extended family
All about how to stay connected, strengthen ties and talk politics with your big, happy extended family.
From the Heart of Chaos to the Awareness of the Survivor.
There are families not made of love, but of performance, where the bonds of affection are replaced by roles in a psychological theater. These families don’t raise children, they cast roles. The mother becomes the director of emotional manipulation, the father fades into the shadows of absence, and the children are assigned parts that suffocate their individuality.
By Sayed Zewayedabout a year ago in Families
Here’s The Real Reason Why Men Stay With Women They Hate
Does anyone else remember watching TV from yesteryear? As someone who grew up with mostly retro television, I sure do. I remember watching Married with Children with my parents, as well as The Honeymooners.
By Olivia Chastityabout a year ago in Families
The Letters from Mom
"I'm going to have to go away for a while to cure my sickness." "For how long, Mom?" She knelt down, tucking my hair behind my ear. Her eyes were soft, but there was something behind them I didn’t understand. Not yet. "I don’t know, sweetheart. But it’s going to be long. Just remember—I love you so much. Grandma will take care of you, okay?" I nodded, though my chest tightened. I didn’t know what it meant, only that something big was changing. The next day, Grandma stood at the doorstep, arms open wide and a gentle smile on her face. “Grandma, I’m home.” “Hey there, sweetie,” she said, pulling me into a hug. “Come inside. I made your favorite.” We sat at the kitchen table, and I took a bite. I paused and looked up at her. “This tastes just like how Mom made it.” She chuckled, eyes crinkling with warmth. “Oh please. I’m the one who taught her how to make it.” I smiled, a little comforted. The world felt less strange in that moment. That night, after she tucked me in, she handed me a small package. “Your mom sent you this,” she said softly. My eyes lit up. I tore it open to find a soft teddy bear, brown and fuzzy, with little button eyes and a red bow around its neck. It smelled faintly of lavender—just like Mom’s hugs. “I love it.” “I’m glad you do,” Grandma said, brushing my hair back. As the weeks turned into months, life settled into a quiet rhythm. Grandma took me to school, made my lunch, helped with homework. On every special occasion—my birthday, the first day of school, Christmas morning—a letter would arrive. Each one was written in Mom’s delicate handwriting. They were filled with love, encouragement, and words that made me feel like she was still close. They always arrived at just the right moment, always knew exactly what I was feeling. One night, I curled up on the couch beside Grandma, clutching the latest letter in my hands. “She remembers everything,” I said. “She always did have a good memory,” Grandma replied with a soft smile. Years went by. I grew taller, older. Grandma got a little slower, but her spirit stayed strong. We celebrated birthdays with cake and laughter, holidays with old traditions and new ones we made up together. And always—always—the letters came. On my tenth birthday, Grandma lit the candles on my cake. “Make a wish, Quinn,” she said, beaming. I closed my eyes, then opened them again and looked at her. “I just wish Mom could be here.” Grandma reached into her pocket and handed me a small envelope. “She sent you another letter.” I opened it slowly. My heart beat faster with every word. My dear Quinn, happy birthday. You’re growing so fast. I wish I could be there to hold you and tell you how proud I am. I miss you dearly. Keep being brave and kind—you’re everything I dreamed you’d be. Tears welled up in my eyes. “I miss her, Grandma.” She wrapped her arms around me. “We all do, sweetheart.” Time passed quickly after that. School turned into summer breaks, laughter into new memories. I learned how to ride a bike, how to swim, how to make scrambled eggs just right—everything with Grandma by my side. Then, one quiet evening when I was fifteen, I found her sitting alone in the living room. The light from the window bathed her in gold, but her expression was distant. “Grandma?” She looked up slowly. Her eyes were glassy, filled with a deep, quiet sadness. “Quinn… my time is near,” she said softly. “There’s something I need to tell you.” “No,” I said quickly, rushing to her side. “Please don’t talk like that. Stay with me.” She reached out and took my hand gently. “I need you to know the truth. Every letter. Every gift your mom sent... they were from me.” I stared at her, stunned. “What?” She nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. “She died that day in the hospital. She made me promise to take care of you. To keep her memory alive. I just couldn’t let you feel like she was gone. So I wrote the letters, sent the gifts... and tried to be her voice when yours needed to hear hers most.” The weight of her words sank in, pressing hard on my heart. I couldn’t speak. I could only fall into her arms, crying. “You kept her alive for me,” I whispered. “All these years… you let me believe...” “I didn’t want you to feel alone,” she said, holding me tight. “I didn’t want you to feel abandoned. She loved you so much, Quinn. I just... tried to carry that love for her.” “You did,” I whispered, voice trembling. “You gave me both a mother and a grandmother.” She smiled then, fragile but full of peace. “That’s all I ever wanted.” --- Call to Action: If this story touched your heart, please like and subscribe. Share this with someone who’s lost someone they love. Let’s honor the quiet heroes—our mothers, our grandmothers, and all who carry love forward, even when no one sees.
By Shafi khan about a year ago in Families
Explore the Best Apartments in Kochi with Thrissur Builders Pvt Ltd
In the heart of Kerala’s rapidly evolving urban lifestyle lies the vibrant city of Kochi — a hub for residential investment, cultural richness, and progressive infrastructure. Whether you're a first-time homebuyer, a family looking to upgrade, or an NRI seeking a well-planned home in India, apartments in Kochi offer unmatched value. And when it comes to quality and trust, Thrissur Builders Pvt Ltd (TBPL) stands tall as a pioneer in delivering excellence in real estate.
By Thrissurbuilders Ltdabout a year ago in Families
I Let Pride Ruin My Marriage—Now I Live with the Regret
I am a working woman, Alhamdulillah, employed in the Education Department as a Grade 18 officer. Unfortunately, I am also a mother of two and divorced. Women are often emotional by nature, and we tend to make decisions in the heat of the moment. We shouldn’t. We must learn to control our emotions. I’m 37 years old now. I got married at 28 within my extended family. My husband was also a government employee in the Health Department, serving in Grade 15. Until the birth of our son, we lived in a joint family and had a good time. I won’t lie — my in-laws were good to me, and there were no major issues. But truthfully, I never felt comfortable living in a joint setup. I wanted our own space. I told my husband we should build our own home and live separately. We both earned well and could afford to build a house in a year — even if we had to sell the car. He agreed. Using my savings, I purchased a plot, and together we built our home within a year. My salary was higher than my husband’s. After we moved into our new home, things changed. Like every household, we had minor issues. But honestly, I had developed an unhealthy pride in my job and my income. I began to consider my job as everything — and that was the biggest mistake of my life. Soon, our daughter was born. And let me tell you something — a woman’s worst enemy is often another woman, not a man. The emotional damage a woman can cause to another is far deeper. Since I had contributed more financially to building the house, I would taunt my husband during arguments, saying, “This house was built with my money. What have you contributed?” Then came my cousin — a frequent visitor — who slowly began poisoning my thoughts. She constantly reminded me that I earned more than my husband, subtly planting seeds of arrogance and resentment in my heart. She made me forget I had a husband, a home, and two beautiful children. Conflicts escalated. We had purchased a car, and once again, I had contributed more financially. One day, in a fit of ego, I told my husband: “Either return the money I paid for the car or stop using it.” What I thought was a small demand deeply hurt him. He quietly sold the car and gave me my share of the money. His older brother, who lived in Canada, was visiting us at the time. Before leaving, he handed the car over to him. That car was expensive. Watching it being given away broke me inside, and I reacted by demanding he return the money I spent on building the house as well. But here’s the painful truth: I was already planning to divorce him, influenced by the same cousin who had completely turned my mind against my own family. May Allah guide her — but those who break homes will never find peace either. She isn’t happy today either. My husband sold the car, gave me my money back, resigned from his job, and started a hotel business. Today, he owns three hotels. And me? Drowned in arrogance and bitterness, I am now a mental and emotional wreck. After receiving all my money back, I demanded a divorce. My husband and my family begged me to reconsider, but I was blinded. That cousin had already laid a trap for me. Her brother-in-law was a widower, a Major in the army, with a young daughter. She promised me a better life — a higher social status. Tempted by greed, I took the step and accepted the divorce. My ex-husband agreed to one condition: “You won’t take the children.” Blinded by ambition, I accepted. After my ‘iddah (waiting period), my cousin married me off to her brother-in-law. I moved into his grand home. He had luxury cars, drivers — everything. Yet, I traveled by rickshaw. I worked full-time, and he took every penny of my salary, only giving me a small monthly allowance. I cared for his daughter like my own while my own children lived away from me. I was tortured emotionally every day, but I kept quiet, trying to make things work. Then, the truth came out — he was already married in Islamabad. Still, I stayed. I promised myself I wouldn’t walk away this time. But he kept pushing me to leave, abusing me to the point that I would be forced to ask for divorce again. Eventually, I did. This time, my father — may Allah bless him — told me: “Come home, my daughter. Don’t suffer like this.” I returned. Just two months ago, my father passed away. He was my only support. I have four brothers. All are married and have their own lives. I still have my job — the one I used to be so proud of — but it offers me no peace. The salary comes, but what do I spend it on? Today, I am broken. I visited my children after a long time, thanks to my mother’s insistence. I bought them toys and gifts. But soon after, their father sent everything back through his younger son. My children are happy with their stepmother. And I am just a shadow of the woman I once was. All I want now is to have my children back. I believe that may help heal my broken soul. Please, if you are reading this — pray for me. I know I don’t deserve it after all the mistakes I made. But Allah can make anything possible. To my sisters reading this: If you're a working woman — whether in the private or public sector — never let your job or salary become a source of arrogance. Even if you earn more than your husband, never let it ruin your home. You cannot buy happiness with money or titles. My younger sister is a doctor. Her husband works in a private company. When I see them build their life together, supporting each other — I hate what I did to myself. Why did I destroy my own life? We often blame men — and yes, some are wrong — but sometimes, it’s us women who destroy everything because of pride and toxic advice from others. Never let another woman misguide you. A woman can be a woman’s worst enemy — never forget that. Now, after so many painful lessons, I’ve realized: No matter how big your job is, or how much you earn, without a husband — a woman is incomplete. And without a wife, a man is incomplete. That’s what family means: a husband, wife, and children. Nothing else brings true happiness. This society judges divorced women harshly — even if she’s completely innocent. Whether it’s strangers or your own family — they look at you differently. May Allah protect the honor of every sister and daughter, and save us all from pride and arrogance. Please make dua for me — may Allah bring something good into my life. If not, I fear I will lose even this job, as I spiral deeper into depression. This story is not fiction. It’s the truth of my life. Learn from my mistakes, so you never have to live through them.
By Muhammad Ilyasabout a year ago in Families
The Anchor in a Shifting World
We live in an era where change is the only constant. Technology evolves at lightning speed, economic landscapes shift overnight, and social dynamics continue to transform. In the midst of this rapid movement, many find themselves feeling untethered, anxious, and overwhelmed. Amidst all this flux, there remains one grounding force—family.
By Syeda Alisha Hussain Zaidiabout a year ago in Families
