Growing Up When Your Parents Weren’t Really There
When you’re raised by people who are too wrapped up in themselves to truly see you, you learn to take up as little space as possible.
You quiet your voice.
You shrink your needs.
You become background noise in your own life.
And somewhere deep inside, a quiet question begins to form:
“What about me?”
A Father Who Felt Like a Stranger
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My dad was never really “gone”—but he wasn’t ever truly there either. He’d reappear now and then—birthdays, Christmas, and the odd family gathering—like a distant relative dropping by out of obligation. His presence felt unfamiliar… awkward… shallow.
He didn’t know me. And honestly? I didn’t know him either.
Every time he showed up, it felt like a strange man was making cameos in my life. His visits were never about me. I felt more like a checkbox than a child—something he could say he “checked in on.”
There was no depth. No real connection. No care.
Even in his presence, I felt completely invisible. Every conversation put my mind through constant somersaults—always on edge, trying to figure out how to act, what to say, and silently counting down the minutes until it was over.
A Mother Still Trying to Grow Up Herself
My mom was physically there for me, but emotionally she was still just a girl—one who hadn’t been properly loved, and who was now trying to make sense of her own pain in real-time.
She needed attention. Validation. Relief. And most of her energy went toward finding those things.
She wasn’t cruel. But she was overwhelmed.
She couldn’t carry both her wounds and mine.
So mine got left behind.
When I expressed needs or feelings, it was “too much.”
When I tried to be seen, it was like I was asking for something unreasonable.
So I learned not to ask.
I learned to disappear.
I Became the Easy One
I didn’t act out. I didn’t stir the pot. I became “the strong one,” the quiet one, the one who knew better than to expect too much.
But I wasn’t strong.
I was just surviving.
Surviving a childhood that didn’t center me, didn’t nurture me, didn’t give me space to be fully human.
I Didn’t Need Perfect—Just Present
I didn’t need a flawless dad. I needed one who noticed me.
I didn’t need my mom to be whole. I needed her to see me.
But instead, I learned that love came with limits. That I had to earn attention. That I had to be “good” to be tolerated—and even then, I often felt like too much.
So I stayed small. And I kept wondering: when is it my turn to matter?
Healing Means Telling the Truth
I’ve spent years untangling myself from the quiet lies I believed:
That I was too emotional.
That I should be grateful for scraps.
That my story wasn’t worth speaking out loud.
But here’s the truth:
My needs were real.
My pain is valid.
And my healing is mine to claim.
I’m Finally Answering That Question: What About Me?
That little kid inside me—the one who felt unseen, unimportant, and unworthy—is finally getting what they needed.
Not from the people who failed to give it…
But from me.
Now, I get to say:
You were never too much.
You mattered then, and you matter now.
You didn’t deserve neglect or silence.
And you don’t have to live from that place anymore.
If your childhood felt more like a supporting role in someone else’s drama…
If your father felt more like a stranger than a protector…
If your mother was too wounded to care for your heart…
You are not alone.
And you’re not invisible.
It’s okay to ask, even now: “What about me?”
Because the answer is clear:
You matter. You always did.
And now, you get to live like it.
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