This story is about the painful lessons one M’sian woman had to learn from living under a harsh and critical mother – and how she carved a path to healing as an adult.
My father passed away when I was young, leaving my mother to raise five children, including me, the youngest and only daughter.
Now at 30, I reflect on a life marked by estrangement from her—a decision solidified in 2015 when she chose not to attend my university graduation. By 2018, she wrote me out of her will, announcing it as a birthday “gift” to herself. I haven’t seen her since.
The older generation often urges me to “make peace,” but these pleas stem from a flawed assumption: that my mother raised me well. She didn’t. My absentee father was a better parent, even in death.
The scars of her abuse—physical, emotional, and psychological—linger, though I’ve spent years healing through therapy, medication, and the unwavering support of my husband. Here are the lessons her abuse inadvertently taught me.
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Love Is Not a Currency
For 22 years, I tried to earn my mother’s love. But her affection was conditional, tied to academic and extracurricular achievements. A “B” grade warranted a beating; a “C” brought out the cane. She valued results over the person behind them.
It took years to unlearn the belief that love must be earned. True love is unconditional, rooted in acceptance rather than achievements. I learned what love isn’t—a transaction—and what it should be: simple, pure, and freely given.
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Value What You Have
My mother’s obsession with material possessions consumed her. From luxury brands to a four-story house in Ampang, she measured her worth through her belongings. Yet, she was never content, always envious of others with better jobs, cars, or handbags.
This relentless dissatisfaction extended to me. In school, I was consistently the top of the class. But my A+ grades weren’t anything to be proud about because I didn’t have any extracurricular awards.
I still remember how in university, my cohort had 36 students graduating, I was 3rd overall, and 11 students graduated with First Class Honours. She told me my First Class was “worthless” because 10 other First Class Honours were awarded. I wasn’t the Valedictorian, so there was nothing to celebrate.
Her inability to appreciate anything I did to make her proud taught me to value my accomplishments for myself and celebrate even the smallest victories.
Today, I’m grateful for the basics: a roof over my head, clothes on my back, and food on the table. These are my achievements, and I honor them.
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The Truth Is Not Subjective
My mother’s relationship with the truth was fluid, manipulated to suit her desires and moods.
When I was 14, my mother caught me crying in my room after a bad day at school. Instead of comforting me, she demanded to know why I was upset.
Hesitantly, I confided that a teacher had unfairly scolded me in front of the class. She seemed sympathetic at first, nodding along.
Later that evening, at a family dinner, she brought up the incident. But instead of recounting my version, she twisted the story, claiming I was reprimanded because I was being disruptive in class.
“She’s always so loud and careless,” she said with a disappointed sigh. The family shook their heads, chastising me for behavior I hadn’t displayed.
I was furious. Her version of the story not only painted me as the problem but also erased my pain.
All my life, the truth was the lighter fluid for her constant gaslighting and manipulation. That cemented in me a concrete commitment to the truth in facts, numbers and data that could not be denied.
Emotions don’t rule me, data and facts do. I am practical, direct, forthright, and honest. I don’t sugar-coat, and I can be as tactless as the situation demands.
Professionally I have excelled. Personally, I had to date my (now) husband for three years, before I accepted that my husband’s love was genuine.
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Abusers Drive Friends Away
As a child, I watched my mother’s friends drift away. Her controlling, manipulative nature—rooted in a need for dominance—drove them away. Today, she is isolated, her jealousy and verbal abuse alienating even family members.
Her loneliness is a cautionary tale. Abuse pushes people away, leaving the abuser alone. I’ve chosen a different path. By fostering genuine relationships built on mutual respect and kindness, I’ve created a support system that my mother never had and never will.
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Don’t Waste Your Life Controlling Others
My mother’s obsession with control robbed her of joy. She squandered opportunities to nurture a loving relationship with me, prioritizing her desire for a “trophy child” over the person I was.
This relentless pursuit of perfection left her unfulfilled and bitter. I’ve learned to let go of her expectations and embrace my own dreams.
Her mistakes serve as a reminder to live authentically, valuing what truly matters: love, connection, and self-acceptance.
Thank you for all the lessons, Mak.
My mother’s abuse left lasting scars, but it also taught me invaluable lessons. While some wounds remain raw, I’ve found strength in healing and moving forward. Her actions showed me what not to do and shaped my understanding of love, truth, and resilience.
I’ll never forget the pain, but I’ve grown beyond it. Her lessons, born of suffering, have given me the tools to build a life filled with hope, gratitude, and genuine connection.
Though I’ll never thank her directly, I acknowledge the unintended gifts her cruelty imparted. Through them, I’ve found my way to a better future.
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Read also: “Was It All for the Kids?” Asks M’sian Woman Living for 12 Years in An Empty Marriage – In Real Life
“Was It All for the Kids?” Asks M’sian Woman Living for 12 Years in An Empty Marriage
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