I don’t know where to start. It’s a long story, so buckle up. I’m(F41) I was raised in a conservative household as part of a big family with four siblings. I was the fourth. Life was never easy for any of us, which somehow created a strong bond among us. We were poor, but that wasn’t the main reason for our suffering. It was my mother. To save you some time, she was just a vicious woman. During my childhood, she was very abusive toward me and my siblings. I was her scapegoat. I don’t know why, but I do believe that she hated me the second I was born.

For as long as I can remember, I was subjected to all kinds of abuse: physical, verbal, mental, psychological… you name it. Sometimes, the verbal abuse was based on body shaming. If you’re overweight, she calls you“big as*”. If you have a big nose, you are “dog face”, and if you’re short, your nickname is “elf” etc. I was also sexually abused by one of her relatives. As a child, I didn’t understand it. I just knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t say anything. I knew that she would only blame me and that I would be punished for it.

I started wetting the bed, and of course, my mother blamed me for that too and told everyone about it as an entertaining anecdote. This specific symptom stayed with me into adulthood. Yes, I wet the bed until my 20s. Usually, it happened after my mother’s physical or verbal attacks. I just learned how to clean myself and hide my tracks to avoid the shame of an adult wetting their bed.

That was one of many symptoms of the abuse I was subjected to. I also used to have panic attacks. They were so bad that sometimes they happened in my sleep. One time, I woke up in the middle of the night thinking I might be dying because my heart was beating so fast I thought it was about to explode.

At the same time, school was my escape. If home was chaos, the classroom was order and I clung to it. I was always good at school. A straight-A student who participated in every competition, won countless prizes and certificates. I guess, on some level, I thought that I didn’t deserve my mother’s affection unless I made her proud of me. Maybe I was subconsciously hoping that one day, I would be worth loving.

As a result, I grew up with no self-esteem whatsoever. I was afraid of everyone and everything. I didn’t talk about my family or tell anyone about my life out of shame and fear of stigma. Understandably, I also had trust issues. Over many years, I learned how to hide my true self and pretend to be what others wanted to see.

That’s my whole life in a nutshell: a series of fears because I never knew what could provoke my family especially my mother. I didn’t have any support system or a way out. The future seemed so dark.

During all that time, I didn’t have any interest in a relationship. In fact, I tried to avoid it not just because of my conservative religious upbringing, but out of fear of the consequences if it became known to my family. I built as many walls around me as I could. I also refused the idea of arranged marriage, which was very common in my community. This gave my mother an excuse to accuse me of having secret sexual relationships and claim I was avoiding marriage because I wasn’t a virgin. I’m sure she knew it wasn’t true. She just enjoyed insulting me. She even started bringing me fake marriage offers, waiting for me to say “No” One time, she came to me with one of her fake proposals. I’d learned how to read her a long time ago, so -to her surprise- I said “Yes.” I called her bluff. She looked taken aback, so she started inventing details about the imaginary groom: that he had a terrible job, low income, and lived in a rural area far from the city. She was trying to push me to change my mind, but I didn’t flinch. I was having the best time of my life watching her sweat like she’d been caught in a trap. That was the last time she came to me with a similar proposal.

Years went by, and I finally met someone, got married, and moved to another country. After all of that, I decided to forgive her and try to move on. I didn’t do it for her—I did it for myself and for my siblings. I wanted to be part of family gatherings and to let go of the past. After all, she was practically out of my life and couldn’t hurt me anymore. It didn’t mean we had a good relationship, but we kept up appearances in front of the rest of the family.

Five years passed. I’d only gone back to the country a few times. Every time, I’d bring everyone gifts, including her. Nothing much, but as I said, I tried to keep up appearances and didn’t want to exclude her.

Two months ago, I called my brother on his birthday. I didn’t know the whole family was there, but since they were, I had to say hello to everyone—including her. I was trying to do the same thing I’d done for the past five years: have a short, civilized conversation and hang up. But then she decided to “casually” mention one of the nicknames she used to call me as a child. For a moment, I froze, pretended nothing happened, and hung up.

I can’t describe how I felt. I was almost in shock, and it took me hours to process any emotions. I was angry and had one thought: “Enough is enough.” I called my siblings one by one and told them she was out of my life for good. When I visited, I wouldn’t be going to the family home or inviting her to my place. My brothers tried to talk me out of it, but I was clear that my decision was final. They said, “Well… we’ll see when you come back. Maybe you’ll calm down and change your mind.” Their confidence that I would only made me angrier. I felt nobody was taking me seriously, so I changed my plans and decided to take a quick trip back home just to make my point. That’s when the pressure started.

My younger brother called me, begging me to reconsider. “Do it for me,” he said. “Just come home for a couple of hours, and I guarantee she’ll behave.” My answer was clear: “No.” I added, “I’ve done that for years. Enough is enough.”

My older brother texted me, saying he wouldn’t visit me because it would “break her heart” if we excluded her like that. My answer was even clearer: “As you wish.” As I expected, he immediately backtracked—clearly, he’d inherited her bluffing skills. My other siblings also weren’t happy. They called, trying to convince me that “she’s our mother” and “we have to accept her as she is.” They argued that I barely saw her anyway, and she wouldn’t be part of my life. They were genuinely sad that the family would never fully gather again.

I won’t deny that, even though I know I owe her nothing, I feel guilty about all of this. So I came here to ask you. AITAH for cutting my mother out of my life ?