Parents publicly called me a disappointment at my graduation speech while praising my sister. Then four years later, they begged me to save her from jail. And when I refused, they tried to convince my grandparents to cut me out of their will.

Graduation night was supposed to be my moment. The big payoff after years of hard work and late nights I put in studying. I was obviously excited as I put on my cap and gown, feeling proud of my accomplishments. I vividly remember it. My name had been on the honor roll every semester and I’d even secured a college scholarship. I thought finally my parents would recognize my efforts and show some appreciation, but I didn’t realize how naive I had been to believe that.

The ceremony was held in the school auditorium decorated with streamers and balloons. The air buzzed with excitement as families gathered to celebrate their children’s achievements. My best friends, who had supported me through thick and thin, were there cheering for me. I scanned the crowd and saw my parents sitting in the front row, beaming with pride—but not for me. They were there for Sarah, my younger sister, who was two grades below me.

As the speeches began, I felt a knot in my stomach. I had a really bad feeling, and I didn’t know why. I still remember I wanted to puke because of how tight my insides were clenching. When my name was called, I walked across the stage, shaking hands with the principal and accepting my diploma. I glanced at my parents, hoping to catch a look of pride in their eyes. But their expressions were indifferent, their attention fixed on Sarah.

Then came the moment that shattered my heart. The principal announced that my parents would give a speech. There was slight hope in my heart, thinking they might finally acknowledge my efforts, but my brain told me otherwise. As soon as they started speaking, my hopes crumbled.

My mother took the microphone first, her voice filled with emotion. She said that they were so blessed to have such an amazing daughter. I was genuinely surprised at that. That was the first time in I don’t know how many years I thought she was praising me, that they were truly proud of me. But then she continued by saying that Sarah has always been a beacon of light in their lives, always making them proud.

The principal tried correcting them by whispering that this was about your elder daughter, but she just nodded her head and continued. She went on to list all of Sarah’s achievements, from her academic awards to her talents in sports and music.

I felt my face flush with embarrassment as I stood there listening to them sing Sarah’s praises, but the worst was yet to come. My father took the microphone and added that they never expected much from their other child and that they were just relieved that Sarah had turned out so well.

No matter how many times they had disappointed me before, this was something I couldn’t comprehend at that moment. I remember my breath going into a frenzy and my friend trying to calm me down by patting my back. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. They had called me a disappointment right there in front of everyone.

At that moment, I felt the ground slip from under my feet. The humiliation was overwhelming. I looked around and saw my friends exchanging uncomfortable glances, the audience whispering among themselves. I wished it was just a really bad nightmare. To this day, I wish I could forget it, but to my dismay, I couldn’t.

Whenever that memory crawls its way into my mind, I can feel my mouth turn bitter and my eyes clench as I shake my head trying to make the memory disappear.

I ran away from there. I couldn’t take it. I reached home and I shut myself in my room. They didn’t come home that day. And that same night, I made a decision. I couldn’t stay in a place where I was constantly overshadowed and belittled to the point of having a panic attack in public—that too, in front of everybody I know and who knows me.

For years, I had spent covering up for them in front of my friends and their parents and also my grandparents. I packed my bags and left for college the very next day. I cut off all contact with my family, but that wasn’t so difficult because they hadn’t tried to contact me at all. Not in these past four years.

I won’t lie, it stung. It more than stung. I cried many nights thinking about how pathetic I was that I couldn’t get my own parents to love me. But when I would wake up the next morning, I would get myself together and do what needed to be done for the day.

I was determined to build a life for myself where I would be valued and respected, and I did. For four years, I poured all my energy into my studies and my career. I worked hard, often staying up late into the night to finish projects and meet deadlines because what would I get out of shedding tears for people who didn’t care about my existence?

I made new friends who appreciated me for who I was. And my name was even published in the newspaper for my professional accomplishments. I felt a sense of pride that I had never felt before. College was a time of growth, self-discovery, and recovery for me.

Eventually, I joined clubs, slowly started taking on leadership roles, and found mentors who guided me along the way. I interned at companies, gained valuable experience, and built a network of professional contacts. I thrived in this new environment, free from the constant comparison to Sarah.

But just when I thought I had left the past behind, it came crashing back into my life. One day, out of the blue, I received a call from my parents.

(…)

It has been 2 months since my last update. I thought that it would be my last update, but no. My parents don’t fail to disappoint.

I didn’t keep any contact with them. However, their attempts to rope me back in have begun again. 2 days ago, I received an email from my parents that left me fuming. I do not know how they found it, but I immediately blocked them after that.

They demanded that I come home immediately because Sarah’s situation had worsened. The tone of the message was far from apologetic. Instead, they blamed me for not stepping in sooner, claiming that I could have prevented everything if only I had been a good daughter.

Now, I haven’t kept any tabs on Sarah or them, so I don’t know what is going on, and neither is it my problem. Their sense of entitlement was infuriating. They seemed to forget all the years of neglect and belittling I had endured. They were angry that their golden child was facing consequences. And in their twisted logic, it was somehow my fault for not saving her.

I didn’t respond to the email. I couldn’t believe they had the sheer audacity of expecting me to drop everything and fix their problems after all they had put me through.

Around the same time, I received a message from a distant relative. She had heard about the situation and felt the need to weigh in. Her message was laced with judgment, suggesting that I was being selfish for not helping my family in their time of need. She implied that family loyalty should come above all else and that I was turning my back on my duty.

I felt like laughing at this one. I replied, asking, “Wasn’t it your son who blocked all contact with you?” with a lot of laughing emojis and then I blocked her everywhere.

It was as if they had forgotten the years of hurt I had endured. The constant comparison to Sarah, the public humiliation at my graduation, the emotional scars that had taken years to heal. They all expected me to sacrifice my mental well-being for the sake of what? Family loyalty.

I had come too far to let them drag me back into their toxic dynamics. Absolutely not.