As a child, my younger brother was always the apple of my mother and grandmothers eye. They doted on him endlessly, treating him like the centrepiece of our world, while I lingered in the background, unnoticed. He was given all the finest toys, the tastiest biscuits and cakes, the sweetest berrieswhatever his heart desired. Meanwhile, I was often forgotten, left to pick up after him, make his bed, and prepare his breakfast. The injustice stung: I was little more than his maid, forever running around, tending to his every whim.
This pattern distressed me deeply, especially knowing my mother’s pasthow she’d suffered at the hands of her husband, a cruelty that ended in divorce. Yet here she was, raising a boy to expect the same privilege and praise. Whenever I tried to protest or stand up for myself, my objections were swiftly dismissed, and my role remained unchanged.
I remember keenly the uphill battle of my final year at school, preparing endlessly for my GCSEs. While I studied, Mum and Gran would call up the stairs every few minutes, insisting I drop everything to go and feed my brother. Your brother is what matters most, theyd say, placing his needs far above mine. Though my dedication saw me through the exams, the burden nearly overwhelmed me.
When I started revising for my university entrance tests, Gran questioned whether a woman even needed an education. She tried to steer me toward marriage, motherhood, and the tidy running of a home. Still, I persevered and earned my degree. Eventually, I could shoulder it no longer and chose to leave home. I was weary of being held responsible for my brothers every need.
Mum and Gran were livid at my departure, especially as Gran had to quit her job to care for her grandson. Leaving was a wrench, but I knew it was vital for my own happiness and growth. I deserved to be seen as more than a servant, and I was determined to carve out a life where my worth was acknowledged and respected.
