The Realization: You Care, But Not in the Way I Need

BY: Ley rie

First Shift in Perspective: You Didn’t Stop  Right Then and There

Wait, something is off… It wasn’t the fact that I was physically shoved down to the ground by my own mother’s two wrathful hands that had smacked, pinched, and pushed me in the past – or even my father’s unsupportive silence while he was there. All of these things were my “normal.” It was you. You just stood there, and you didn’t even say a word to help me.

I looked at you, and I wanted you to say something, anything. But those words never came, and I had to hold onto the kitchen table with my hands shaking from fear. All the while, I held back tears. You didn’t even offer a hand up… That was the very moment the wool was pulled from over my eyes. 

I had always believed support meant stepping in when things became dangerous or even crossing a boundary to stop further harm. I needed a voice the most at that very moment. The most painful part of it all was that you chose peace, but not my peace. That choice shattered the same illusion that you would keep me safe. 

To calm the storm inside my heart, my feet gained a mind of their own.  Yet my dad stood there shaking his head ‘no’ at the perceived immaturity of it all. My mother’s voice screamed, “Get back here!” But it didn’t matter anymore, because I wasn’t running away from my problems. I was running towards my first shift in perspective.

Not Taken Seriously Enough: You Don’t Understand How Bad it is When You’re Gone

When you visited, the atmosphere conveniently shifted. My parents softened their tone, their tempers cooled, and their hostility simmered rather than boiled. You only saw the performative version – the one where they smiled through their teeth, but rage hid underneath their voices. In a way, I think you wanted to believe that was who they truly were, even though there were such ugly moments that came to light. 

As soon as you were gone, the downpour came back. I knew you had to go back home, and I don’t blame you. I had to pick up the pieces of the held-in emotions from my parents as the yelling resumed, the criticism sharpened, and the physical aggression reappeared with the freedom of no witnesses. It didn’t matter how much I tried to explain it; it was something that you had to live to understand the true depth of.

Being there only in spirit can only help me so much. I had to bear the brunt of the force on my own for survival. Survival doesn’t mean safety; it means staying afloat despite others trying to drown me. I wanted you to be firm with them and tell them how much pain they are causing me, but you wanted to keep the peace. So, I had to work on finding my own peace in the real world.

Poking Around the Same Hole: You’re Not Changing the Strategy That is Not Working

There comes a moment when you finally realize someone’s pattern isn’t just a habit – it’s a limitation. The sheer neglect and Emotional Abuse made me realize that the longer things went on, the clearer it became that you handled every situation the same way. In a conversation in the car, I wanted you to tell my mom how it is with tough love, but you brushed me off and said, “I want to help you out while keeping the peace.” You only ever pulled my mom aside and hoped quiet diplomacy would make things better. Then, after your talk with her, you told me she said she felt bad. What is it to me if she is not communicating with me and trying to improve her behavior?

It was like watching someone try to unlock a door with the wrong key again and again. You’d put it in, jiggle it, twist it, sigh, and insist you were “trying your best.” But, doing the same thing repeatedly doesn’t create change. You didn’t attempt a new strategy, and instead of asking what I needed or how you could support me differently, you already decided on your approach.

Your approach was the same pattern: a calm chat, a sympathetic nod, and a promise that you had talked to my mom. And, it’s not that you didn’t care at all. It’s just that you cared in the safest way possible, and that’s not the kind of care I can rely on when I am facing real harm. So, I need to take a step back and walk the other way. 

The Distance Forming: I Feel My Path Shifting Underneath My Feet

The steps in my journey may not have been the loudest – it was quiet, gradual, and rooted in deep exhaustion. The distance was already forming inside my head, but my feet needed to catch up.

I used to wish my parents would initiate an open conversation with me, but I got tired of them taking a step back when I took the first step to improve things. Loving them from afar was not abandonment, but it was growth.

You urged me to see their perspective, but you ignored my own. Telling me, ‘You should’ve said that to them,’ or ‘You said it at the wrong time,’ misses the point. Those suggestions were useless; no matter my words or my timing, their reaction never changed.

Every conversation felt like a spotlight on my choices rather than a check-in on my well-being. My vulnerabilities became weapons instead of bridges. As a result, I stopped giving them the privilege of hearing my true feelings. 

If what I did was out of their comfort zone for who they wanted me to be, they treated my growth as rebellion instead of evolution. People don’t deserve to be put into boxes. We are all clay, capable of molding our own shapes into who we desire. As long as I was doing right by the world and was able to be independent, I owed them nothing more.

Redirection: I’m Done Walking Towards the Fire That Only Burns Me

For so long, the chaos I was living amongst was my home. The yelling, the criticism, and the unpredictability. It all blended into the background noise of my childhood. When you grow up surrounded by flames, you learn to walk through them as if burning is a part of being alive. But, am I really living if I am being burned alive?

You said you understood, and while you may have felt my pain, that empathy was never backed by action. You were supposed to protect me. Instead, it created a double-edged sword: the constant fire at home and a false sense of protection that dissolved every time I needed it most. Living in that gap between your words and your silence taught me a hard lesson about where I truly stood.

Eventually, I realized I was walking toward that fire out of habit, not hope. I had internalized the belief that if I just tried one more time, the flames would somehow behave differently. But the truth about fire is that it doesn’t change its nature; it only stops burning you once you decide to step out of its reach.

Recognizing that truth is the first step toward choosing a different path. It is time to walk away from the dynamics that drain your spirit and the people who refuse to meet you with the respect you deserve. While the journey toward healing can feel uncertain at first, it is the only road that leads to the clarity and peace you have been waiting for. You deserve to live in the light, not the shadows of someone else’s refusal to act.

You don’t have to walk that road alone. At Abuse Refuge Org (ARO), we believe that no one should have to heal in isolation. You will find more than just resources here; you will find a community of people who truly “get it.” Like me, many others here have walked a similar path and are ready to stand beside you. Join our mission and discover what it feels like to finally be heard, believed, and home.

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