You know how sometimes you end up being the exact person your family worried you’d become? Yeah, that kinda happened to me. Wasn’t intentional, not really. Just sort of unfolded that way.
It started quite a while back. I was on this track, the one everyone expected. Good school, decent grades, heading towards a ‘sensible’ job. My folks were proud, you could see it. But deep down, it felt wrong. Like wearing clothes that didn’t fit. So, I jumped ship. Didn’t even have a proper plan B, just knew I couldn’t keep going down that road.
I remember the day I told them. My mom cried. My dad… he just got this look. Disappointed isn’t strong enough a word. It was more like I’d personally let him down, shattered some dream he had. There wasn’t much shouting, which honestly might have been easier. It was just this heavy, suffocating quiet. That silence was brutal.
After that, things got frosty. Calls became less frequent. Visits felt awkward, full of unspoken things. I tried to explain my side, show them I wasn’t just throwing my life away, that I had this passion, this thing I really wanted to pursue. But it felt like talking to a brick wall. They just saw the security I’d given up.
So, I focused on my new path. Poured everything into it. It was tough, really tough. Lots of ramen noodles, lots of second-guessing myself in the middle of the night. There were times I almost crawled back, tail between my legs. Almost. But something in me just wouldn’t let me.
For years, I felt like the designated screw-up. The ‘family sinner’, you know? The one who went off-script. Christmas dinners were tense. Weddings and birthdays often involved polite but distant relatives asking ‘what exactly are you doing now?’ with that tone. It stung. Made me feel small.
It wasn’t about hurting them, not really. It was about needing to breathe my own air, make my own mistakes. I had to figure out who I was outside of their expectations. That process? It wasn’t clean or easy. It was messy, involved metaphorical (and sometimes literal) slammed doors.
Things are… different now. Not perfect, mind you. The path I chose eventually started working out, in its own way. Not the way they imagined, but it’s mine. We talk more now. Still some topics we avoid. The disappointment hasn’t vanished entirely, I can still sense it sometimes. But maybe there’s a grudging respect too? Or maybe they’re just tired of worrying. Either way, it’s quieter now. The silence isn’t as heavy. I guess I’m still that person they worried about, but maybe, just maybe, it turned out okay. Or okay enough, anyway.
