Family Quilt

These are personal stories expressed from the perspective of the authors from around the world thus contributing perspectives of many cultures. The object is to learn from such diverse voices. We hope these stories of love, grief,  determination, and resilience foster empathy and insight on how to more effectively manage our family dynamics. We do basic fact checking to assure that the stories are based on real incidents related to the author. The author can choose to be anonymous. We ask the authors to be respectful while not losing the authenticity of the take-away from the story. The story is the opinion of the author and not of the Foundation. Share you story.

  • Raised by a Stranger
    I don’t remember the last time my parents tucked me into bed. Maybe when I was three or four. But even then, I think it was Alina, my nanny, who held my hand as I drifted off to sleep. My parents are always busy—meetings, flights, late-night calls. They live in the same house as me,… Read more: Raised by a Stranger
  • The Space She Left Behind
    The world feels quieter now. Not in the way that bedtime silence settles over a room, but in a way that stretches through every moment, filling spaces where a voice used to be, where laughter once lived. The mornings aren’t the same. There’s no soft humming in the kitchen, no gentle hands smoothing out wrinkles… Read more: The Space She Left Behind
  • A life in two worlds: NYC apartment & my Jersey house
    Having divorced parents is a complex experience—one that shapes the way you view family, love, and stability. It’s not necessarily a tragic story, nor is it always an easy one. It’s an experience that comes with contradictions: relief and sadness, love and resentment, independence and longing. I was young when my parents split, too young… Read more: A life in two worlds: NYC apartment & my Jersey house
  • The Art of Being Perfect
    In a world where everything glittered, I was the polish that made it shine brighter. Or at least, that’s what I was raised to be. Perfection wasn’t an option; it was an expectation. My mother didn’t just demand it—she built it, sculpted it, shaped it into every inch of my being. I was her finest… Read more: The Art of Being Perfect
  • Labeled a Brat, Built for More
    If there was one word people used to describe me as a child, it was stubborn. I had opinions, and I made sure everyone knew them. If I wanted something and someone told me no, I didn’t just accept it—I fought for it. Loudly. Dramatically. Sometimes with tears, sometimes with arguments that made absolutely no sense… Read more: Labeled a Brat, Built for More
  • My Dad owns the Coffer
    After my grandmother died, my aunt and I cleared out her home. It was a very tiny place, and we liked to refer to it as a cottage. There wasn’t much space, but it took my aunt and me about two years to fully empty it due to the sheer amount of stuff my grandmother… Read more: My Dad owns the Coffer