When I told my parents I wouldn’t be giving them money, they called me ungrateful. My mom said, “We struggled so you could have a better life.” But the truth is, I never had a better life growing up. I spent most of my childhood worrying about bills, food, and whether the lights would stay on.
Now that I finally earn a decent living, I’ve decided to protect my savings instead of trying to fix the damage caused by their choices. Hi, thank you for reading my story! Please tell me if I’m in the wrong here because it’s been weighing on my mind.
My parents were already poor when they decided to bring two children into the world. They always said we were “just going through a rough patch” and that things would eventually get better. But that “rough patch” lasted my entire childhood.
We lived in humiliating poverty. Birthdays were nothing more than simple meals at home—no gifts, no parties, just a hug and maybe a handmade card. My dad jumped from one petty job to another, never able to land anything stable or well-paying.
My mom used to paint, but after having kids, she mostly stayed home. We had no savings, no sense of security—just a constant cycle of stress and scarcity. While other kids went on Disney trips, I was learning how to budget and stretch food supplies.
People like to say growing up poor teaches you appreciation, but for me, it only taught how exhausting it is to live in survival mode every single day. I wanted out. I studied hard, took extra classes after school, and worked part-time jobs just to have a bit of pocket money.
As soon as I could, I moved out. Now, in my late 20s, I’m a doctor with financial stability for the first time in my life. It took years of college, student loans, sleepless nights, and relentless effort, but I’m proud of what I’ve achieved.
Sometimes I feel guilty for leaving my younger sister behind—she’s five years younger—but I remind myself that she’s not my responsibility, and neither are my parents. When my parents found out I was doing well, I got a call from my mom. She begged for money, saying, “Dad’s sick!
Please help.” I was startled at first, but then I steadied myself and said no. It felt like they were trying to drag me back into the same financial hole I’d worked so hard to escape. I knew that if I gave in once, they’d never stop asking.