This whole situation still feels unreal, and honestly, I am still pissed off, but also kind of numb. I need outside eyes to look at this because my brain is spiraling.
Growing up, my sister was always the favorite. And not in a subtle “oh, they still love us both” way; she was the sun, the moon, and the stars in their world, and I was just simply there, standing in the shadows. Every single birthday, every teenage crisis, every little incident—she got all the attention, all the praise, the constant bailing-out, and the comforting “oh, honey, don’t worry.”
By the time I turned 19, I made a choice: cool, love that for you guys, but I’m completely out. I packed up my own stuff, left, and meticulously built my entire life. I paid my own bills, screwed up, and then fixed the messes—always alone. There were no hard feelings at the time, just a necessary, life-preserving distance.
Fast-forward to last week. My dad called me out of nowhere, his voice trembling on the phone with genuine fear. He said they were significantly behind on their house payments and desperately needed $5,000 immediately, or they might actually lose the house.
I swear, my first reaction was this deeply bitter laugh I didn’t even know was sitting lodged in my chest. I literally snapped and said, “Why are you calling me? Call your princess, not me!” He quickly hung up the phone.
Later, though, I found out the part that truly broke my brain: before calling me, they first tried to convince my sister—their precious favorite—to reach out to me to ask me for the money, because she didn’t have the funds herself. Like… excuse me?
The very same sister whose entire life has been a relentless tornado for years? The one they defended nonstop? The one they’d never once admit was consistently making bad choices? That sister?
They never once complained about fully supporting her life. They never once acknowledged the blatant favoritism that defined our childhood. They never once asked her to step up or take any responsibility. But now, suddenly, I am the “responsible” one, and it is squarely on me to fix everything? After years of essentially being the family afterthought, their absolute last resort?
I am not made of money, by the way. I’m doing fine, I am secure in my life, but I am certainly not “drop five grand on parents who utterly ignored me” fine. I genuinely cannot tell if I was too harsh on my father when I said what I did, or if setting this firm boundary was long, long overdue, or if I am completely missing some crucial perspective because my childhood mess is still coloring everything I see.
Was that a truly wrong move on my part? Or is it perfectly fair to finally say, “Nope, this is no longer my circus to fix”?
