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“[…] I have tried everything: therapy, school intervention, parenting strategies from every corner of the internet, gentle parenting, tough love, smothering him with affection, strict boundaries, reward systems.
“Every time he crossed a line, I forgave him. Over and over. Told him we could start fresh, leave the past behind. But the truth is: I hate this demon I gave birth to…”
The following Letter to the Editor was submitted to Wired868 anonymously by a frustrated mother, who admitted to having an extremely dysfunctional relationship with her son:
I just need to get this off my chest. I despise my own child.
He’s 14 now, and I’ve reached a level of emotional and physical exhaustion I never thought possible. A while back, I had a plan to set him up with safe housing, some kind of stable arrangement, and then disappear from his life indefinitely. That plan collapsed.
Then one day, I had to call the police. My own child physically attacked me. And I stood there, hands shaking, unable to fight back—not because I couldn’t, but because if I hurt him, even in self-defense, I knew I’d be branded the abuser.
No one would’ve cared about my side of the story. The system doesn’t protect parents like me.
I have tried everything: therapy, school intervention, parenting strategies from every corner of the internet, gentle parenting, tough love, smothering him with affection, strict boundaries, reward systems.
Every time he crossed a line, I forgave him. Over and over. Told him we could start fresh, leave the past behind.
But the truth is: I hate this demon I gave birth to.
And yes, I’ve heard the whispers from people who are genuinely afraid he might hurt me badly one day. Honestly? I think they’re right. It feels inevitable.
(via Shutterstock.)
One time, he poured detergent in his mouth and threatened to kill himself. I looked him dead in the eye and said: “Do what you feel is best for you. Will I be sad? Yes. But life will go on.”
Then I walked away. Because I knew it was a manipulation tactic. Sure enough, he ran to the sink, spit it out, rinsed his mouth. It was a show.
I regret not having an abortion when I had the chance. I regret ever meeting his father, a worthless deadbeat who left me to drown alone in this mess. Not every child is a blessing. Some are a lifelong curse.
And just so we’re clear, when he turns 18, I’m done. I’ll send money if I have to, but there will be no more pretending. No more fake smiles. No more hope. Just silence.
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Want to share your thoughts with Wired868? Email us at editor@wired868.com.
Please keep your letter between 300 to 600 words and be sure to read it over first for typos and punctuation.
We don’t publish anonymously unless there is a good reason, such as an obvious threat of harassment or job loss.
Dear Editor,
The letter from the anonymous mother published on Wired868 is as painful as it is courageous. It’s not easy to admit to feelings society condemns—let alone toward one’s own child. But in doing so, this mother has lifted the veil on a deeply rooted national crisis that too many families in Trinidad & Tobago are quietly enduring.
What she describes is not just a personal tragedy—it is the consequence of collective neglect: a system that fails parents, fails children, and then shames them both when the home becomes a battleground.
We hear her anguish when she says, “I hate this demon I gave birth to,” and we must not dismiss it as cruelty or failure. We must hear it for what it truly is: a final, anguished scream from someone who has been trying—really trying—for 14 years with no meaningful help.
This is not just her story. It’s a growing number of families caught in the crossfire of generational trauma, fatherlessness, untreated mental illness, and a society that expects mothers to fix everything while giving them nothing to work with.
The warning signs are all around us:
• A surge in youth violence.
• Children being expelled from school for behavior that stems from trauma, not rebellion.
• Mental health facilities too few and under-resourced to meet demand.
• Single mothers forced to play therapist, teacher, provider, and disciplinarian all at once—with no support net beneath them.
When this mother says she regrets not having an abortion, when she speaks of being physically attacked by her own son, of watching him fake a suicide attempt as a manipulation tactic—these are not just shocking statements. They are indicators of a broken system. And if we only respond with judgment, we are part of the problem.
⸻
So what can we, as a society, actually do?
1. Treat parenting as a public issue, not a private failure.
Too many parents are suffering in silence, trying every tool in the book with no change, because they’re not equipped to deal with deeply rooted behavioral or psychological disorders on their own. We need a national parenting support program—including group therapy, legal aid for high-conflict cases, and emergency behavioral intervention access.
2. Expand child and adolescent mental health care.
That boy is not just “bad.” He may be suffering from untreated trauma, ADHD, conduct disorder, or early signs of a mood or personality disorder. Early detection and consistent, professional intervention can change lives—but access remains a privilege, not a right, in Trinidad & Tobago.
3. Equip schools to address trauma, not just academics.
We need trauma-informed training for educators and administrators. Schools must learn to recognize distress signals, respond with care, and work alongside parents, not against them.
4. Create safe legal options for desperate parents.
This mother considered disappearing. That should terrify us—not because she’s a villain, but because she saw no other way out. We need clear, humane systems where a parent can request residential placement or temporary custody transfer when safety is at risk, without fear of legal or social persecution.
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But this is not just one woman’s breaking point. It is a drop in a very dark, very full bucket—a warning sign of a growing epidemic affecting families across Trinidad & Tobago.
Her story reflects the painful truth that behind many front doors in this country are overwhelmed, unsupported, and unheard parents—especially mothers—trying to raise children in the absence of meaningful societal or governmental support.
And that’s why this letter should not just spark outrage—it should spark policy.
We now have a newly elected government that came into office on promises of empathy, reform, and putting people first. If that promise is real, then this letter must be taken as a red flag—not ignored or dismissed as an isolated case, but used to launch urgent, comprehensive interventions in:
• Parenting and family support services
• Child and adolescent mental health infrastructure
• Community-based violence prevention and youth rehabilitation
• Legal mechanisms for family crisis intervention
This mother’s cry must be heard in the halls of Parliament, not just on social media comment threads.
We urge the new administration to recognize this moment for what it is: not an aberration, but a symptom. A warning. And an opportunity to act before more families fall apart, more parents give up, and more children are lost to a cycle of violence, neglect, and untreated trauma.
Because if reform and compassion are truly on the national agenda, then this is where it starts: in the homes no one wants to talk about, and with the people who’ve spent too long suffering in silence.
You are a courageous mother, baring your soul, pain, emotions, frustrations. Societal norms expect you to be the ultimate sacrifice, bearing all, expecting nothing. Children can be the most ungrateful beings this side of the planet.
I urge you to take care of yourself, in particular your mental health.
Engage in activities which bring you joy and peace, prayer, meditation, music, exercise, eat favourite foods, dance. Talk to someone, cry on their shoulders, let it all out!! I pray God cover you with His precious blood.