Message:
I’m writing this story to heal.
When I was almost 18, I was already in college. Two days before my birthday, I was supposed to go home to have a little party. My neighbor’s sister called me and asked where we were moving. At first I didn’t understand and told her I was at college and would be back in two days. She was surprised and said my parents and my grandmother were moving furniture out of the house like they were leaving.
I called my mom, but she didn’t answer. Nobody answered — not even my grandma. I didn’t have money to buy another ticket, so I barely slept for three days until I could fly home. Nobody called me back during those days, nobody picked up the phone.
When I got there, the house was empty. My parents and my whole family had left while I was away. Nobody told me anything. Two days later it was my birthday.
For a week after that I couldn’t even speak.
A year went by and still nobody called me. Six months later I found out they had moved to the next state, where my stepfather’s parents lived. Two years after that, I learned my grandma had died. Nobody told me.
That summer I stayed with the neighbors. They were shocked by what my family had done, and I just kept wondering why.
Two days ago, I made a wish — to understand what it was all for.
And today, on my birthday, I woke up and realized it doesn’t hurt anymore.
I know why they did it. I can see it now, like from the outside.
It wasn’t about me.
All over the world we’re taught to believe that the people called “family” must love us. That it’s a fact.
But imagine you were born to a different mother, and you never knew the one you have now. Then one day you’re walking with that other mother and you pass the one who is your biological mom. What would your reaction be?
Exactly — nothing. Because you don’t know her. You don’t love her. Nobody ever told you to.
And she wasn’t there with you as a child, when you were clinging to anyone who could help you survive.
So first we survive (as infants), and then later they put this belief on us — that someone has to love us just because we’re “family.”
But family is really the people you can be yourself with. The ones who are honest with you. The ones who show you, with their actions, that they love you. Not the ones who are just stuck living alongside you. The most important thing is to get rid of those false beliefs in time — and find your own people.
My family became the neighbors. The sister and the neighbor himself became my brother and sister. Their mom became my mom, and their dad became my dad. They were there at my college graduation. Yesterday I paid off their mortgage. And tomorrow we’re flying to Malta to celebrate my birthday together.
A year ago, my biological mother called me. She asked if I had kids and if they knew about her. I said no and blocked her number.
This story in this book is my gift to myself. My healing.
I hope it will heal others too.
I would also like to know if you could publish this story somewhere?
I would really like to read other people's perspectives on my situation.
I would like to help someone else feel better too.
Thank you for your project and for allowing me to be a co-author of such a book.
I’m writing this story to heal.
When I was almost 18, I was already in college. Two days before my birthday, I was supposed to go home to have a little party. My neighbor’s sister called me and asked where we were moving. At first I didn’t understand and told her I was at college and would be back in two days. She was surprised and said my parents and my grandmother were moving furniture out of the house like they were leaving.
I called my mom, but she didn’t answer. Nobody answered — not even my grandma. I didn’t have money to buy another ticket, so I barely slept for three days until I could fly home. Nobody called me back during those days, nobody picked up the phone.
When I got there, the house was empty. My parents and my whole family had left while I was away. Nobody told me anything. Two days later it was my birthday.
For a week after that I couldn’t even speak.
A year went by and still nobody called me. Six months later I found out they had moved to the next state, where my stepfather’s parents lived. Two years after that, I learned my grandma had died. Nobody told me.
That summer I stayed with the neighbors. They were shocked by what my family had done, and I just kept wondering why.
Two days ago, I made a wish — to understand what it was all for.
And today, on my birthday, I woke up and realized it doesn’t hurt anymore.
I know why they did it. I can see it now, like from the outside.
It wasn’t about me.
All over the world we’re taught to believe that the people called “family” must love us. That it’s a fact.
But imagine you were born to a different mother, and you never knew the one you have now. Then one day you’re walking with that other mother and you pass the one who is your biological mom. What would your reaction be?
Exactly — nothing. Because you don’t know her. You don’t love her. Nobody ever told you to.
And she wasn’t there with you as a child, when you were clinging to anyone who could help you survive.
So first we survive (as infants), and then later they put this belief on us — that someone has to love us just because we’re “family.”
But family is really the people you can be yourself with. The ones who are honest with you. The ones who show you, with their actions, that they love you. Not the ones who are just stuck living alongside you. The most important thing is to get rid of those false beliefs in time — and find your own people.
My family became the neighbors. The sister and the neighbor himself became my brother and sister. Their mom became my mom, and their dad became my dad. They were there at my college graduation. Yesterday I paid off their mortgage. And tomorrow we’re flying to Malta to celebrate my birthday together.
A year ago, my biological mother called me. She asked if I had kids and if they knew about her. I said no and blocked her number.
This story in this book is my gift to myself. My healing.
I hope it will heal others too.
I would also like to know if you could publish this story somewhere?
I would really like to read other people's perspectives on my situation.
I would like to help someone else feel better too.
Thank you for your project and for allowing me to be a co-author of such a book.