The Forgotten Generation of Women

Disclaimer: This post contains themes of loss and grief.

Today’s post is on a more somber note, but it carries a message that I feel needs to be spoken out loud.

Earlier today, I attended the memorial of a mother of someone very dear to me—and it stirred something deep within. Her story reminded me of the forgotten generation of women who have, in many ways, beenpushed into the shadows.

The woman we honored today was widowed in her late 20s. She had once been sheltered, supported, and loved deeply by a man her son described as one of the best husbands and fathers. And then, suddenly, she was alone. Left to raise three young children during the early 1970s—a time that offered little support, even less understanding, and almost no safety net for women in her position.

I couldn’t help but think of a distant relative of mine who experienced something heartbreakingly similar. She too was widowed—except she was in a foreign country, barely fluent in the language, and left to raise five underage children on her own. No family. No parents. No handouts. Just survival.

What makes these women’s stories even more painful is the weight of expectation they carried. Many South Asian women—including those from the Indo-Guyanese diaspora—were raised in cultures where a woman’s role was deeply tied to her marriage. The husband was the provider, the protector, the one who made life stable. These women weren’t taught how to manage bank accounts, navigate legal systems, or fight for housing rights. They were taught to keep the home, raise the children, and hold the family together—with love, not logistics. So when their worlds were turned upside down, they weren’t justgrieving a partner—they were being forced into a role they had never been prepared for.

On top of that, they were doing all of this in countries that weren’t theirs. Countries where their accents were mocked, their qualifications dismissed, and their traditions misunderstood. Some came to the UK. Some to Canada. Others to the US. Often through arranged marriages, they boarded ships or planes and arrived in places they’d only read about in letters. They left behind the familiar smells of home, the voices of their mothers, the comfort of their language—and landed in cities where the cold bit through their saris, and silence became the loudest sound in the room.

The more I hear stories like these, the more I recognize the invisible threads connecting them. These women weren’t just mothers—they were warriors in silence. They faced unimaginable challenges and yet, somehow, they endured. They made it work.

It’s hard not to compare their reality to ours. Many of us—especially those of us in the “zillenial” generation—are still figuring life out. We're still grappling with what it means to be adults in a world that feels like it was built to keep us off balance. And even with all the resources we do have, the world still feels overwhelming.

Now imagine stepping into that world as a young woman, grieving the loss of your partner, carrying the weight of your children, and navigating a foreign land where nothing feels familiar. These women didn’t grow up here. They weren’t raised in its systems or supported by its structures. Yet, they carried on—quietly, powerfully.

There were so many of them. And we hardly speak their names.

My heart aches for them. But it also swells with admiration.They are a forgotten generation of women—but they are a force of nature.They deserve to be seen. They deserve to be remembered. ❤️