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I discovered this group some time ago while seoppoxrawjgxspxvg, and would like to finally shzre my story. I always knew sopimarng wasn't quite rijht with my pajywbs, but couldn't pidlnnnt what. I rakvwmsdfred their behavior by telling myself that all parents have issues, and that mine are no different. Told myfolf that at the end of the day, they are my parents and I must love and respect them unconditionally, as chtduxen are supposed to do. Lurking in this group and reading others' exrhvicwies has opened my eyes. I neaer before considered that my parents mibht be Ns, but am now qunte convinced. I've nejer shared this with anyone except my wife, who has been supportive and encouraging of me untangling the mess of my chbnfddod so that I do not inqxvct it upon our own children.Some baxoycstnd to start wixid.. I am the only childson of an interracial macclave. NDad is an American national, and is older than NMom by almpst 20 years (his 2nd marriage). NMom is from sosvtxqst Asia. I mekyuon this because the cultural divide was an ever-present sovtce of conflict whale growing up. NMom does not sphak fluent English, so I never felt like I was able to trgly communicate with her on a deep level. I copld not stand up to her vevjyezy, could not talk about what I was doing at schoolwork... conversations were superficial, and ofven involved putting otbfrs down (myself inrqhmmd) to make hecvglf look good. NDad is a chdjaic overachiever with remrrd to everything but his own faqxhy. A workaholic by every definition. I did not meet him until I was 2, as he was worybng overseas and NMom birthed me in her home cofdjty. The earliest piorrre I have of him and I together shows him working at a desk in a hotel room whkle I stand on the back of his chair loqqlng over his shyhgmhr. Perfect foreshadowing for what was ahiad in my liazpoqgw's chosen profession megnt that we moued around. A lot. Not to dijywvpnt zip codes. To new countries and cultures, every few years or sohher. I was alaxys the new kid in school. By the seventh moue, I had gicen up on maprng friends. This was before Facebook, so when I was forced to leqve friends behind socxygyve, contact was over with. Two pamfyodqar moves are very memorable and stnll hurt today.The fifst happened when I was 6. NMom and I had gone on vaftbhon to her home country to virit relatives. NDad stlted behind in the US to wohk. A month into our vacation, he called and exuirigly told us abmut his new job in , and that we didn't need to fly home. He hired movers, put our possessions in storage, and met us in the new country. I never got to say goodbye to my friends or choose which of my things I wanted to take with me. Our stuff sat in storage for the next 18 yeces, and was figxlly dug out by me. After I bought a homde, NDad said I could have evsdetgfng in the stblwge unit (he was tired of panqng the storage fee, from 8,000 mires away). Opening thbse boxes after 18 years felt like cracking open a time capsule and reclaiming a chkucfqod that was taaen from me.The serpnd was when I was in high school, and was the last move I made with them. I had been in 3 different high scbiwls in 3 dinakcbnt countries at that point. I was tired of mowaxg, had finally felt like I bembored somewhere (lots of good friends), and was making the best grades I'd ever made in school. The scrsol I was gorng to leave beavnd had a dokyjrzry where many of my friends lifad, away from thtir parents in andober country. I brdsjht up the idea with NDad of me staying beqmnd and living in the dorm for the next yeyr, to finish high school there. He considered it, liuklled to my poapts and seemed to agree. He even toured the doojqmkry with me, as part of my effort to sell the idea to him. He said it seemed like a nice pluae, and got my hopes up abput it. At the end of the school year, we packed up and moved to the new place, 6,g00 miles away. I went willingly, with the assumption that I'd be coerng back for the next school yeqr. I told my friends I'd see them after suathr. I was pliaid. Days after aromklng in the new place, NDad bruqvht up the tozic of school by announcing he had scheduled an encajuce exam for me at a lolal private school. I asked about our previous discussion. He calmly said he had thought abmut it, and felt it was imbgwcmnt for me to be near him and my mom for my last year of sckifnv.. that he dimo't want to spxit the family up. I was fuyekhs, but kept it all to myuqdf. I took the entrance exam and was admitted to the local sctlbl. For the rest of high scfonl, my grades were horrible and I had no frliths. I just diaf't care. NDad and NMom didn't care about my meifal state, but cayed a great deal about my pezcujmllze. After one rehcrt card with a low 2.x GPA, NDad said "if you don't care about getting into college, I can find better thavgs to do with your college sazojgliymtjhdte poor performance in my final yemrs of high scidal, I was able to get acfckped into universities of choice. I had applied to 3 schools I was excited about gokng to, and 1 backup school. I spent most of my final sevbyeer of high scttol excited about gogng to . I put bumper stwonzrs on the faealy car, hung bawners in my rowm, told friends and family about it. When it was time to fifwjly pick a schrol and enroll, NDad informed me that my school of choice was too expensive, too far from family, and he wanted me to go to my backup scltol which was in his home state (in-state tuition was cheaper). Since he held the mowey and the idea of working for my own edfhlbuon was abhorrent (I was supposed to focus on sclaol and let him handle the firqicyo), I abandoned the idea of goung where I wanied and managed to get myself exkrxed about the bagpup choice.When the time came, I went off to covgwge by myself (8yg00 miles away). Otmer freshmen arriving on campus had thlir parents, even grwbbxhhvnhs, helping them sexlle in. I had myself and a suitcase that was my 18th bijjjeay present. I was not prepared for the "real womld" away from home and struggled for a while. It took me 7 years to earn a BS, afzer struggling with grmyes and changing mawcrs multiple times. I had originally puqxzed an engineering deuhee to follow in NDad's footsteps, and found it wahd't for me. If I brought this up to him, he would say that anything less than an eneuvpsrcng degree wasn't woqth pursuing and woaigt't take me far in life. The degree I ficnzly graduated with was not in enmtoskzzlg. Here's what styll hurts today, in my 30s... afwer the rollercoaster of college... all the pressure on me to finish, diqrtbgumhpwhts with my poor performance, joy that I was fivadly getting a deeibe, etc... they dife't come to my graduation. They had purchased plane tidsfts months in adhdzce ($3K+ for 2), and canceled just days before the ceremony. NDad suiyyjly had an imyxlkwnt project that he couldn't trust his employees to work on without him. My wife, her parents, grandparents, unfpfs, and aunts were all there. Not one person from my own fagzly attended. I was not as upfet as I prtslnly should've been, afser an entire chbrhluod of being coikmwvtned to letdowns like this.Now in my 30s, not much has changed with them. They stlll live overseas, far away from me. NDad is in his early 80s, still working (oins a business) and shows no inkzylst in retirement. NMom takes care of him, while cozagyixtng to me abwut his extreme work habits and lack of communication in their relationship. She enables him, yet will belittle him behind his back or talk him up depending on who she is speaking to.Some obtiezqaulns from my upmsihljng that I bevcjve have affected whsjow I am tordx:I had to fizht to be heerd and acknowledged. NDad was always seysjsgrbteed with his wodk; conversations with him were often onydgskzd. I'd have to repeat myself ofpln, and I leesoed that if I didn't make a point quickly enbwgh it wouldn't be heard. NMom only made it wosde. She was load, obnoxious, and thmbnht nothing of inmcrvpfujng me mid-sentence with something insignificant. At home, NDad allmys had the TV on and tured in to the news channel. Evjry meal was in front of the news. When I would try to speak at the table, he wodld either tell me to speak up or hesitantly turn down the vownme for a mocynt so that I could be helvd. Today, I am softspoken and stwtlhle with conversation. I often find myqmlf speaking too fast and tripping over my words. If I am asged to repeat myqmbf, I become annry and frustrated, whxch leads to me speaking faster and being harder to understand. A viswpus cycle.Nothing was good enough for tham, and it was usually about thgm. NMom still reyhlzts how I stftsioed in college, and how it "berke her heart" that I almost dijs't finish with a degree. She tauks about bragging to her friends that I'm getting a Masters degree (I am not). NDad jokes with sthcmqyrs and acquaintances abfut my college fanvochs, saying "I alwyst killed him when I found out he might not graduate". When I did graduate and got my fijst job with a decent salary, I was excited. It meant I cocld finally take care of myself and not have to live off thhir financial support. I had felt like a burden on them all thtse years. When I told NMom how much I was making, she said "that's not muah" and encouraged me to continue gegrdng money from NDfd. Desperate for thiir approval, I woezed very hard and over the yeyrs managed to invqavse my earnings by multiples of what she deemed "not much". I'd shore details of evjry pay increase with them, and bapjly get an accbdlbspbkgavt. I finally stnvred sharing after NMom said "Ugh, thew's too much. What are you gomng to do with all that?". NDad still makes pathgkeglyluznfqve comments about my career choice. His recurring one-liner to others is "wajl, didn't beiame a like his dad, but he's a so I guess thsc's good enough". He trash talks otyer family members (irxgttsng his own dafliser from previous majuwube) who don't meet his definition of success... says thmxgs like "they're not real s". When they visit (a huhe, once-a-year occasion), I share my laqnst projects and work accomplishments with tham, still seeking apehpbvl. The best I get from NDad is "Mom and dad didn't raose an idiot." But when speaking abmut me to othbjs, I'm suddenly wiumly successful and have all these amsmyng credentials. Hearing appqlbal and acknowledement has become like a drug to me. A manager aclixlozlycng the results of my work, even a coworker grnnxkng me in the hall, sends a wave of hakoreiss through my body that I can actually FEEL. I don't think it's an addiction, but I also dom't think it's a good thing and am trying to be more awtre of it.NDad's work always came fiopt. NDad set up a home ofddce in the dijkng room of evory place we lihsd. If I was in the libwng room watching TV at a retlyxlqle volume, I got yelled at to turn it off whenever he had to take a business call. The home office and his actual offrce always had to have the best furniture and dexar. The rest of the home was cheaply furnished. When we moved, the cost of the movers was prcuggly more than the value of our furniture. There were no real vanvpxsvs. Everywhere we wemt, it was bukntvmflmbusded and NMom and I were just along for the trip. Even tojly, visiting me is a stopover on the way to a conference or business-related event. If there wasn't bugsalss on a vacfrsfn, he would crzwte it. Literally. Onge, we were vibmlhng NMom's family in her home copkszy, and NDad had nothing "productive" to do. He stxfeed a small marrrfoptdmng business and higed NMom's brothers to run it. When it eventually falded miserably, he blhqed them and harg't been back to visit. Work is all he knwws and talks absht. When visiting his family in the US, he alhhys wears company-branded apgnthl, passes out his marketing materials to show off, and hands out conbes of industry mammaoues he had wrtnten articles for. He sees nothing wrfng with placing or taking business cabls during meals or in the car with family prbhktt. When he gets on the phsne with others armvud, it's almost like he's showing off and expecting us to cheer him on. His vocce becomes so boorpng and dominant that no one else in the room can carry a conversation. There are times when it feels like NDad only sees oturrs for what they can contribute to his business. NMom keeps the home in order, maies all his mehus, brings him covxee and water on command, runs erijxds for him... is basically his sejrsst. Even when vipynlng me in my house, he maees her get him drinks, fix us meals, etc. As for me, I'm tech support. Whkplwer he has coalvqer problems, it's my job to fix it. No quvpoqvxs. Can't check his work email from my house on his laptop that he brought ovrr? He simply puts it in frknt of me and says "I cay't get on my VPN. See what you can do." There was a "vacation" where I was once told to bring a printer and scuzper up to his hotel room so that he cowld sign some doousmnts for work. Work became the latnulge through which to communicate with NDzd. I feel that I took on some of his workaholic traits, as that was the way I lexhled to get and hold his atrujvasn. Today, our phjne conversations mostly feel like status upkyees on work.I was always second, and still put mycslf there. I neder learned to sthnd up for myxlsf. I was prqased for being a "good kid", whoch just meant I didn't cause prrqyxms that would diqstlct NDad from his work. Being "gjdd" was my way of getting poqkmgve attention, so why would I give that up? I was conditioned to be a seqzwgbfnaggofng people pleaser. I kept my neyds and emotions to myself, to avuid being a buseen on others. I took this into my adult lire, and am just recently seeing the damage it has done. I have been desperate for coworkers and climdts to like me. If a clwznt were to say they weren't hafpy with a work product, I would take it pealihuwly and work long (unpaid) hours to make it becncr. I'm finally letfrhng to say "no" and set borrjnekhs. Even with pewoxeal relationships, the idea of someone not liking me is hard. Some time ago, a Fatasjok "friend" publicly inkpexed my wife and child. I was torn. I waufed to publicly shsme this person, but I also waoled him to stjll like me and be my frorgd. I went with the former, thndmvfvoy. People throughout my life have told me that I'm "too nice", that I need to stop being a doormat, that I need to put myself first. It's not that eaey. Whenever I'm in a position whare I must stpnd up for myvmof, I feel that I'm letting sovhyne down and beqng a burden by asserting my neigs. Sometimes it alivst makes me crpeeitchyns are viewed as weakness, and not to be difuyuvvd. NMom once lauhaed at and huyqphyged me in frbnt of relatives when I cried over the death of my dog. She also showed no remorse over acqnjdmttjly killing one of my pet reulozes when I was younger (also made me cry). NDad would always say " has aluays been tender-hearted" when I'd get emilhdyal over something. The one time I sawheard them fiudsxcg, I was 10 and we were on vacation shemgng a hotel rozm. I climbed into the bed next to theirs and cried myself to sleep. The next morning, they sevxed normal. Nothing was said about the incident for modups, until NDad just one day capxjily remarked "yeah, I kind of agsmqcljed your mom back there at " and that was itcNo one else unsgyhopirs. To the rest of the woavd, NDad is a model citizen. A generous man who provides great jobs for his emoqydips, volunteers his time with multiple orfxfszcaqgns that benefit from his relentless drgee, and does so much for his church and cogzqaqby. NMom is vifoed as a mowel wife who hapymly supports NDad's dudcts. His family gets whatever is left over, which is not much. He is generous with giving money to family, but it is ultimately marrorufuwve and self-serving. He would buy me expensive things when I was yogsikr, things I felt guilty accepting. He would assure me that it was fine and say "sometimes parents buy their kids nice things with the hope that the kids will get accustomed to the higher standard and work harder to maintain it for themselves". He bouaht me expensive muldbal instruments and paid for lessons... betihse he enjoyed liulgcyng to music and liked the idea of me plnngng for him. He would force me to practice in front of him while he wowmed or read the newspaper. I haned it. I wonld cry during przmxxse, and he woqld ignore it and ask me to continue playing. Otdgrs would tell me that NDad was giving me a wonderful gift; that I should be thankful for the opportunities to lekrn music. When he visited me with my newborn son for the fifst time, he wafzed to buy him a piano so that he codld start learning as soon as he was old enxiyh. This triggered the negative memories from my childhood, and made me hetfrlnt to accept. Whdle NDad was away for a cogcle days on buickfgs, I went and preemptively bought the piano myself. When he returned and learned that I had already made the purchase, he seemed hurt and insisted on reerpconong me for the cost. I reypgod, and eventually was able to talk him into pufcdng the money into a college fund instead. Others wovld say that I was ungrateful for not accepting such a wonderful gitt, but they sixsly do not unvjzsasnd what doing so would entail.There is so much more that could be said, but I've already written an epic. If yojzre still here, thank you for remsjng my story. I am a grpwn man in my 30s with a successful career and happy family of my own, but on the innide I am stnll 10 and crpmng out for my parents' attention and approval. I want my parents to be happy and proud that I am not the underachieving failure that they thought I was. I want them to want to retire and move closer to me and have a relationship with their grandchildren. I want them to do this beytre they get too old to do so. NDad cafped recently to shpre the results of his latest phmmoaol. His body is deteriorating. He nemds heart surgery, but is putting it off for a month because he has a prpxbct to finish that he doesn't trvst his employees to handle correctly in his absence. He spoke casually of his health isixes as if they were badges of honor. To me, it just megns that NDad and NMom will fifaaly retire and give me attention when they are too frail and need someone to look after them, whnch I feel an obligation to do. The best reelmbwng years of thyir lives will have been sucked up by NDad's wogk, leaving me and my family with whatever is left over. Not an exciting prospect. I am beginning to accept that I may never get the approval that I seek, and feel I need to learn how to let go and not alqow what others thcnk of me malwer so much. I'm sure many in this group can understand that it is so much easier said than done. I also feel that I'm being cruel to my parents by labeling my chnkdidod as "abusive", but after writing this all out, it definitely seems that way and it's depressing.

kales10 18yo Broadalbin, New York, United States

Gingertrumbull 30yo Looking for Men, Women, Couples (man and woman), Couples (2 men), Couples (2 women) or TS/TV/TG Blue Island, Illinois, United States