Something in the water

There must be something in the water for the only two females of my grandparents children to have been disowned by their children. It happened 11 years ago with my cousin, to her “donor”, and is now a reality, as of November of last year for my brother and I. What the hell was in that water?? And why did it not affect the boys of the family? Just a couple of the many questions I’ll never have answers to … and I’m ok with that. We’ve never had a good relationship with her, and to be brutally honest, the full weight of the whole ordeal has been lifted since my brother and I decided to let her go.

We. Are. Free.

The road is long with this story. Long and hard. It’s been hard not to have malice towards her over the years, and I only really kept in contact with her for the sake of my brother, because his relationship with her was already strained beyond belief. I practically used lard to grease the surface and slide the two of them in close proximity to one another until he was willing to contact her again.

But not anymore.

I used to think I could heal anyone and anything if I gave them enough love. Gave them everything I could. Gave them everything I shouldn’t. It didn’t work. Not with her.

I gave up being the constant reminder that her life was ruined once I was born.

Gave up being the constant reminder that a court case was what brought her name to disrepute.

Gave up waiting to be told how fucking great I was in public then told the opposite in private.

Gave up feeling guilty for things that were never in my control in order to have her feel good.

Gave up believing her lies.

The bullet to the skull was being told I was a product of rape, not love. If I didn’t have my guard down at the time I could’ve handled that … but you never expect that sort of thing the day after your wedding do you? No. No you don’t.

I just gave up. Gave up fighting. I realised it was fighting when I saw I was making my whānau struggle through the same relationship.



“You would cut off your nose to spite your face” – Her

No. My nan raised me better than that. YOUR MOTHER RAISED ME BETTER THAN THAT!!

But no more. Whatever was in the water has been well and truly disinfected.

I KNOW who I am. I wear my scars proudly.

I wear them and share them.

Educate. Ponder. My knowledge to squander.

I KNOW that I mattered.

She is not you.

And you will never be her.

My brother and I

We. Are. Free.



Author: Andrea King

Wife. Mother. Sibling. Friend. Raised by nan. Slightly weird. But still rather normal. ... kia ora :)

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