The stories of us

Welcome to The Stories of Us, brand new to Substack! It feels only natural to share a little more about myself and why I'm here. Before I begin, I’d like to give you a heads up - I’m not great at small talk…

My Story

I’m currently going through one of the toughest times of my life. In February 2024 my mum died, accompanied by an inquest into her passing. Her medical notes would tell you she was extremely sick, and had been for a very long time, however to see her you would think there nothing was wrong. In fact, most would often say “wow, you’re mum looks great for her age”. An age that no one would ever guess correctly, making her beam when they genuinely thought she was fifteen years younger than she was.

People would describe my mum as a character, who knew her own mind. She was funny, generous, social, fashionable, artistic, successful, beautiful, adored animals, loved music and in the right circumstances she could be extremely kind. The latter has always made it harder for me to process my own relationship with her, as I experienced a very different side to her. One that would leave me crying for days at the words she would say to me.

My mother, the narcissist

It felt as though I could never do anything right by her and the conditions on what ‘right’ was were always changing. My interactions with her were filled with unjust accusations, guilt trips, manipulation, intimidation, gaslighting and belittling. Over the last decade, I came to understand and accept that my mother was a narcissist. 

Despite the emotional torment, I kept trying to please my mum. I deeply wanted her to be proud of me, to love me and to be there for me. All things I thought would happen by the time I reached adulthood. I then had children and her behaviour not only escalated, but I started to see it for what it truly was.

Estrangement, death and grief

Under the strain of such a relationship, my mental and physical health started to suffer, as did other relationships dear to me. After a specific set of distressing events, I ended contact with my mum, even though it broke my heart daily.

At the time, that decision had felt like the only choice left. It had felt essential to my survival and protection. I couldn’t think of any more boundaries I could implement, or any other option of how to move forward. Exhausted from emotional agony, I needed something to change. That same decision now fills me with an overwhelming amount of guilt and regret I hadn’t foreseen. 

I had been estranged from my mum for just over a year when I got the call from my brother that her health had taken a horrible turn and she was being taken to hospital. “I think this is it Chloe.” It was the call I always feared, but one that I started to naively think wasn’t going to happen. Yes, we all die eventually, but my mum had outlived every dire prognosis for years at a time. I started to truly believe that she would be fine and would live well into her nineties. 

There was no question of whether I would go to her side or not. I rushed out the door and drove as quickly as I could to her. I was two hours away and scared I would never get to see her again. A concern that may appear ironic considering I had been the one to go no contact with her. Despite all the pain of being her daughter, she was my mum and I never stopped loving her. I never stopped wanting the best for her and I never stopped hoping that one day we would have a loving relationship. 

It was a dark and wet Friday evening when I made it to the hospital. A lack of available beds meant she was still in the ambulance when I arrived. Everyone around us thought it was unlikely she’d survive the weekend, yet she lived for a further 10 days from that moment. I spent every one of those 10 days praying she would be ok and asking for forgiveness that I hadn't been there for her during the past 12 months. I stayed at the hospital whenever I could and spent most of that time by her side. She had been so confused when I first arrived that she didn’t realise I was there for several days. It broke my heart that she may have never known that I came to her side. When she was able to talk, we hugged and vowed to move on from the last year. We both said sorry and I love you. 

I’ll never forget the moment when life left her body. My mum was gone. I watched her go, desperate for her to stay longer. Desperate for her to be ok. Desperate to have more time to make everything right. Desperate that I hadn’t just seen her take her final breaths, a gasp for air as if trying to hang on for just a bit longer, but her body said no more. She was gone. It was all over.

Six months on

Now, I’m here.

The last six months have been a rollercoaster of emotions, while there have been several emotions which remain constant - despair, guilt and regret. 

I have two incredible daughters, who I love so much. I have no choice but to keep on living and be well and present for them. Yet my heart hurts beyond words and the hope I carried for a better future felt as though it died with my mum; but what is life without hope? I simply cannot live on without hope, or goals, or dreams. My children will always be my bright spark, but I also need something to hang on to when I'm on my own with my thoughts. A distraction.

Through journaling and talking to myself (I’m not odd at all), I remembered just how much I love writing and sharing my words on topics close to my heart. As I felt an excitement emerge from all the ideas I had on what I’d like to write next, I felt hopeful once more for the future. A future that is different to one I had once imagined, with my mum and finally making amends in some way, but one that can still bring joy. A life I must create joy within. 

Why subscribe? It’s free by the way

With all of that in mind, Substack is my new home of hope. A place to turn my experiences into something that may help others who can relate to what I’ve been through. A place to turn my sad stories into something maybe a little interesting to read. No pressure Substack, but here’s to hoping you can help me through this time. 

What is your substack about?

If I'm lucky enough to have you subscribe, you can expect to find more on my experiences of growing up with a narcissistic mother, while covering topics of grief, hope, race and identity.

While I want to share the tough times I’ve been through, I hope I can offer some light as well. Whether it be through a story you can relate to, advice shared, inspiration or random distraction.

By profession, I'm a freelance features writer specialising in mental health, women’s health, motherhood, and representing the experiences of Black and mixed-race women. 

Thank you for reading, 
Chloe x

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