At Graduation, My Parents – Who Paid for My Sister’s Entire College But Refused to Pay for Mine – Turned Pale When…

Maybe she realized that all this time her well-being was based only on the fact that her parents nurtured her as the favorite. And now it turned out that I had broken ahead, was getting brilliant offers, and she was just finishing college, not really knowing what she wanted to do next. “Good luck to you, Rachel,” she said finally, and left the room.

I looked at the closed door for a few more seconds, experiencing a strange feeling. It was not anger, and it was not contempt; rather, it was a quiet sadness. Once we were little girls, twins who could laugh together and not think about who was born four minutes earlier or later. But life turned out in such a way that we were raised differently, and we ourselves became very different. I could no longer return to that childish, unconscious feeling of “we are one”. Now we are strangers who crossed paths in the same family.

In New York, I plunged into a frantic work rhythm. At first, it was difficult. I spent 10 to 12 hours at work preparing reports, learning new things, communicating with clients, learning new programs, mastering the nuances of auditing. But I enjoyed it. I liked being in the thick of things, solving complex problems every day.

I was confidently building a career, and I no longer waited for my Mom or Dad to praise me for another achievement. Why do I need this? I myself saw the fruits of my labor. Sometimes when the weekends came, I would walk the streets of Manhattan, look at the skyscrapers, and think about how strange life can turn out.

If my parents had supported me as much as Hannah, would I have become so resilient, stubborn, ambitious? Maybe not. I am grateful that fate did not give me an easy path. It made me stronger and helped me understand that the most valuable recognition is the one you give to yourself.

Several years have passed. I have managed to finish my studies, gain experience, and get a promotion. My parents, of course, periodically try to keep in touch. They send messages like: “How are you doing, daughter? It’s a shame you don’t come.” And I only briefly reply: “Everything is fine, thank you.”

Hannah pops up on social media every now and then, posting photos from parties, and then writes me rare letters complaining that she is having a hard time finding a job. I advise her: “Send your resume to different places, take courses, improve your skills.” She is indignant: “I find all this so boring.”

Apparently, our paths really have finally diverged. But I don’t regret that we hardly communicate. It doesn’t mean that I hate them or despise them. It’s just that one day you stop begging for love and start choosing yourself. At some point, I realized I deserve to live for myself and not for someone’s recognition. Yes, family is blood ties, but when these ties were suffocating me and devaluing me.