to you,

People thought our family was small but perfect: the quiet husband, the headstrong wife, and the only child destined for greater things. You talked about my "amazing academics" and "spectacular way with sports", and you spouted off to everyone how I could never be anything short of magnificent.

I never liked it when you talked like that to other people.

You always told stories about this amazing teenage girl who was at the top of her class and was the best at any sort of extracurricular activities she took. You said she would get married and have kids one day, and she'd be so successful that everyone would hear about it.

I'd sit in silence, then I'd smile when others nodded along and stared at me to judge if I was good enough for such praise, or if I could bear all those expectations that looked like they were too far up from reach.

When I listened to those stories, I wondered who you were talking about. Because whoever that brilliant daughter of yours was wasn't me.

"That child will grow up to be a doctor someday," you would grin. "Look at her! There's no way she wouldn't be able to do it! And did you know she joined the swim team?"

I never wanted to swim, but after I told you that you yelled at me for hours.

"You're so good at it!" you'd reply with a roll of your eyes. "You don't know what you're talking about. You'll like it once you try it!"

"But—"

"Don't argue with me!"

I'd flinch, see that anger in your eyes, and leave.

You never listened. You never considered. You never cared.

At school I had to be the best, during practices I had to be like that too. At home I wish you wouldn't make it worse, and by the time I'd finished my homework I needed to go to sleep.

I was tired. Everything hurt.

I never wanted this.

So every night that swim season, I cried until I couldn't and woke up with red eyes and tear tracks in the light of the barely rising sun.

You asked about it, once. I shrugged and said it was nothing.

You believed me.

from,

me

p.s. You would never admit it, but reputation was all that mattered to you.

p.p.s. And if I didn't, then I don't know what to tell you.