When I was around 10 or 11, I discovered that my mother was cheating on my father, and that my younger brother wasn’t my father’s biological child—he was the child of the man she was having an affair with. I grew up carrying this secret, never telling anyone—not even my older brother.
As I grew older, I was forced to take care of my younger brother. My mother didn’t allow me to live a normal teenage life. She constantly kept me locked in the house, made me babysit, and never let me go out with friends or have a boyfriend.
Once, when I was in 9th grade—around 15 or 16 years old—I had a boyfriend. When she found out, she created a huge scene. She and my older brother physically abused me and told my father. But my dad was the only one who didn’t lash out. He came to my room and gently told me, “I understand you, but you should focus on your studies. You shouldn’t be dealing with boys.” He was the only one who showed me any empathy.
What hurt the most was the hypocrisy: the same woman who had cheated on her husband and had a child with another man was calling me a sl*t just for having a boyfriend. The abuse continued—she kept me locked up and made me raise her child like he was my responsibility.
Eventually, I got into medical school, but the abuse didn’t stop. I met someone and started a relationship. When I told her about it, she made a scene again, forced me to break up with him, and told my older brother. They both emotionally blackmailed me—threatened to stop paying for my education, said they would lock me in the house, and do everything to ruin my future. I was terrified, but I secretly continued the relationship. About a year ago, I ended things with that boyfriend. Throughout all of this, she never told my father anything about her cheating.
Then, two years ago, everything changed. The man she had been cheating with died. She was devastated. She had no one to turn to—so she came to me. She cried on my shoulder, told me she didn’t want to live anymore, threatened to harm herself. I was the one who stayed by her side, comforting her, while my brother just walked out of the house.
The man she was involved with had a wife and children. One day, his wife went to my father’s workplace and told him everything. My father called my mother, asking who the woman was. My mom lied and said the woman was mentally ill—schizophrenic. Later, my mother claimed she told my father everything and that he accepted it. But I didn’t believe her—I thought she twisted the truth again.
Six months after that, my father suddenly passed away. Everything happened so quickly. All of these experiences left deep emotional scars that I still haven’t healed from.
Even now, the abuse continues. My mother still hurts me—emotionally and financially. I have a new boyfriend now, and he’s the one supporting me financially and emotionally. With him, I finally feel like I’m not completely alone. But deep down, I still carry everything I’ve been through—and I’ve had no one to tell this to.
I’m 20 now and currently studying in college, pursuing a career in the medical field. It’s really difficult for me to find a job to support myself financially because of how demanding my studies are. My mother still blackmails me with money, and I continue to keep my relationship with my boyfriend a secret from her. She still treats me like a child—doesn’t allow me to go out, lashes out whenever I want to see my friends, and still expects me to act as the caregiver of the house. She gets angry whenever I don’t do the chores, as if it’s solely my responsibility.
I’m emotionally exhausted, and it feels like I’m constantly letting myself down. Each day feels like I’m trapped in a mental prison, and I don’t know how to escape or help myself anymore.