extended family

All about how to stay connected, strengthen ties and talk politics with your big, happy extended family.

What My Mother's Old Ring Taught Me About Trusting Strangers With Your Stuff
My mother gave me a ring when I left for college. Nothing fancy—a thin band with a small stone. She said it had been her grandmother's and that I should keep it safe. I wore it for a year, then it sat in a box. I forgot about it until years later, when she passed. Going through her things, I found the ring again. The stone was gone, lost somewhere along the way. The band had a stamp: 14K. I had no idea what that meant in dollars, but I thought maybe I could sell it and put the money toward something useful.
By sam leeabout 8 hours ago in Families
How Family Mediation Helped Us Talk When Everything Else Failed
We Found a Way to Talk Again The last proper conversation we had before mediation was about a school jumper. Our youngest had lost his, and somehow that turned into forty minutes of accusations about who was supposed to be keeping track of what, who had dropped the ball again, and whether this was yet another example of the other person not paying attention to the things that actually mattered.
By Jess Knaufa day ago in Families
The Empty Mansion and the Small Hut: A Lesson in True Wealth
By Hazrat Umer Why having everything money can buy might still leave you with nothing. I once knew a man named Sameer. Sameer was a very successful businessman in 2020. He had everything a person could dream of: a giant mansion with marble floors, three expensive cars, and a bank account that never ended. He was always busy, moving from one meeting to another, his phone ringing every second. People looked at him and said, "He is the luckiest man in the world."
By Hazrat Umer2 days ago in Families
The Night Everything Fell Apart
The Night Everything Fell Apart Ubaid I used to believe that life collapses slowly—like a building with cracks that warn you before it falls. I was wrong. Sometimes, everything shatters in a single night. It was a Thursday evening when the sky looked strangely heavy, as if it knew something I didn’t. I remember sitting at my desk, pretending to work while my mind wandered through unfinished conversations and silent disappointments. My phone lay beside me, face down, as if hiding from the truth it was about to deliver. At 9:17 p.m., it rang. I almost didn’t answer. It was my younger sister, Areeba. She rarely called me at night. Her voice trembled when I picked up. “Bhai… you need to come home.” There are certain tones in a person’s voice that freeze your blood. This was one of them. “What happened?” I asked, already standing up, my heart racing. “Just come. Please.” The drive home felt endless. Every red light felt personal, as though the universe had chosen to delay me. My mind ran through a hundred possibilities—none of them good. By the time I reached the house, my hands were shaking. The front door was open. That was the first sign that something was wrong. Inside, the living room lights were on, but the house felt darker than ever. My mother sat on the couch, her face pale, her hands wrapped tightly around her scarf. Areeba stood beside her, eyes red from crying. “Where’s Abbu?” I asked. No one answered. That silence said more than words ever could. “He left,” my mother finally whispered. Left. The word didn’t make sense. My father wasn’t the kind of man who “left.” He was the quiet pillar of our home—the one who paid the bills, fixed broken taps, and watched the news every night at exactly 10 p.m. “He said he couldn’t do this anymore,” Areeba said, her voice cracking. “He packed a bag and walked out.” It felt like the floor shifted beneath me. For years, I had noticed the tension. The late-night arguments behind closed doors. The cold silences at dinner. The forced smiles during family gatherings. But I had convinced myself it was temporary. Every family has problems, I thought. We’ll get through it. That night, I realized denial can be a dangerous comfort. “Did he say where he’s going?” I asked. My mother shook her head. “He just said he needs peace.” Peace. The word echoed bitterly in my mind. What about us? What about the peace of the family he was leaving behind? I walked into my parents’ bedroom. The cupboard door was slightly open. Half his clothes were gone. His watch box was empty. On the bedside table, there was a folded piece of paper. It wasn’t addressed to anyone. Just a few lines in his familiar handwriting: I tried. I really did. But sometimes staying hurts more than leaving. Forgive me. I read it three times, hoping the meaning would change. It didn’t. Anger rose inside me like fire. How could he walk away? How could he leave my mother to explain this to relatives, to neighbors, to a society that thrives on whispers? How could he leave Areeba, who still needed him to check her math homework? And how could he leave me—with the sudden weight of being “the man of the house”? That night, everything fell apart—not just our family structure, but the illusions I had built around it. Around midnight, the power went out. Normally, we would joke about the timing. That night, no one said a word. The house sank into darkness, lit only by the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains. I sat on the floor beside my mother. For the first time in my life, she looked small. “I failed,” she murmured. “You didn’t,” I said quickly, though I wasn’t sure what I believed. “This isn’t your fault.” But blame has a way of creeping into broken spaces. It fills the gaps with questions that have no answers. Around 2 a.m., my phone buzzed. A message from Abbu. Take care of them. That was it. No explanation. No location. No promise to return. Just a responsibility handed over like an inheritance. I stared at the screen, my chest tight. I wanted to call him, to shout, to demand answers. Instead, I turned the phone off. Because deep down, I knew this wasn’t just about one fight or one bad day. This was years of unspoken pain finally spilling over. As the night stretched on, reality settled in. Tomorrow, I would have to face relatives asking uncomfortable questions. I would have to manage finances I barely understood. I would have to be strong for my sister when I felt like collapsing myself. But in that darkness, something unexpected happened. We talked. For the first time in years, my mother opened up about her loneliness. About how silence had replaced partnership. About how pride had stopped both of them from seeking help. Areeba admitted she had heard more arguments than we realized. And I confessed that I had seen the cracks but chose to ignore them because it was easier than confronting the truth. The night that broke us also stripped us of pretenses. By dawn, the sky softened into pale blue. Birds began to chirp as if nothing had changed. But everything had. Our family would never look the same again. There would be judgment, financial strain, and emotional wounds that wouldn’t heal overnight. There would be moments of anger and days of deep sadness. Yet, as sunlight slowly filled the room, I understood something important: Falling apart doesn’t always mean the end. Sometimes, it’s the beginning of rebuilding—without lies, without forced smiles, without pretending everything is fine. That night, I lost the version of my family I thought I had. But I gained something else. Clarity. Strength I didn’t know I possessed. And the painful, necessary understanding that love cannot survive where honesty is absent. The night everything fell apart was the worst night of my life.
By Ubaid 2 days ago in Families
The Cracks in Our Walls: Why Our Homes Have Lost Their Peace
By Hazrat Umer The Secret to a Happy Family: Why Justice and Character Matter More Than Money Today, if you look at almost any house, you will see a sad reality. On the outside, the house looks beautiful. But on the inside, there is no peace. In almost every home, people are fighting. Parents are arguing with children, brothers are fighting with sisters, and married couples are struggling to stay together.
By Hazrat Umer2 days ago in Families
Family Struggles
Growing up in a household filled with constant tension, I often found myself grappling with family struggles that deeply affected my emotional well-being. My parents’ arguments, whether over trivial matters or deeper issues, created an environment where peace felt out of reach. As a child, I didn’t understand why love and conflict were so closely tied and why tranquility was always interrupted by discord.
By Gowhar ali Khan4 days ago in Families
Wait, is it okay not to go home for the Holidays?
Kids these days are choosing to stay home rather than see their parents or their other family members for the holidays. I found it a bit absurd and tried to explain that it is important to bond with family, because you don’t know when you'll see them again, until someone called me out for not having visited my family in over 20 years.
By stephanie borges4 days ago in Families
How Positive Discipline Transformed My Child’s Emotional World. AI-Generated.
Parenting is often described as a journey of love, patience, and learning. For me, however, it felt more like a constant emotional test. I remember days filled with tension, misunderstandings, and moments where I questioned whether I was truly helping my child grow emotionally—or unintentionally causing harm. Like many parents, I once believed that discipline meant control. I relied on firm rules, consequences, and raised voices when things went wrong. My intention was never to hurt, but to teach. Yet the more I tried to “correct” my child’s behavior, the more distant and reactive they became. Something was clearly missing. That missing piece turned out to be positive discipline. Understanding Behavior as Communication One of the most important lessons I learned is that children don’t misbehave without reason. Behavior is often a form of communication, especially when children lack the language to express complex emotions. Instead of asking, “How do I stop this behavior?” I began asking, “What is my child trying to tell me?” This shift completely changed my parenting approach. I started observing patterns rather than reacting emotionally. I noticed that outbursts often followed moments of overwhelm, tiredness, or frustration. My child wasn’t being difficult—they were struggling. Replacing Punishment with Connection Positive discipline does not mean the absence of rules. It means enforcing boundaries with empathy instead of fear. Here are some changes I implemented: I acknowledged emotions before correcting behavior I spoke calmly, even during emotional moments I explained expectations instead of assuming understanding I focused on problem-solving rather than blame For example, instead of saying, “Stop crying right now,” I learned to say, “I see that you’re upset. Let’s talk about what happened.” This small change had a powerful effect. My child felt seen instead of judged. The Impact on Mental Health Before positive discipline, our home environment felt tense. Emotional reactions escalated quickly, and both of us carried stress long after conflicts ended. Over time, I noticed signs of emotional strain—not just in my child, but in myself. Positive discipline created emotional safety. When children feel safe, their nervous systems can relax. This allowed my child to: express emotions more clearly calm down faster after frustration build confidence in handling challenges For me, it reduced anxiety and parental guilt. I stopped feeling like every mistake was a failure and started viewing them as learning opportunities. Teaching Emotional Regulation, Not Fear Traditional discipline often relies on fear-based compliance. Positive discipline focuses on skill-building. Through everyday interactions, my child learned: how to name emotions how to pause before reacting how to repair mistakes through communication Instead of avoiding punishment, my child began developing genuine self-awareness. This was a major emotional breakthrough. Strengthening the Parent–Child Bond One of the most unexpected outcomes was how much our relationship improved. Trust replaced tension. Conversations became easier. Even difficult moments felt manageable because they no longer threatened our emotional connection. Positive discipline taught me that authority and compassion can coexist. Respect doesn’t come from control—it grows from consistency, empathy, and presence. What I Wish I Had Known Earlier If I could speak to my past self, I would say this: Parenting is not about perfection Children need guidance, not domination Emotional intelligence is just as important as obedience Positive discipline didn’t just change my child’s behavior—it changed how we relate to each other on a deeper emotional level. Final Thoughts for Parents Every child deserves to feel understood. Every parent deserves tools that support both discipline and emotional well-being. Positive discipline offered us a path where growth replaced guilt, and connection replaced conflict. The transformation wasn’t instant, but it was real—and it continues to shape our emotional world every day.
By Zia Djamel6 days ago in Families
What Fathers Uniquely Provide
The Error of Treating Parenting Roles as Functionally Identical Modern parenting theory often begins with the assumption that mothers and fathers are largely interchangeable, differing only in style or temperament. From this view, any deficits in one parent can be compensated for by the other through increased emotional effort, sensitivity, or presence. Parenting becomes a question of intention and quantity rather than function and role. This assumption is appealing because it aligns with cultural preferences for symmetry and fairness, but it collapses under closer examination of developmental outcomes.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast6 days ago in Families
5 Concepts of Consent To Teach Your Toddlers
My name is Mom - and I am a sexual assault survivor. My first experience with sexual assault happened when I was young enough to have trouble remembering exactly what happened. I remember being under the blankets. I remember the hand. I remember trying to wriggle free, only for that hand to squeeze my leg so hard that it felt like it would break.
By Hope Martin9 days ago in Families
Money ego
Hello everyone, today I'm going to share my story with poverty and how I clung to it. What? Does anyone in their right mind cling to poverty?
By Ashrakat Elnagy9 days ago in Families
Learning How to Show Up for My Aging Parents. AI-Generated.
Opening I didn’t realize how much my relationship with my parents was changing until one day I noticed I was worrying about them the way they used to worry about me. The people who once felt strong, decisive, and endlessly capable were slowing down, forgetting things, and needing help in ways they never had before.
By Clara Lin11 days ago in Families