The Kind of Love That Hurt: Growing Up Scared of My Own Parents

Trigger Warning: Emotional abuse, childhood trauma, family conflict

This work can be difficult to read for people who have been emotionally neglected or had controlling parents. Be gentle with yourself when reading.

 I've always felt like writing this—not for pity, but because sometimes the weight of not-saying anything feels too much to bear. Perhaps someone somewhere grew up like me, learning in silence that love could hurt and family could scar you deeper than strangers ever would. 

My parents never struck me.

But their words struck me. Their silences struck me.

Their expectations cut so deep they left invisible wounds that still throb.

1. Love That Came With Fear

When I was a kid, I believed all families were the same as mine—shouting arguments ringing in the walls, my mother sobbing in the kitchen, my dad bellowing from the hallway, and me standing there shaking, acting as if I wasn't present.

They would call me in to their brawls, even when I was still a kid. I had to be the "peacemaker," attempting to end two grown-ups who never actually wanted peace—just a scapegoat. My father treated my mother with disrespect all the time, and she'd let him get away with it every time. Her excuse? "He's like that because we're poor."

But I've known people poorer than us still kind, still gentle.

She always told me that he loved us—but love shouldn't hurt like cleaning up another person's crap every goddamn day.

2. The Emotional Punching Bag

My mother made me her emotional punching bag. If she was angry, I was the one she targeted.

If she was having a bad day, everything I ever said was wrong.

If I kept quiet, my silence was an affront.

There was never the right way to be around her.

She would frequently tell me, "You don't know how to talk or when to talk."

Perhaps she was right—because how do you learn how to communicate in an environment where listening does not happen.

She never had faith in mental health. Depression was "just a state of mind," in her opinion.

Her cure: "Do something productive, quit sitting in your room, go outside."

But how do you leave when you have no friends, no self-esteem, and social anxiety so bad that breathing is a challenge?

Ironically, she and my dad never allowed me to go anywhere by myself as a kid. And now, when I have trouble with autonomy, they say, "You need to learn to do it yourself."

How cute—being confined your entire life and then criticized for not being able to fly.

3. Pretend Family, Scripted Child

With family and strangers, we were the "perfect family."

My parents had scripts for me—what to say, how to behave, when to smile.

If I strayed even a little, I'd get told later:

"Why did you say that? People will think we're not happy."

They made it sound like we were quiet and introverted by choice.

We didn't go out because we couldn't afford to.

They played proud and secure, and I sat there pretending also, gagging on the hypocrisy.

It stings when you're instructed to conceal your hurt in order not to ruin the reputation of those who inflicted it.

4. The Enduring Contradictions

I was instructed, "Wear what you want."

But when I wore a hoodie and jeans, they informed me, "It does not become you."

Not showing. Not ostentatious. Simply me. But it wasn't satisfactory.

They'd tell you, "You're beautiful the way you are,"

and in the very same breath, "This doesn't look good on your dark skin."

Each choice came with strings unseen.

"Make what you want," but make it subject to their consent.

Freedom was never absolute.

And so I learned to tread carefully—second-guessing every sentence, every step, every outfit, because I knew being me too often caused hurt.

5. The Child Who Carried Everything

After each argument, my parents would laugh and joke as if nothing occurred.

They'd move on, but not me.

I recalled each word, each tone, every night I wept myself to sleep questioning why my family seemed like punishment.

I wasn't permitted to have bad days.

If I was upset, they'd say, "What's wrong with you now?"

Yet they could have meltdowns, arguments, and breakdowns—and I had to be fine.

Always fine.

They took from my savings, promising repayment but never did.

They'd spend money on worthless things and then complain about being poor.

I continued sacrificing, assuming that's what love was—constant giving until there's no more to give.

6. Growing Up Feeling Like the Problem

There's something demoralizing about thinking your presence destroys the tranquility.

That's what I thought.

When all the people around you treat you like you're too much or not enough, eventually you begin to wonder maybe you shouldn't exist at all.

I thought I might be being punished for something I'd done in a previous life.

Perhaps that's why happiness never lingered.

I grew accustomed to pain—it became normal, like breathing.

And even now, when I look around and see my classmates and cousins being free, laughing with their parents, I feel this stinging pain—not rage, only sorrow.

I am glad for them, really. But I cannot help but ask myself, "Why not me?"

I too was a child. I too was worthy of love.

7. Acceptance: When You Stop Searching

I no longer search for peace.

I simply attempt to survive without expectation.

I have accepted that there are people—yes, even parents—who will never change.

They'll hurt you and tell you it was love, break you and demand thanks.

Sometimes I think I've forgiven them.

Other times, I catch myself still being that frightened child, standing in the middle of the hallway while another battle raged on, pleading the universe for quiet.

But perhaps writing this is my healing—accepting that my suffering was not imagined, that my tale was not insignificant even if no one heard it at home.

Final Thoughts

If you've ever felt invisible in your own home, understand this:

You're not crazy. You're not dramatic. You're not ungrateful.

You were a kid who needed to be protected and treated with compassion.

And you still do.

Healing isn't about ignoring it ever happened.

It's about speaking your truth, even if your voice trembles.

Note:

Sorry for not posting. A lot has been going on in my life. Let's just say not good way.

On top of that my dear friend aka my laptop finally thought it was enough working for you. Basically it's broken and as you all know I'm also broke so can't even repair. 

I don't know if I can post frequently but I try my best. Also I will be removing all the meme images cause I just found out that they are not free to use.

Sorry for the trouble. I don't even know if someone will read my blog. But a huge thanks to all the people from all over the world who had been reading my blogs so far.

Thank you so much. I wish you all a great success. ❤️❤️💜💜