Way of Life

During my first as well as ninth grade, as well as fifth grade, people used to tell me that I am a very responsible child. Then when I got my first job, my co-workers could hardly be convinced that I was sixteen, to a certain extent they assumed that at least I was twenty-three because of how autonomously I conducted myself. Being referenced as self-determining was not a bad thing, but it was because of how my parents raised me.

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Both my mother and father were bodily and psychologically maltreated probably during their teenage period. They belonged to different countries and cultures were absconding dinner never tolerated. The consequences were receiving thorough whipping and being locked in the alone room to spend the night alone.

At the age of eighteen, my father ran away from his paternal home as well as my mother and moved to the United States of America. I can recall my mother narrating a story of how she was once beaten and wounded by her drunkard father. Eventually, she had to secretively sneak out of her own house to seek medical attention. The cultures they grew up in had an irreversible and negative impact on their mindset. They used to be passionately detached from each other along as me ever since I could remember. As a teenager, I was unable to figure out why my parents were not as affectionate as the other parents were with their children. The emotional abuse they put me through led me to struggle with depression and anxiety for four years.

It was not until high school when I realized of my parents’ abusive childhood is what deteriorated our family affiliation. My parents got divorced, and soon my paternal grandfather died. The sad events forced my mother to explain to me their separation and disinterestedness from me. I eventually understood the reason behind my first-grade teacher’s when I told her that I had to prepare my lunch. At my ninth grade, my classmates were bewildered when I confirmed to them that my mum leaves me alone at home for days. My life as a teenager became unbearable due to the simultaneous occurrence of extreme events. I apparently started viewing my life in a different viewpoint.

I could imagine how brave my mother was to leave her country at the age of eighteen, my father cried before to relief himself as well as mourning the death of his father, and on my side, I saw my self-sufficient eight-year-old self as dumbfounding. My parents’ horrible childhood raised me to possess rare traits that many pubescent strive to be. Some of you may assume that my parents under no circumstances never opened up to me that is false or they might have never shown me the full parental affection, but I am grateful for the personal qualities instilled to me. I can persevere, endure and survive independently void of parental assistance.

Now as I am turning into adulthood I appreciate my family and the horrific trauma they have been experiencing. I am strong enough to strive to overwhelm my anxiety and mental instability through hours of therapy and medication. I grew in an unfriendly environment, the adolescent period is passing and the time has come for me to begin the adult life. I know many parents grew up in abusive families, but as for me, I am grateful I grew up as an individual.

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