. We co-parent effortlessly—her daughter is as much mine as my daughters are hers.

Kiki, whom I lovingly call my third daughter, has grown up with Maanvi and Jiya as her little sisters. Their bond is something I cherish deeply. Kiki looks out for them, and the girls absolutely adore her. I trust her enough to leave my girls in her care, and that trust is mutual. It’s just how our little family works.

Inside Jokes and Shared Comforts

Dee and I have this inside joke—one word that I only have to whisper to make her blush. I won’t share it here (she’d kill me!), but it’s the kind of playful connection that has sustained our friendship through decades.

And then there’s the way she feels completely at home in my house. She doesn’t ask where the tea or coffee is—she just makes herself a cup. Sometimes she even reorganizes my kitchen (which is both helpful and hilarious). She lounges in her PJs, and we sit and talk for hours about everything and nothing.

That’s what I love about my home—it’s a space where people can truly relax and be themselves.

What Dee Has Taught Me About Family

Being friends with Dee has taught me something profound: family isn’t always defined by blood. Sometimes, the people you meet along the way become the family you wish you had. Dee is my sister in every way that matters, and her daughter Kiki is my third child.

This visit made me reflect on how important it is to create a home where people feel safe—emotionally and physically. Growing up, my parents’ house never felt like that. There were always rules about how to behave, what to say, and how to act. I never felt entirely comfortable, and I doubt my friends did either.

I wanted my home to be different. Today, it’s a place where people can laugh freely, sit in their pajamas, and let their guard down. It’s a place where there’s no “right” way to act. And that’s the kind of home I want to offer not just to my family but to everyone who walks through my doors.

Holding Onto the Joy of Connection

This New Year reminded me of the joy that comes from simple things—shared laughter, a child’s excitement, and the feeling of being surrounded by people who accept you completely.

So, as this year unfolds, I’m holding onto that joy. Because at the end of the day, what makes a house a home isn’t the walls or the furniture—it’s the people who fill it with love and laughter.

What about you? What makes your house feel like home, or what traditions bring your loved ones closer? I’d love to hear your stories in the comments below!

Reflections on 2024: A Journey of Growth and Change

So its been a busy year and have had a lot going on in my life since the summer, so I’ve been too busy to blog or write, but my aim for 2025 is to get back into writings. Even if its just writing my blog or articles about topics that interest me.

So a little recap from the the last 6 or so months, since the book launch.

‘Breaking Free’ was published in May, and in June we started the process of buying our first family home, which we completed on and moved into in July. During this time, my in-laws had come over from India to spend time with me and the family, and it was great having them around. For those who have read my book, know that I never had a great relationship with my own parents, or siblings and other extended family, so I do cherish my great relationship with my in-laws a lot. They are literally the parents that I wished I had growing up. They love me unconditionally and support me to no end. So I love having them around when they can come to the UK.

They did want to buy a copy of my book and take it back to India with them, but my husband knows what they are like, and he knows whats in my book, so he explained to them that it may not be a good idea to read it as its gonna hurt their feelings a lot to read about some of the things I went through or felt like as a kid. So in laws agreed and that have not read my book.

Apart from that, I also got well settled into work, and a lot of women that I work with, did buy the book and read it, so I got a lot of positive feedback from them.

Overall life is good. Had my birthday and was treated with chocolates by my work team and got gifts from hubby and the girls. Then back to school for the girls, Halloween and then Christmas and all that.

This year, Diwali and Halloween fell on the same day, so we did double celebrations with Diwali during the day, which included dressing up in Indian clothes, henna and Diwali arts and crafts, and then the kids went trick and treating in the evening with daddy. Then started birthday prep for Jiya and Christmas prep for our first Christmas in the new house.

Now that 2024 is over, I can look back and say that officially this year has been absolutely amazing for me and my family. We have all achieved a lot, made a lot of progress both personally and professionally, and I can only pray and hope this continues in 2025.

So HAPPY NEW YEAR from me and my family to you and your family.