At just 10 years old, I witnessed what most people never see behind closed doors—the strength it takes to rebuild a life from scratch. My older sister left an abusive relationship with nothing but two little girls, a broken heart, and a brave face. That moment? It wasn’t the end of the pain. It was the beginning of single parenting after abuse—raw, relentless, and incredibly real.
Escaping is hard enough. But starting all over again? Nothing can truly prepare you for that.
In some countries, there are incredible support systems for women. But even in the Western world, refuges and domestic abuse charities only really began to emerge in the 1970s.
For my sister, in the early ’90s, there was still very little help available.
She had no money. No safety net. Just grit.
But every morning, she made a choice.
She’d crank up the radio, blasting George Michael like it was church.
“Wham!” would shake the walls from her little CD player, and suddenly—chaos became choreography. That was her power song. That was her armour. She got up, turned up the volume, and faced the day like a queen.
What we often forget is that we can shift how we feel in a heartbeat.
I was, and continue to be, endlessly inspired by her.
Weekends became our sacred chaos. I was the kid scrubbing floors and holding toddlers, watching her juggle three jobs and a mountain of unpaid bills. Her world spun out of order, yet she kept showing up—tired, fierce, and full of fight.
We’d eat Angel Delight as a treat—one of those cheap UK desserts you mix with milk (or maybe it was water?)—and for a few minutes, it felt like luxury.
A moment of sweetness in the storm. The tiniest things became celebrations.
And the questions that haunted her?
“What if he was right?”
“What if I really can’t do this alone?”
But she did. Every day. And what she gained was far more than she ever lost.
Leaving a toxic relationship isn’t just about walking out—it’s about waking up.
Yes, she had to do it all: DIY repairs, school forms, late-night budgeting. No one came to rescue her. But something else did arrive: peace.
A deep, soul-quiet kind of peace you don’t bargain away for a school run or a half-hearted child support check.
Parallel parenting with a dangerous ex was unreliable at best—and traumatising at worst. But the day he was gone, her home transformed. The energy shifted. Laughter echoed again. The light returned.
What I hear my clients struggle with the most is their inner judge—that voice that relentlessly tells you you’re not enough, not doing enough, that you should be doing more, or that somehow you brought this on yourself.
The voice is loud. It’s on repeat.
And often, it’s not just your own voice you hear—it’s his.
Sometimes it’s a parent. Sometimes, someone you once trusted.
When you’ve lived with a dominator who constantly criticises you, it becomes incredibly difficult to show yourself unconditional love.
3 Soulful Steps to Silence the Inner Judge and Reclaim Your Power as a Parent
- Replace the “I’m failing them” voice with “I’m showing up.”
You may not get every meal homemade or every school project perfect. But you show up. In your exhaustion. In your fear. In your fire. That is more than enough. Your children don’t need perfect—they need present.
- Learn to live with “as is,” not “as it should be.”
When your kids ask, “Why isn’t my daddy here?” or gush about someone else’s parent, it can slice you open. Don’t let guilt take over. Just breathe. Love louder. Say: “I know it’s hard. I’m here, always.” That’s the healing they’ll remember.
- Give yourself what you so easily give your kids—grace.
Would you punish your child for falling while learning to walk? Then why scold yourself for not having it all together? You are not less. You are learning. You are leading. You are loving. That is a full-time miracle.
To the woman staring at the ceiling, wondering how she’ll make it work—
You will.
To the mum hearing the echo of a manipulator’s voice—
Silence it.
And to the sister who’s still in the storm—
Your freedom is not just a possibility. It’s a birthright.
Single motherhood isn’t a weakness.
It’s a rebirth.
You don’t need to do it all.
You just need to start.
Because one day, your peace will be louder than your past.
In Light,
Saria
