I have a very traditional family, especially my dad. He expects me to cook, clean, do his laundry, iron his clothes, and he controls everything. What I wear, what I do, how much makeup I put on, who I text—everything. It’s exhausting because I have to hide so much of my life. And I’m not even dressing inappropriately. I’m quite mature for my age and know what’s right and wrong.

He always blames my mom when something goes wrong. My whole family is like this. Once, when my mom was in the hospital, I had to take over everything. I came home from school exhausted and still had to clean, take care of my brother, and handle so much more. I was completely drained and went to my grandma’s house. She noticed and asked me what was wrong. When I explained, my grandpa said, “That’s a woman’s job, of course she should be doing it.”

Whenever we have visitors, my mom, my sister, and I have to clean everything, while the men just sit and eat.

I also notice clear differences in how my brother is treated compared to me. When I was his age, I was abused. When I was little, I barely ate, and it would take me hours. My parents would lash out at me and hit me—I was only five. When I was sick and threw up, they hit me. When I did something like swearing, I got hit again. They pulled my hair, threw me around, slapped me, and even hit me with a belt. I was constantly scared and cried a lot as a child, and I think it still affects me today.

And my brother? Nothing. Not once have they ever hurt him. I’m not saying they should—but why me and not him? I know they didn’t want a girl. At least my dad didn’t. But still, it’s not fair.

Recently, my brother has started hitting me and constantly annoying me, but no one cares. My parents do nothing about it. He swears at my mom and me and everyone around him, and they just laugh. If I had done that, I would have been punished badly.

Even now, when I talk back, they get angry. Once, my dad accused me of wearing makeup even though I wasn’t. He yelled at me, and when I talked back, it didn’t take him long to throw the first thing he could grab at me. Then he kept throwing things—while we were at a relative’s house.

I hate that I have to carry all this responsibility while they still treat me badly and don’t show me love. I hate that being a woman feels so much harder than being a man. Sometimes I wish I had been born a boy—everything would have been easier.

Stories in the same category