I Was Slapped In Front Of Everyone Just Because I Cried At A Funeral- Lady shares her sad story.

I was just 16 when it happened , a moment burned into my memory forever. My mother didn’t hit me because I misbehaved not  because I broke a plate and not because I talked back. She slapped me… because I cried for my father because I missed him.

That hot July afternoon, I learned something devastating that I hadn’t just lost my dad. I had lost both my parents because of how my mother behave and reacted to that incident.

My father wasn’t just a dad. He was my safe place. My anchor. Every day after school, I’d wait by the gate, just to catch him the second he got home. His smile? It made the air lighter and he didn’t just walk into rooms — he brought peace with him.

But then came that morning. 5:17 a.m. A knock on the door . Three strangers stood there at the door and one of them muttered, “Madam… sorry o. We just dey come from General Hospital. E be like say your husband—”She didn’t let him finish. She screamed and Collapsed and just like that, our world ended.

We were told that it was a trailer accident with faulty brakes. He was in the front seat and he died on impact.

The funeral came and went in a blur. Mourners filled our home. Condolences poured in. But my mum? She didn’t cry. She cooked. She swept. She prayed and smiled politely. But she never cried.

But me on the other hand ,I did every single night. Quiet sobs into my pillow. Clutching my father’s shirt like a lifeline. Begging God for just one dream — one glimpse of him.

Then one afternoon, I was doing dishes. Tears welled up and fell into the sink. I didn’t even stop scrubbing. Until—
SLAP. A burning sting across my face.

I looked up, stunned. My mother was shaking. “Will you stop that nonsense?! You think you’re the only one who lost someone?! Cry again and I’ll give you a real reason!”

I froze. Not out of strength. But because something inside me went numb. That was the day I stopped crying. Not because the pain left  but because I felt like my pain didn’t matter anymore.

Time passed and the crowd disappeared. The food dwindled. School fees became whispers of stress. And then one night, I heard it — my mother. Crying in the bathroom. Not loud. Not obvious. That quiet, suffocating kind of cry. The kind that sounds like someone trying not to drown. So That night, I understood everything.

She didn’t slap me because she hated me. She slapped me because she didn’t know how to fall apart. She was holding in the ocean with bare hands and I was the reminder that she was failing.

Today, I’m in my twenties. I still miss my dad every day. But now I get it,  some people survive grief by pretending it never existed. They don’t cry. Because if they start they might never stop.

So next time someone lashes out, seems cold, or shuts down pause, look closer. Is it anger? Or is it pain disguised as survival?

Have you ever been slapped by someone else’s grief when all you needed was love?
Let’s talk. Let’s heal. Drop your thoughts below.