My Parents, My Enemies: A Tale of Well-Meaning Sabotage

Okay, here's a blog post exploring that complex relationship, written as if from the perspective of someone feeling alienated by the very values their parents instilled

My Parents, My Frenemies: How Being Raised Right Made Me Completely Wrong for This World

I love my parents. I really do. They’re basically the poster couple for “good people.” They worked hard, gave me everything, and raised me with a moral compass so squeaky clean it could double as a mirror.

And yet… here I am, getting absolutely wrecked by life.

In Hindsight

See, the problem isn’t that they were bad parents. The problem is that they were parenting overachievers. They built me this perfect little bubble — full of kindness, empathy, and “always think about how the other person feels.” Which sounds great… until you step out into a world where the only thing people think about is how they feel.

Imagine showing up to a knife fight with a box of cupcakes. That’s me, every Monday.

My parents raised me to avoid conflict like it was a contagious disease. Keep the peace. Find the middle ground. Be the bigger person. Which is noble — right up until you realize you’ve spent the last decade apologizing for things you didn’t do, letting people cut in front of you (in line and in life), and holding back in arguments you could totally win… if you weren’t so busy trying to “see their perspective.”

And the manners. Oh, the manners. I “please” and “thank you” my way through the day like I’m auditioning for a Victorian etiquette manual. I hold doors. I give up my seat. I leave space in traffic. And in return? People treat me like an obstacle they can just breeze past.

Always In Crosshairs

Do I want to become one of those loud, elbows-out people who bulldoze their way through life? Not exactly.

Do I sometimes envy them? Absolutely.

Because while I’m over here making sure everyone’s comfortable, they’re out there getting stuff done. And I have to admit… it works.

Here’s the tragic comedy: my parents honestly thought their way would make me happy, respected, and maybe even successful. In some alternate universe — where unicorns roam free and everyone recycles — they’d be right. But in this one? The kind and patient get eaten alive by the loud and shameless.

So now I’m stuck with these impossible questions:

Is kindness actually better than being assertive?

Is forgiveness always noble, or is it just giving someone a coupon for a free second screw-over?

Can you actually thrive in a world where ruthlessness is a job requirement?

Finally

I know my parents acted out of love. They wanted to protect me, to guide me, to give me the best possible start in life. But in their well-intentioned efforts, they inadvertently made me vulnerable, naive, and ill-equipped to deal with the harsh realities of modern society.

So thanks, Mom and Dad. Thanks for the love, the  sacrifices, and the moral code that’s gotten me trampled on more times than I can count. I’m still figuring out how to merge your values with, you know… staying alive out here.

Until then, I’ll keep smiling politely while silently screaming. Because, well — it’s the polite thing to do.