26 June 2026 

Welcome, dear soul, to another Alchemy Scroll. As promised, and for the purpose of these scrolls, I am about to speak a truth that has been sitting with me quite heavily for some time.

Perhaps this is the reason I’ve been missing in action.

This scroll had caught my eye a few months ago, but it’s just been collecting more dust on the shelf, the withered corner glinting, whispering my name, calling me to face it when I was ready.

I guess I am ready now. My perspective has changed, so that this scroll does not carry the fire of my anger, my disappointment, my pain, or resentment.

That was never my intention - to paint myself in the shades of victimhood. And maybe… just maybe… I am clarifying this because it’s what I was conditioned to believe I had to do while I grew up. Explain myself, tiptoe on eggshells. But I am learning how to stop doing this, to take a “chill pill”, and not confuse my current life with my upbringing.

One of the ways I had to reprogram my mind, nurture my nervous system, was by going no-contact with a parent.

I had to go through the process of grieving someone who is still alive.

And while it took me over a decade to reach the true process of grieving a deceased parent, I discovered that grieving someone, grieving a relationship that could have been, while it had the potential to be, was more taxing than I expected.

It was hard.

The process probably began the moment I was born to a mother who never stopped reminding me that I should consider myself “lucky” to have her, because before I was born, she considered giving me up for adoption.

Yikes!

Unfortunately, I had no idea that this wasn’t considered normal for a mother to tell their child. I had no idea that berating one’s child for the shade of their skin or the clothes they preferred wearing was wrong. I grew up in this toxicity from the moment I took my first breath. For me, this was normal, and every action, every inaction to protect me as a child, became the blueprint of what love meant in my mind.

It’s not like I knew any better. For years, I went through hell trying to live up to her standards, silently breaking apart inside and yearning for her love, her approval, while all her abuse was drawn in like the sustenance I needed to survive. I mean, that’s what we all crave - a mother’s love. That’s our first source of love and nurturing, and as babies, a mother is the source. God, presented in human form as the giver of life and love.

So, what happens when you don’t receive a mother’s love?

You look for it in all the wrong places, settling for destruction and chaos with the misbelief that those things equate love.

It’s what I did for many years, until it broke me. It broke my mind, spirit, and even my body, searching for love outside of myself, craving, deep down, a mother’s love, care, nurturing, guidance. And all these wrong places bled me dry, drained me of my lifeforce, until I became a mother, and as my child was growing, I decided to break the cycle of pain.

It felt wrong. Not just hating myself, but resenting the child I created. And as my healing journey progressed, and I made the necessary changes to show up for my son in ways I wished my mother had shown up for me, I still gave it a fighting chance.

I kept the door open to that relationship with her, hoping that the changes I made would ripple out, not just to my son, but to the woman who gave birth to me. I thought that if I poured the love I found for myself and my son into that relationship, she’d change, too.

Oh, boy! How wrong I was about that!

It crashed into me like a sharp, stormy wave, a tsunami set upon destruction in its wake. I had no idea where it came from, and I thought I was going insane.

Until realisation dawned on me, and I remembered her name…

“Mother”.

But that was an empty word spoken from parched lips, and that yearning followed me well into adulthood.

I always wondered if it was something I did wrong, if it was my fault that I never received love from the woman who gave life to me.

But with the veil lifted, I could finally see the abuse for what it was. I’d forgiven the past abuse - not forgotten, and not because it still hurts, but because I’m determined not to pass it on - but the present was so tainted by new forms of abuse that I paused and took a moment to reflect on what was going on.

Not only was the verbal and emotional abuse still aimed at me like daggers, but weapons were being pointed at my son. I was made out to be a “bad” mother, but my son was being ridiculed and berated in the same way I once was. And that’s when I realised I had to put an end to it.

Like an addict entering rehab, I had to stop the craving for her love and approval. And the only way I could do this was by going cold turkey, severing the umbilical cord, and grieving not just the relationship, but the person herself as if she were laid six feet underground.

The ultimate act of choosing myself came in the form of cutting ties with the woman who gave birth to me.

I’ve said it before, and it deserves to be reiterated. I have been fortunate to meet women throughout my life who have shown me the love I once needed from my mother. Now I’ve come to realise that God sent these women into my life to allow me to experience a mother’s love without the restrictions of blood relations or the expectations of family bonds.

For the sake of this scroll and all the truth it carries, I feel obligated to mention the women who showed me love like a mother should. Because this scroll isn’t meant to shame my mother, but to honour the women who love without bounds. I have been fortunate enough to meet these women who built me up instead of tearing me down.

One thing I’ve come to understand is that my mother’s inability to give love is merely a construct of her own lack of self-love. And for that, I can’t shame her. Throughout my journey of self-love and discovery, I have learned that the more I love myself, the more love I can pour into those around me, starting with my son, who was born from my womb, and an extension of myself, a young version of me in male form.

Not everyone has the privilege of discovering this kind of love, this love for self, and not everyone is open to taking the steps necessary towards it. Victimhood is comfortable, and the longer you sit wallowing in it, the darker it becomes. Unfortunately, it’s what happened to her, and I wish her well, I wish her healing, but I no longer feel the need to wait around for that change to come.

To protect myself and my son, I have chosen to go no-contact. And no, it’s not some new-age “trendy” nonsense. It takes an adult many years to finally arrive at the decision to cut a parent off. It’s no easy feat, but for the sake of my own peace of mind, it is what is needed to forge a new, better life for myself, for my son, and for the generations to come after us. Pain is contagious if you hold onto it. And while I released the pain of the past, it became just as important to release anything or anyone that dished out pain in the present as if it were the only meal available.

I am not starved of love because I have much of my own, and I have had the privilege of being invited to tables where love was served unconditionally. Not poisonous, but the kind of healthy sustenance that nurtured my spirit and my heart.

One of my first experiences of unconditional, maternal love was the woman who started as my therapist and who soon became family. My soul mother, who welcomes me, just as I am, with open arms, expecting nothing in return except a smile on my face and happiness in my heart. I will never stop praising Aunty Firhana for everything she has done for me. The woman I am today is thanks to her guidance and nurturing, and her undying belief and support.

And because of the strength she helped me find, I was able to walk away from an abusive relationship, along with the support of Aunty Lutfia, who first introduced me to Aunty Firhana when I turned to her for help. She helped me without judgment and is always a phone call away when I need help, even to this day.

Along my way, I met my landlady, Aunty Aysha, who invited me to share tea over countless morning chats, giving me a safe space to land while I discovered myself. In the same community, I met Aunty Rehana - a friendship forged through pain and shared experiences, where our chats grew deep, and we both found healing together, while she did for me the kind of things only a mother would do for their daughter.

When I finally found the courage to move out of the city with my son, I met Giselle, a woman who opened her restaurant doors for my business idea, and soon, she became family. A big sister and a mother figure whenever I need advice, navigating the new life I’ve forged for myself and my son.

Speaking of big sisters, I grew up as an only child, having lost my sister, my father’s first child, at the age of eight. But God has been merciful enough to bless me with big sisters, who have held me in kindness and love along the way. Aunty Firhana’s daughters, Juwairiyah and Lutfiya, became big sisters to me in the city.

And throughout all my highs and lows, I’ve had my big sister, Kareemah, there every step of the way. Without judgment, to help me and support me through some of the toughest times I’ve ever faced. Not just as a listening ear and my biggest fan, but the woman who will go to the ends of the earth for me. The one woman who, through all the years I’ve known her, has had my back. We may not be related by blood, but she’s everything I could have asked for in a sister and a best friend - someone in my corner no matter what goes in my life.

And recently, I’ve met my boyfriend’s mum, Aunty Cornette, who cares so much for my son and me, and does so much for both of us that it feels like we’ve always been a part of their family.

I no longer feel the void of a mother. I no longer feel like an only child. These strong, amazing women in my life have held me so that I never feel alone again.

That’s the funny thing about life. People waltz in at just the right moment, allowing you to forget what you lost while being grateful for what you have found.

I have found my people, and I am blessed.

And while the previous scrolls might have carried the fire of my anger towards the woman who birthed me, I cannot hold onto that pain anymore. Not when the women in my life have showered me with love, and life has shown me the other side of the coin. So, perhaps this scroll is more of an appreciation for the women in my life, and less about grieving the one relationship I lost. Because even through grief, gratitude can be found in the small things, softening the blow of what could have destroyed us. Because I didn’t let my grief consume me. It’s not the end of the world if I let go of a relationship that wasn’t serving me. It isn’t selfish, either.

I choose peace.

I choose love.

So, from my contented heart, to yours,

I leave you with the food for thought.

Are you ready to release the relationships that no longer serve you, and make space for the ones that help you grow?

From my heart to yours, and hopefully, as a woman who can show up for you just as the women in my life have shown up for me,,

Raaia.