My mother finally kicked my father out of her house

Handling truth - One More Story…

My mother finally kicked my father out of her house.
She was over 80.

Unhappy for at least 40 years.
And I — her daughter — gave her permission.
I told her she had the right. I showed her it could be done by living my life. 

That moment changed everything for both of us.
Because in 2015, I had already done the same.

I had kicked my husband out of my home in Arnhem.
Three years of marriage, a lifetime of trying to fix someone who wasn’t mine to fix.
I told him: "Take your child to your parents. Grow a brain."

And then I broke every wedding ceramic I had made with our families and friends the week of our wedding.
That was my seal.
That was the end.

It was a nasty battle, first with a so-called mediator from Indonesia —
her energy, still bound to systems of suppression, didn’t recognize mine.
She tried to command me.
That’s never worked.

Then came court.
I had to sit through a prosecutor speaking under the banner of domestic violence awareness month,
while my ex spun lies:
"She feeds our son only chocolate."
(It was our 4pm snack ritual.)

I was 40+.
Wise enough. Sensitive enough.
Highly sensitive enough to know that custody wars are soul-killing.
So I let go.
I gave him custody.
I chose peace.

I grieved. I broke.
And I trusted the angels had a bigger plan.

So here’s the real question:
Is losing actually winning?

We — the HSPs, the feelers, the soul readers —
we know how to see the upside, the transformation hiding in the pain.
But to the outside world, we’ll always seem… strange.

Take my new boyfriend’s family.

His oldest daughter, 33, is living through her karma.
Household broken, ex still living in her home.
She's in therapy and in Sheltered living.
But give her a year or two…
she’ll rise. Like I did.
She’ll be home in herself. Life I am now.
She just needs someone to speak to her soul, her HSP self.
That’s what I do.

The second daughter just divorced her wife.
Two people moving forward, liberated by truth.
He sees failure.
I see transformation.
Another life lesson. Another blessing.

And now, in this new relationship, I see my own lesson:
I need grounding.
I need a bed, a house, a warm shower.
Not a steering wheel. Not a trunk full of clothes.

Ah yes, back to my mother.

Our stories teach our parents who they once were,
and who they still can become.
Maybe not every story is as loud as mine,
but isn’t it more fun when we finally learn how to handle our men?

Yes — handle them.
With devotion. With love.
Like our grandmothers did — but wiser.
Humbly folding into the old-fashioned
and remaking it in a way that serves both souls.

The new age is not a rejection of the past.
It’s the past, reborn with consciousness.

So maybe…
we’re not weird.
Maybe we’re just ahead of the curve.

--

"Sometimes we have to break everything we built — to rebuild who we are."

This is not just a story about divorce or broken families.
It’s a story about liberation, generational healing, and the quiet power of knowing when to walk away.
My mother taught me that in her eighties.
And I taught her by doing it first at 45. 

As a Highly Sensitive Soul, I’ve learned to see the blessing inside the breakdown.
This is the path of those of us who feel too much, love too deep, and choose peace over war — even when the world calls it failure.

Let me share a story. A few, actually.
From Arnhem to family court to sacred surrender.
From my own heartbreak to watching karma play out in my partner’s daughters.
This is what it means to handle our men,
but most importantly — to handle our own truth.