Mothered by Wounds, Crowned by the Universe

I was not born into gentleness. I was born into a battlefield carrying the face of a woman who was supposed to love me and instead saw me as a threat from the moment I opened my eyes, she looked at me like an intruder like I had stolen something precious simply by breathing, Blbecause I was the firstborn, because my father adored me with a softness she had never earned, and she felt that love like a slap across her pride. He saw me and something in him lit up a tenderness, a devotion, a glow he never gave her. And she could not stand that my tiny heartbeat held a piece of him she could never touch. So she decided I would pay for it. She didn’t treat my siblings this way. To them, she offered love, affection, the crumbs of warmth she could never spare for me. To them she was “mom.” still not a good one at that. To me, she was a warden, a storm waiting to break, a cold shadow lurking in every doorway. I was singled out, targeted, chosen to carry the weight of her jealousy, her rage, her unhealed wounds. She punished me for being noticed. She punished me for being loved. She punished me for existing. And when I was eight and told her that her friend the man she trusted molested me, she didn’t hesitate. Didn’t comfort. Didn’t pause. She beat me. Called me a liar. Chose him over me like it was the easiest decision she had ever made. In that moment, our bond didn’t just break. It disappeared. Evaporated. Turned to ash. She didn’t only fail to protect me she protected him. And still, even after that betrayal, I tried to be her daughter. But life had other plans. Because while she poured all her bitterness into me, the universe poured wisdom into me. While she tried to silence me, the universe amplified my intuition. While she tried to crush my spirit, the universe sculpted me into a healer. I became the mother I needed at eight because she refused to be one. But the cruelty didn’t end with me. No it spilled into the next generation. She treated my children her grandchildren with the same coldness she aimed at me. Ignored them. Dismissed them. Harmed them with her indifference. Made them feel unwanted just because they came from me. And yet she dotes on the others. Treats the other grandchildren with sweetness, pride, affection the things she never offered me and refuses to offer mine. The cycle repeats only where my bloodline continues, because her bitterness is inherited trauma she is still trying to hand down. But I broke the pattern. I ended the lineage of pain with my own hands. And the universe? The universe stands with me. Guides me. Speaks through me. Gives me the sight to understand pain and the wisdom to transform it. I know things she can’t comprehend. I feel things others overlook. I walk with ancestral fire and cosmic clarity. I am becoming whole in ways she never imagined. Every soul I heal, heals me. Every wound I mend in others, mends the wounds she gave me. Every life I touch returns a piece of my spirit she tried to steal. And now I am not just surviving. I am ascending. I am the mother my childhood needed. I am the healer born of devastation. I am the universe’s chosen daughter. I am the firstborn who rose higher than the hatred aimed at me. I am the cycle-breaker. The truth teller. The one who walks away with power, dignity, and a destiny she could never stop. Her jealousy began my story. Her abuse shaped the middle. But my healing writes the ending. And it is an ending filled with freedom, fire, and a future she has no part in. I walk forward without her shadow carrying only my purpose, my light, banned with the universe at my back.