The safe place – love, fear and grief

This story is from one of the courageous, beautiful, unseen mums in our peer support group.

Mel’s Story - September 2026

They say a mother’s love is unconditional. Complete acceptance and always supportive, so their child can grow and feel safe. Seeing all the good in their child without judgement regardless of their actions. That strong, unconditional love.

I have always been ‘that’ mum. The mum that fights with so much courage to get the support their child needs. To get people to understand their child and to see the good, regardless of the bad. Always there to defend and pick up the pieces, because no mother wants to see their child left out, sad, or feeling different.

The mother that comforts their child and reaffirms it’s not them – it’s other people, and that the world is made for squares not a special circle.

The mother standing there by herself at school pick-ups. Watching other kids go for play dates and receiving birthday party invitations. Feeling sad that my own child doesn’t get these experiences.

The mother feeling the judging eyes of other parents, carers, staff and teachers. Wondering if there will be another incident report today, or more than just one. Wondering if my child will make it through the day … but then seeing the school number ring and you already know how it will go.

The hundreds of calls, emails, texts, meetings and so on. I was always there, always proactive. Dropping whatever I was doing to advocate, support, and be there for my child.

Numerous different schools due to stand downs and exclusions came with so many meetings and risk assessments. The hope that the next school will be better eventually faded.

I was the safe space for my child. They say being the ‘safe space’ means a child feels safe with you to let all their emotions out after holding it together all day. The safe space to cry, laugh, yell, and talk. That safe space was a place of torture that was far from safe. Yelling, swearing, hitting, punching, throwing things, damaging property, exerting control, power, and more. But I kept going because being the safe place means my child loves me, right?

The mother who did a bachelor’s degree and focused her research on neurodiversity in the hope of understanding her son more and how to get others to. I was so dedicated to helping my son that I wanted to help others too. But no amount of study or courses helped.

Remembering only the good because my brain blocked out the bad. The so-called terrible 2s that persisted for 14 years with violence and incidents only getting worse.

I was not safe and all those meetings, emails, calls, texts, exclusions, and melt-downs took a huge toll. I was breaking down but I kept worrying about my child and wanting to protect them.

The numerous agencies that were there to support us took a toll. “How many times can you be with an agency and implement their behavioural strategies before they start thinking you’re the problem,” I began to ask myself. So, I would say “yes it worked” due to fear, and I hid the violence more.

Every type of reward chart I tried. Positive parenting style, collaborative approach, strengths-based - you name it, I tried it and gave it my all. Why was my child becoming more and more violent? Maybe I was the problem is what I began to believe.

My child’s anger got worse. He got bigger, stronger, and more cunning and controlling. But what do I do - because I had hidden all of the abuse for so many years and I was now fearful for my life. I felt like I’d dug my own hole by keeping it all quiet and kept pushing through. I wouldn’t call the police because I didn’t want the violence to get worse or to traumatise my child more.

My physical health got worse and worse over the years, but I kept going. I had to keep going as I was the only parent and wanted to understand and protect my child. Until my mental and physical health finally gave up.

I feel like I have completely lost myself. Passion is gone and replaced with nothingness. My creative, bubbly, and active personality is hidden away deeply.

Surely the services will help this time, since its beyond crisis, right? I hoped and prayed it would. But this was only met with disappointment - and belief that I was the problem. They would say” it’s just behavioural” or investigate me, because a child cannot be that violent or clever.

Things got even worse. False allegations and statements were made by my child. This scared me even more and made me start questioning myself: “Am I crazy?” I couldn’t believe what was happening. All those years of trying my best, putting my child’s needs before my own and destroying myself felt like they meant nothing. “Why would my child do that?”, I kept asking myself.

I love my child more than anything and I always will.

Now I sit alone in my home in silence. I don’t do what I would like to, even though I now can. Instead, my memory has not forgotten, and it listens for sounds that may mean a threat is coming. I won’t go out because I am scared I’ll run into my child. Sirens, a child screaming, people walking behind me, my phone ringing and so much more trigger me and cause panic attacks. The constant self-blame, and “Where did I go wrong?” thoughts circling around and around in my head, along with the sadness and grief. It lives with me and never goes away.

The damage is done and I know it will continue for many more years to come, even though they no longer live with me. I pray that one day there will be policies and legislation to protect the parent - just like there is already to protect a child. I hope more light will be shed on this violence and the impacts it has. I hope it will be met one day with compassion and understanding, without judgement .

Most of all, I pray I can have a healthy relationship with my child.

(This only touches very lightly on my lived experience. It does not dive into the services, supports, traumatic events, hospitalisation, Oranga Tamariki, and so on.)