I have an older brother, and he is my mother’s golden child. She has never bothered to hide it. From the time I was small, I knew she liked him more. I tried to win her over by mimicking him, but whatever quality she found endearing in my brother, she found annoying in me. Eventually, I gave up.
At least my father treated us as equals. He is, and forever will be, the only normal parent I have. The problem is, his work requires him to travel a lot, leaving me alone with my mother and brother. My mother is a stay-at-home mom, and she used my father’s absence as an opportunity. The moment I’d get home from school, the bullying would begin.
She constantly commented on my appearance, giving me new insecurities daily. I was an exceptionally skinny child, something she relentlessly reminded me was undesirable in a woman. I had glasses and “weird” hair. She, on the other hand, was quite pretty, as was my brother. “I wish you had inherited my genes,” she’d say, “but unfortunately, you’re an ugly duckling.”
My brother was great at sports and academics. I was academically sound but miserable at sports. My mother forced me into athletic activities anyway, believing it would “fix” my body. She force-fed me so much meat to “build me up” that I eventually became a vegetarian just from the nausea. I started wearing my brother’s baggy hand-me-downs to hide my body from her critical gaze.
A few years ago, I discovered the one thing I was truly good at: swimming. It changed my life. I finally had something that was mine. I poured my heart and soul into it, and my body grew toned and strong. My confidence soared. My mother and brother, however, were not thrilled. With fewer things to pick on about my appearance, they found a new method of torture: the Cinderella treatment.
Whenever my father was away, I became their maid. If they saw me relaxing, they would assign me chores until I was doing everything around the house. They’d claim my mother was “getting old” (she was in her 40s) and my brother was “exhausted” from his many school activities. They wanted to wear me down, to make me so tired that I’d have to give up swimming, the one thing that brought me joy.
For a long time, I never told my father. I was a people-pleaser, and I knew he loved my mother deeply—they were high school sweethearts. I couldn’t bear to be the one to tell him what a monster she had become when he wasn’t looking. I also harbored a secret fear that he wouldn’t believe me. So, I suffered in silence.
Recently, that changed. I’m in a few AP classes now, and the workload is intense. My breaking point came two weeks ago. I got my first C on an assignment. The night before it was due, my mom refused to do laundry, and my brother claimed he was too tired, so I had to do it all. It took up a huge chunk of my time, my essay was rushed, and my grade suffered for it.
When I confronted my mother, she was merciless. “It’s your own fault you flunked,” she sneered. “Your brother manages to do everything and still get good grades. Stop making excuses for your own failures.”
That was the last straw. My father had just gotten me a phone for my 16th birthday. I decided then and there that I had to expose them. I had the means, and I was done being their victim.
The day my dad left for his next business trip, I was ready. I set up my phone in my room, pointed at the door, and pressed record. Just as I expected, moments after his car pulled out of the driveway, my mom and brother barged in. They didn’t say please. They just started rattling off a list of chores.
This time, I put my foot down. “No,” I said calmly. “I’m not doing any of it.”
They thought it was a good idea to be nasty, unaware of the camera capturing every word.
“You lazy cow,” my mother spat. “I’m just training you. Given your grades and your laziness, you’ll never amount to anything. It’s pointless for you to study and waste our money.”
My brother joined in. “Just because I can do it all doesn’t mean you can,” he said with a smirk. “You should just stick to household chores. At least it would guarantee you a housekeeper job in the future.”
They said other nasty things, meaner than usual, which was lucky for me. My blood was boiling, but I kept my mouth shut. This was the last time they would ever get to do this. Once they’d had their fun, they left.
I stopped the recording and immediately sent the video to my father. With it, I sent a long message, telling him everything—the years of bullying, the Cinderella treatment, the constant nasty comments, how it was finally affecting my grades. I told him I’d been afraid to speak up for so long.
He hadn’t even been gone an hour. Luckily, he hadn’t boarded his flight yet. He saw my message and replied immediately: Lock yourself in your room. Don’t do anything. I’m coming home.
For 45 minutes, I waited in silence. Then I heard his car in the driveway. Seconds later, I heard yelling. He was screaming at my mom about the video. They tried to pass it off as a prank, but he wasn’t buying it. He had read my message; he knew everything. “I demand an explanation!” he roared.
That’s when my mother realized the jig was up. She started begging and apologizing, but my dad cut her off. “I know the real reason you treat her this way,” he said, his voice dangerously low. I still don’t know what he meant by that.
They went into their bedroom and argued for half an hour. When they emerged, my mother was packing her bags, sobbing hysterically. My dad told my brother to go with her, and he agreed without question. After they left, it was just me and my dad.
“You’re safe now,” he told me, his face grim. “You won’t have to put up with your mother anymore.” The next day, he told me he was filing for divorce.
I was happy they were getting divorced. My mother and brother had made me miserable for 16 years. I was proud of myself for finally standing up to them.
Then, a few days ago, my maternal grandparents called. They have always been an extension of my mother, and I’ve never liked them. As soon as I answered, they started yelling.
“You are a curse on this family!” my grandmother screamed. “Everyone would be better off without you! You ruined your mother’s life!” They called me ungrateful, revealing that my mother had several complications during her pregnancy with me.
“Your mother brought you into this world at the risk of her own life!” my grandma shrieked. “Not so you could ruin her marriage! I wish she had terminated the pregnancy like I suggested!”
My grandpa twisted the knife further. “Are you happy now?” he sneered. “You have the house all to yourself.”
I tried to defend myself, to tell them it was never my intention, but they hung up and blocked me. Since then, I’ve been racked with guilt. I know they were trying to manipulate me, but a small part of me feels like the worst person on Earth.
After that phone call, I talked to my dad. I told him the only reason I never spoke up was because I didn’t want to make anyone unhappy. He suggested I start therapy, and I agreed. I have a lot of issues to work through.
A few days ago, I finally got the answer to why my mother hated me. I asked my dad about what he’d said during their argument—that he knew the “real reason” she treated me so badly. He finally told me.
I was an unwanted pregnancy.
My mom was done after one kid. When she found out about me, she wanted to terminate. My dad was upset by the idea, so she decided to keep me, but only for his sake. The pregnancy was difficult, and she had a lot of complications. After I was born, she never felt connected to me. He thought it was postpartum depression, that it would go away with time. It never did.
We both cried as he told me. Even though I had guessed it, it still hurt to hear it confirmed. He told me he felt responsible for everything I had been through. We hugged, and for the first time, I felt like a weight had been lifted. The truth was finally out. I don’t owe my mother anything.
I’ve been in therapy for a couple of weeks now, both solo sessions and sessions with my dad to rebuild our relationship. The divorce proceedings have started. A few days ago, my mom and brother came to collect the last of their things. They avoided eye contact and didn’t speak a word to me. I am thankful for that. They can hate me all they want. They brought this on themselves. All I care about now is my dad, my future, and living my life to the fullest.