Content Warning: This includes self-hatred
A memory just hit me. I was around 16, I think, and my mom came home and up to my room. It was a weekend and earlier that day we had argued about household chores. It was a really bad fight with yelling (at least from my side) and it ended with my mom leaving the house. She went our to the grey, cold November day to get some space.
When she came home and sat down on my bed she had bought me a present. I was surprised by that, considering that I had lost my temper. When she handed me the present she started crying and told me that she was really sad that I felt like I was a bad daughter. It was true that I had yelled that I was a bad daughter who couldn’t do everything she expected me to do, but I was almost chocked by her reaction from it. Was this a surprise to her? It certainly seemed like that.
To me, there was not much of an option. Of course I was bad. At that time, I never did what my parents asked me to. Not because I liked always being obstructive, but meeting their demands was simply not possible. I couldn’t handle school because I was too tired and dealing with all the household chores I was assigned was overwhelming. No matter how much I tried to explain that it was hard for me, my parents never believed me. “You’re such a bright girl, vacuum-cleaning can hardly be a problem to you. You’re just lazy.”
How could my mom had thought that I didn’t feel like I was a really bad daughter? Being like me obviously meant being wrong.