I’m writing this because I honestly can’t tell if I finally stood up for myself, or if I crossed a line I can’t take back.
I grew up with constant health problems: endless ER visits, breathing treatments, and testing. The year things got really bad was the year my younger sister, Zadie, was born. My parents, Laurel and Victor, were completely wrapped up in being “perfect” new parents. They essentially handed me off to my grandma, Nanette.
Nanette was the one who sat with me through procedures. My parents were usually off taking cute baby photos. Whenever I asked why they weren’t there, they’d simply say, “Your sister needs us more right now.”
As I got older, the favoritism never changed. Zadie got camps, new electronics, and even a car. I, on the other hand, received lectures about being “too expensive” because of my fragile health—something I never chose or controlled. By the time I left home at 18, I had learned not to expect anything from them.
Yesterday, my mom called. She said my dad had significant medical bills and they “really needed my help.” Stupidly, a tiny part of me actually lit up, thinking they finally saw me as someone they could rely on. I said yes.
But I couldn’t send the money. Every time I tried, all I could picture was my younger self in a hospital bed, wondering why I wasn’t worth their time. Then my dad called, irritated, demanding I “step up.”
So, instead of refusing outright, I texted them Zadie’s address and number and wrote: “You always chose her. Ask her for help.” Then I blocked them.
I didn’t feel triumphant. Just empty. Now, my relatives are blowing up my phone, calling me heartless, selfish, and ungrateful. One even said, “This is why they favored Zadie.” That stung more than I care to admit.
Did I finally protect the kid they abandoned? Or did I become cruel without meaning to? I honestly can’t tell anymore.
