Unaltered Voices

Parents are often seen as our biggest supporters, cheerleaders, and guides—or at least, that's the ideal. But what happens when a parent who hasn't been present, provided support, or invested in their child's endeavors suddenly takes credit for their success? It's a painful and confusing reality for many, especially those who've had to build their paths without the needed encouragement or resources. I can personally attest to this experience. Every accomplishment I've achieved has been with little to no support—none of which came from my parents. So, I deeply understand how hurtful it can be when absent parents publicly praise you as if they played a part in your success. Success is rarely an overnight phenomenon. Behind every milestone are hours of hard work, personal sacrifices, and moments of self-doubt. For parents who've been absent—whether physically or emotionally—to suddenly claim credit for their child's achievements diminishes the effort and re...

  Lies come uninvited. They arrive relentlessly, one after another, filling a fragile cup I desperately want to break. I never asked for them, yet here they are, pouring into my life as though their presence is justified. I trusted the giver once. That trust, so freely given, is now corroded by the realization that their words—every one of them—were crafted in falsehood. The mask slipped, revealing the deceit beneath. What once felt genuine has been exposed as nothing more than practiced fiction. How effortlessly you wield them. How long have you honed this craft? Do you enjoy the discord they create, the way they echo like a discordant symphony in the ears of the unsuspecting? To me, their sound is unbearable, a piercing reminder of betrayal. I never sought them out; I never invited them into my space. Yet here they are, invading, upsetting, and refusing to leave. These lies accumulate, crowding the corners of my life and suffocating my peace. I beg for their removal. Take them wi...

"There's a stranger in my house It took a while to figure out There's no way you could be who you say you are You gotta be someone else..." – Tamia The lyrics of this song hit differently when you’ve lived them. Every year for seven years, I faced someone different. The man I initially met—someone I thought I could trust—became a stranger over time. He wasn’t the same person year after year. Slowly, he evolved into someone I couldn’t recognize and eventually despised. At first, I ignored the red flags. I made excuses for his behavior, convincing myself that things would improve or that I was overreacting. But the worse he got, the more my health deteriorated—mentally, emotionally, and physically. I constantly adjusted to accommodate him, twisting myself into someone I didn’t recognize to keep the peace. Everything I had fought so hard to free myself from came bulldozing back into my life, and I didn’t even see it happening. It was initially subtle, a slow erosion of b...

I’m not sure what your relationship with my mother was like before I was born. She told me you weren’t at the hospital when I arrived, which makes me think you two weren’t in a real relationship. I have a lot of memories of you and your sisters, but none of you ever knew the hurt I experienced at home. I never told you, but sometimes I was afraid to go back. I never knew what to expect, so I was always on high alert. One of the women you were with once told my mother that I stayed up late. She didn’t know who she was talking to, but I caught how she looked at me and knew I was in trouble. Her words pierced me during the drive home—it felt like I was hemorrhaging, and my tears mixed with the pain. I never spent a summer with you while she was around again. It was also through her that I learned my mother tried to give me to you. Allegedly, your mom told you not to take me. I ended up caught between two people who weren’t ready to be parents, and I suffered for it. Neither of you wanted ...

Consider this letter a farewell—a final chapter in the story I’ve been trying to rewrite for far too long. This is the last tear I will shed for what could’ve been. No more will I grieve over you like someone clinging to a love that was never real. No more will I convince myself that things would change if I just tried harder. Happiness and peace are my portion now, and I refuse to let you steal them from me any longer. I have come to terms with the fact that you will never acknowledge the damage you've done. You have convinced the world, and even parts of me for a time, that the problem was mine. But I’ve finally seen the truth. To those who preach, “That’s still your mother,” I say this: respect is earned, not owed, and I owe you no more of my peace. Recently, I read a book about love. For the first time, I saw clearly what love truly is—and what it is not. It was a painful pill to swallow, but I realized that you never loved me. not in the way a mother should. Your actions hav...

Healing is often a painful yet transformative process. As we release the hurt, the sting of past decisions can feel overwhelming. However, I've grown to appreciate those moments because I understand what's happening beneath the surface. That doesn't mean it's easy, but I've learned to embrace this part of the process more than ever. Recently, I reflected on my life—my decisions and the countless times I settled. My heart sank as I thought about how often I compromised in my career, relationships, significant purchases, and almost every area of life. One vivid memory came to mind: I worked a job that paid me $11 an hour. Sitting at my desk, I recalled someone saying, "Your skills are transferable." Yet, I worked for a company that didn't value me or my contributions. It hit me like a ton of bricks: I settled. I was enduring so many challenges at that job: being lied about, undervalued, and made to feel inadequate. The environment was toxic—severe abuse ...