At my sister’s graduation, I felt absolutely ashamed of my own parents. They denigrated me in front of everyone, even our closest friends and relatives. This was supposed to be only about Elena, my older sister. She was excited to start her new path, having recently graduated from college and secured an amazing job. When my parents stood up to speak in her honor, I expected them to make appropriate remarks. I was not surprised when, during their address, they included Elena as one of their greatest blessings. I was old enough by then to recognize that my parents adored Elena more than they loved me. She had always been the more gifted daughter, and my parents would constantly compare me to her.
Then my parents began to joke in their speech about how they should have stopped having children after Elena. They argued that second-borns are usually useless and that if they only had Elena, they could have spent more time and effort on her. Hearing them say such awful things openly and casually while I was sitting right there stunned me. I searched the room, hoping that someone, anybody, would notice how disturbing their statements were, but all I saw were the faces of my relatives, laughing along as if this horrible simile were simply light entertainment.
This was not an isolated incident. It reinforced what I had long suspected: I was considered a distant afterglow, whereas my older sister would always be the daughter they adored. Growing up, I became accustomed to our household’s implied preference. They frequently forgot my birthday, and on more than one occasion, they were on business trips, leaving me alone. They would never miss Elena’s moment.
As an opinionated youngster, my parents regularly informed me that I was disruptive or unpleasant. I was labeled problematic because I did not fit the quiet, restrained mold they appeared to like. Elena’s calm temperament, on the other hand, was constantly lauded. Over the years, I tried to fit the picture my parents seemed to want, but it became clear that I couldn’t simply shape myself into Elena’s clone. I eventually gave up.
All of those occurrences, as devastating as they were, had at least remained within our household. I was amazed at how casually they exposed everything at the graduation ceremony. What hurt me even more was that no one in my entire family showed displeasure or told my parents how inappropriate this was.
After my parents cracked those jokes at my expense, they continued to laud Elena. Then they brazenly announced that they had bought her a brand new automobile as a graduation present. The room erupted in applause. The three of them were really content. I felt like an outsider in my own family.
After that awful speech, I addressed my parents. For years, I had silently endured their favoritism and scorn. But that evening, I had reached a breaking point. I mustered the courage to speak up, hoping that my parents would see how deeply their act had hurt me.
I received a cold, scornful response. Rather than offering sorrow or an apology, they told me I was exaggerating. My father went so far as to remark that he had nothing to be proud of when it came to me and that I should not hold it against them if they were disappointed with who I was. My mother, on the other hand, told me to stop overreacting and pointed out that I was being overly needy.
The matter even resurfaced to Elena, who defended my parents. She said something that truly hit home: “I shouldn’t have been so outraged by their graduation speech because it was merely a harmless jest. If you had studied and worked hard like I did, you could make them proud as well.” It was dreadful to learn I hadn’t worked hard enough to earn their respect.
Looking back, that conversation turned things around. I realized then that I was done trying to win their approval. I immersed myself in my studies, focusing on creating my own destiny. Two years later, all of my hard work paid off when I was accepted on a full scholarship to my dream institution. This was entirely my own accomplishment.
When I gave my parents the news, they were almost as astonished as if they had never expected me to attend college in the first place. Elena scrutinized my admission letter twice, as if she didn’t believe I was capable of doing things on my own. My mother then turned my mood sour by saying that it was a good thing I had received a full scholarship because they hadn’t set aside any college funds for me anyway.
When it was time to move out, I simply packed my belongings and left. I made a determined decision to cut off all contact with Elena and my parents. I felt no need to explain my intentions. My family contacted me frequently over the next few weeks and months, but their communications were filled with attempts to mislead me into believing I was the one acting erratically. I never bothered to respond.
My college experience has been quite positive. I’ve been able to devote my full attention to my studies, hobbies, and connections with people who love and see me for who I am. Yesterday, I received an unexpected email from my parents. They had some bad news to tell me. Despite everything, my chest tightened. Fear crept in.
I called them back immediately. The news was about Elena, who was going through a difficult personal situation. They stated that she had been dealing with drug addiction, which had severely impacted her life. She had lost her job, spent her savings, and was now left with no resources. I had no idea.
My father then asked me in a mistrustful tone, “You didn’t introduce her to drugs back then, did you?” The implication surprised and disgusted me. How could I bring drugs to my older sister? I hadn’t spoken with her or the rest of my family in years.
Throughout our conversation, I noticed that my parents were more concerned with the shame that would befall the family than with expressing concern for Elena. My mother appeared fascinated with her immaculate daughter’s clandestine actions. My mother begged me to return home so I could assist them in caring for Elena. “I mean, what do we even do?” she implored. “I feel so ashamed of her. So maybe you can talk to her for us?”
“I can’t help Elena,” I stated bluntly. “She needs professional help. The finest and most compassionate thing you could do is to admit her to a treatment facility.”
But my father immediately rejected the idea of sending her to rehab, nearly trembling at the thought of their family’s good name being tarnished. He was obsessed with the possibility of their reputation being harmed. Dad insisted that I return home and that the three of us work together to care for Elena, putting her under constant observation to prevent a relapse.
I was outraged and incredulous. My sister was plainly suffering from something serious, yet they still struggled to do the proper thing. On top of that, they were now attempting to entice me back in, urging me to maintain this family front. I claimed I needed some time to think. Part of me wants to see what I can do for Elena, but another side of me is selfish, allowing my parents to manage their Golden Child on their own.
After considerable internal thought, I decided to contact Elena. It was critical to hear from her directly. First, I texted her a short note asking if she wanted to chat. She responded some hours later but only agreed to a phone call.
The voice on the other end of the telephone seemed like a shadow of the sister I knew. Elena’s tone was softer and more careful. She slowly revealed that she had fought with addiction for several years. It began shortly after college when she began working for a law firm and struggled to maintain her status. She felt she couldn’t stop, slow down, or get treatment because she had to live up to the expectations everyone had for her. When the stress got unbearable, a friend recommended using recreational drugs to unwind. What began as intermittent use had devolved into reliance.
Elena also stated that she felt imprisoned for the longest time. She couldn’t tell her parents she was struggling since she knew how they would react. She felt alone. She wondered whether I was criticizing her as harshly as she was analyzing herself, and she expressed her embarrassment for even discussing this with me.
It hurt my heart to hear her story. I’d never realized that the platform our parents had set her on was a prison rather than a privilege. She had been bearing the suffocating weight of being their Golden Child, whereas I had been dealing with the pain of being overlooked. Our parents’ focus on control and favoritism had harmed each of us in different ways.
As a result, I expressed my regret that she had not communicated her feelings with me. My only regret is that I was not with her.