For four years, I have been married. Except for my sister, Molen, and my parents, everyone went to the wedding. My parents’ decision to skip the event was startling, but I wasn’t overly shocked by my sister’s absence because we’ve never really gotten along.
The Golden Child
I can’t completely blame my parents for constantly favoring my sister over me. Throughout her life, she has been exceptionally good at almost everything. She was the center of attention in every room she visited. She won every spelling bee, science fair, and talent show. In high school, she was class president, valedictorian, and prom queen. Tall, slender, and attractive, she pursued modeling while in college before concentrating on her business degree. I can still remember the lavish party my parents threw when she got her first modeling job. Her first professional headshot was framed and hung in our living room, where it remains to this day, directly above the fireplace.
The same year, I received my degree in computer science. They merely murmured, “Well done,” and resumed organizing Molen’s next photo session. After graduating, she immediately climbed the corporate ladder. At 30, she is already a senior executive with a corner office and a corporate car.
In the meantime, I work as a mid-level software developer. It’s a decent profession, but not the type of employment that makes parents boast. In addition, I’m bigger and shorter than my sister. My mother made crude remarks about my appearance, signed me up for workout classes I didn’t want to attend, and put me on diets all the time. “Molen never struggles with her weight,” she would say, or “You could look as nice as your sister if you just put in a little more effort.”
I ultimately came to terms with the fact that my parents never took as much delight in my accomplishments as they did in Molen’s. I tried to get their approval for years, but nothing was ever sufficient. I was merely the second daughter.
Sometime in my mid-20s, I gave up trying to impress them. I concentrated on creating my own life, growing professionally, and forming bonds with individuals who respected me for who I am.
Then, at a computer conference, I met my husband. He noticed me, actually saw me. He liked my dry sense of humor, my ability to code, and yes, even my body type. He never once said I should change or made comparisons. After four years of dating, he proposed. It was flawless.
The Wedding Snub
Naturally, I told my folks I was engaged. Their response should have been my first clue. There was no congratulation, only stillness. My mother then questioned whether I was certain and recommended that I might want to “improve my physical condition” before the wedding.
During the engagement party, my husband noted their odd reaction. They crouched over my mother’s phone in a corner for most of the evening. My husband then informed me that he had heard them talking to Molen, who was clearly crying. They were talking about how this “wasn’t the plan” and how they “never expected Rebecca to get married first.”
Despite not even being engaged at the time, my mother had already made many wedding Pinterest boards for Molen and was not interested in assisting me. When I selected my dress—a straightforward yet exquisite A-line gown that made me feel lovely—my mother merely remarked that it was “practical and suitable for my figure.” My future mother-in-law and I ended up working together on most of the preparations.
I carefully reviewed and double-checked the guest list before sending out both electronic and paper wedding invitations. I am certain my parents received theirs because the electronic invitations included read receipts. After realizing they hadn’t RSVP’d, I called, texted, and emailed them several times. My messages were either ignored or met with evasive responses.
The wedding day itself was beautiful, but there were times when their absence felt like a physical anguish, such as when I saw the front row seats empty or at the father-daughter dance that I was not able to attend.
After the honeymoon, I sought answers. When I eventually reached them on the phone, my mother launched into a lengthy tirade about how careless I was and how she couldn’t comprehend why I would leave them out of such a significant occasion. I was perplexed, as I was positive we had sent them both kinds of invitations. During the call, I verified that we had indeed sent them. I didn’t confront them about their attempts to gaslight me; I just said I was sorry for the “error” and hung up.
The idea that I, the less successful daughter, was getting married before their beloved Molen was too much for them to bear. Their demeanor simply served to validate what I had always suspected: I would never be able to compete with my sister in their eyes.
The Fallout
Molen recently got engaged. My parents are openly expressing their excitement about organizing an elaborate wedding for her, boasting about securing upscale locations and luxury gowns. It’s intriguing that a large number of our family are suddenly refusing to go. My parents’ actions at my wedding apparently became a topic of conversation. When family members inquire as to why my parents didn’t attend my wedding, I just tell them what I think is real: they couldn’t bear it when I married before their beloved daughter.
My parents got in touch with me a few days ago and accused me of purposefully attempting to spoil Molen’s wedding. They claim that because I’m envious, I’m spreading false stories. The problem is that I’m only telling folks the truth.
I ultimately made the decision to speak with my parents face-to-face. They quickly started making accusations, saying that I was jealous of Molen and had planned the entire thing. I did something I had never done before: I agreed with them, but not in the way they had anticipated.
“You’re correct,” I said. “I’m envious. Not of Molen’s career, not her accomplishments, not her appearance. I’m envious of the unwavering love and support you’ve shown her, which you never even made an effort to show me.”
There was a pause. My mother then began claiming that I was exaggerating and that they had always treated us equally. Something broke inside of me. Feelings that had been repressed for years came flooding out. I informed them of each birthday when Molen’s most recent success eclipsed my own, about how my mother canceled my high school graduation dinner for Molen’s modeling callback, about how her prom outfit cost more than my college textbooks for a year.
Their reaction was instructive. They flipped it on me. “Why did you never speak up if you felt this way?” my mother insisted, as if I hadn’t tried for years.
Then, my mother said something that ultimately clarified everything. “We never imagined you’d go to such lengths as to try to ruin Molen’s wedding out of spite, but we always knew you were insecure about her success.”
I became aware that they couldn’t even hear me. They were more worried about her impending nuptials than the hurt they had caused me.
“You’re correct on one point,” I told them. “You instilled in me the belief that I would never measure up. But you also taught me that I deserve better than this, which was something you didn’t mean to teach me.”
I just hung up. I was surprised to feel relieved after the call. For the first time, I had expressed everything I needed to say without holding back.
A Sister’s Meddling
Three days later, Molen made the decision to get involved, but her strategy failed horribly. She sent me a condescending text: What you said to your parents was totally inappropriate… I understand that your wedding wasn’t exactly what you had envisioned, but that doesn’t mean you should try to destroy mine.
I didn’t bother to answer. I just blocked her number.
Unable to get in touch with me directly, she found my husband’s personal number and sent him a string of texts. She informed him that he had an obligation to “help me behave in a more suitable manner.” The messages became increasingly patronizing. Family dynamics are complex, she told my husband, a professional software architect with an MBA, adding that someone with Rebecca’s sensitivity might not understand the bigger picture.
The true kicker was her attempt to play on what she believed to be his social-climbing impulses. Surely you understand, she wrote, that maintaining good relationships with successful family members like myself could be beneficial for your future. Rebecca’s behavior is only hurting her own prospects and, by extension, yours.
My husband thought her attempt at manipulation was humorous. In his own words, “She really doesn’t know me at all, does she?”
His response was ideal. He merely replied: Thank you for your concern about Rebecca’s well-being. As her husband, I’m focused on supporting her happiness, not managing her behavior. I think it’s best if you direct any future concerns to Rebecca directly. Have a nice day.
Molen sent one last message: I see she’s poisoned you against the family too. Don’t say I didn’t try to help when this all blows up in your faces.
The Crumbling Facade
Two weeks later, things took another unanticipated turn. My parents have been on a mad quest to correct the narrative, phoning each relative and accusing me of spreading vile tales because I’m envious. According to their most recent tale, I purposefully left them out of my wedding so I could act like the victim. They’re saying I sent their invitation to an old email and physical address, even though they’ve lived in the same house for 30 years.
The good news is that their attempts are failing miserably. A number of family members have shared their own accounts of my parents’ history of partiality. Important family members have stopped supporting Molen’s wedding. They may no longer have access to the exclusive location they were able to get through family ties.
At a family get-together last weekend, things reached a breaking point. When someone naively inquired about my wedding pictures, my mother became upset and started a defensive tirade about how I had “changed” and was attempting to “destroy the family.” Her tantrum backfired, stunning a number of relatives.
It’s especially ironic that my parents’ frantic efforts to maintain their ideal family facade are the reason it’s falling apart.
I’m doing better than ever personally. I no longer have to worry about winning my parents’ approval. The stress of managing Molen’s emotions has subsided. For the first time in my life, I’m not concerned about upholding their ideal family image. Sometimes, the best retaliation is just letting the truth speak for itself.