“We’re your parents, Holly. We shouldn’t have to deal with your romantic entanglements under our roof where we live.”
So I found a small apartment nearby and let them have the house completely to themselves, still paying every single bill while they contributed absolutely nothing at all. The relationship hadn’t lasted very long after that. My boyfriend couldn’t understand why I let my family walk all over me constantly like that, and I couldn’t explain it in a way that made sense, even to myself at the time. It was just how things had always been in our family dynamic.
Holly sacrifices everything for others. Holly provides for everyone else. Holly asks for nothing and expects even less in return from anyone.
But now, sitting in my cramped apartment and staring at a $12,700 charge on my credit card statement, I finally understood what I had been refusing to see clearly all along. My family didn’t love me as a person at all. They loved what I could do for them instead. They loved my reliability, my guilt, my endless willingness to put their needs before my own well-being always. But me, as a person with my own needs, I was invisible to them except when they needed something from me.
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