Letter to my parents:

by Girlinshadows (Theheroiccouplet)

 

Dear (name) and (name),

Excuse me for not addressing you as mother and father. You see, it didn’t feel right, since you practically never played that role in my life. Grandma and Grandpa raised me. I was never the kind of child who would cry in kindergarten because they needed their mommies. I learned not to cry when I needed help. I learned that you weren’t going to be there when I needed you. When I was sick, you told me I couldn’t stay at home. You both were doctors, so you didn’t believe we ever had any important illness, unless we had cancer. When I wasn’t feeling well, grams was the one who made me hot teas. At the age of six, I already knew too well what and how much medication I should be taking when I got sick.

If you were to ask me to describe being the youngest child in one word, I would use the word neglect. You taught both my sisters how to ride a bike, but were too indifferent to teach me how to do so. Riding a bike is such a necessity and such a joy in every child’s life. But you had already taught two other kids how to do so and were too tired to do it once more. I was always missing out on group bike rides, and now I am a teen who doesn’t know how to ride a damn bike, and boy is that humiliating.

You were never home. Yet you always believed you knew me so well; you still do. You think you know everything about me, but you know nothing. You know not of the times I cried all alone. You know not of the boys that broke my heart. You know not of the times when I fought with my best friends. I’m sure you don’t even know what my favorite color is. Or my favorite food, my talents, my friends. You don’t know a single thing about me. But still you feel like you know me well enough to judge and criticize me. You feel like you know me well enough to be able to yell at me and tell me what decisions I should make. I think it’s safe to say my sisters have been more of parents to me than you ever have.

Work to you was always first. You worked, and worked, and there were days when I wouldn’t see you at all. The moment a parent prioritizes something over their own child, they instantly fail at parenting. And that’s what you have done. You have failed, and I am terribly sorry to be saying that. Remember that time when I called you, begging you to pick me up from my lesson, because it was raining so much that I would’ve collapsed if I kept walking? Remember how you said no, because you didn’t want to leave work for ten minutes, even though it would have taken me half an hour to go walking? Remember how you yelled at me after, because I got my books wet, even though I almost got pneumonia? Of course you don’t remember. But I do; I still have nightmares about it. And I’m still traumatized. But you wouldn’t know that; you don’t even know me. Doctors should not be having children. Especially since you both were doctors, and especially since you already had two other kids, which you could barely take care of.

And what about all the pressure you put on me? You never talked to me about anything rather than school. “Have you brought any tests back?” That was always the question you’d ask when we’d spend any time together. See, the problem here is, you never wanted me to get good grades because it would help me in the future. You wanted me to do so, so that you could showoff to your friends. Let me just say, that a good parent is not defined by their children’s grades, which is something you never quite understood. You wanted me to get straight A’s, so that people would say “The doctors’ child is so bright, they’ve done such a good job”. But little would these people know, that deep inside neither of you believed in me. In fact, it wasn’t even deep inside, you told me so a couple of times. You told me how, all I can ever achieve is to be a farmer, or a nurse, or a beautician. I pay all kinds of respects to these professions, and I would actually not mind practicing any of them. But the way you said it, was what bothered me. And you, mother, once told me “We never really believed in you, so you don’t have to worry about succeeding”.

And if you ever do read this letter, don’t try to fix things between us. That was not my purpose when I wrote this. This is no longer a cry for help. I don’t need help anymore. I’ve grown to be independent, which is one benefit I got throughout this whole struggle. I am no longer interested in having a healthy relationship with either of you. You’ve had your chance. Now it’s too late.

 

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