I apologize for being a disappointment

"You should’ve become an actress. You have a natural talent that my students lack," said my mother as she drove the car and drove me insane, as usual. I learned back then that it’s best to turn such comments into a joke instead of fighting opposing views. It confuses my mom and ends any arguments, but this time I spoke up.

"Are you fucking serious? You're saying that to me a little too late, don’t you think?”

A word of introduction: my parents are trained actors, dedicated artists, and ever since I was in diapers, I was told I would never become an actress. I attended theater, played in movies and commercials as a child, but I knew that when I became an adult, the fun was over, and it was time to get a real job. I never even asked myself if acting was what I truly liked and wanted to pursue, and now we'll never know.

"First of all, watch your language, and secondly - what are you talking about?”

"You always said that acting was off-limits for me and that I could forget about becoming an artist.”

"Nonsense, I’ve never said that." I’m already used to this response when it comes to any allegations about my childhood.

It was supposed to be a funny and lighthearted essay, but it turned out to be a little more intense. So, trigger warning. It might be a comfort, though, to those who feel lost and struggle. I send you lots of love.

Over the course of my adult life, I found it difficult to find my path. I simply cannot force myself to work without any goal or passion. When I was applying to college, I had no idea which direction I wanted to go in. Looking back now, ten years later, I realize I was in a hopeless position because, as a clueless child, I didn’t have the capability to choose correctly. My parents, on the other hand, were very controlling yet not grounded in reality, and they forced me to apply despite my desire to take a gap year. This started years of struggle, shame, and depression.

In high school, I was an "A-grade" student, mostly in humanistic studies - languages, literature, and art. I loved writing, fashion, and photography. But I knew that those passions would have to be set aside when it was time to find "a real job." My parents, being artists themselves, always said that this path in life was forbidden for me because it involved just struggle and pain. They encouraged me to study law or medicine (despite my having zero interest in both). When you are young, your parents are your entire world. My house wasn’t very strict, but it was extremely controlling, locked in delusional assumptions about the world. My parents' fears were fed every day with dramatic news and horror stories about teenagers from their friends. This fear usually manifested in aggression, forcing, and despotism, so I learned early in life where my place was. I knew that if I didn’t want to cause trouble for myself, it was best to just "shut up" and do as I was told, even if something made me uncomfortable. This had tragic consequences in my adult life - I didn’t understand my feelings, I had a lot of underlying resentment and anger, and I had zero boundaries. I didn’t know how to say no or how to fight for myself and what I wanted. I was a weak child in an adult body. Whenever it came to "making decisions," I was treated like an adult, but if there was something my parents didn’t agree with, they pulled the control card, and I was a child again. I felt trapped, and I knew there was nowhere to run.

At the age of sixteen, I told my parents that I would apply to an American college. I was so happy about the idea; it felt like the right path for me. I could see myself living there; attending an American college could give me many possibilities in Europe if I decided to go back. I always knew I would leave my country. My parents laughed the idea off, said that I had lost my mind, didn’t want to listen, and said that I would not leave the house until I was 25-30. I was a child, and I would not make it in the adult world because it was full of danger. I tried two years later to convince them to let me move to another city. My best friend was applying to college there, and I loved the capital. And again, my parents said there was no discussion.

Where did their treatment come from? I was a golden child. I was kind, polite, and didn’t go out of the house (because I knew that asking for permission was pointless). I was very lonely, although today I consider this my blessing because I feel good on my own, surrounded by books, house chores, and decorating. I was a princess locked in a castle. However, when I turned 18, everything changed.

When high school was over and it was time to take the next step in my education, I still believed that regardless of not being able to follow the path I felt drawn to, I was going to be fine. However, my vision of college didn’t align with reality. I found it boring, pointless, and unsettling. I couldn’t move out of the house, and I couldn’t make decisions for myself other than going out of the house for classes and meeting friends. This began my rebellious phase.

All the trapped emotions from almost 20 years of my life started coming to the surface - my parents abusing me physically and verbally, emotional neglect. I started partying and drinking heavily. It was something that all of my friends did at the time, and poor boundaries did not help. Without alcohol, I felt awkward and out of place - today, I consider it my biggest strength, but back then, it blocked me from having a normal teenage experience.

At this time, my depression was back and stronger than the first episode. My first episode was around the time I was sixteen. I didn’t leave my room for two weeks, didn’t go to school, and wanted to die every day. That feeling has been my companion ever since - sometimes loud, other times quiet.

I stopped going to classes and eventually dropped out of the semester. Constant partying and drinking did not help my condition. I started seeing a therapist, but truthfully, it wasn’t much help. It gave me some comfort and release but no tools on how to move forward. By the time I started doing drugs, I stopped seeing the therapist. I knew it was pointless because I couldn’t be honest with her. I couldn’t tell her that I did drugs and wasn’t planning to stop anytime soon.

I was drifting in life, applied to college again just so my parents would be satisfied, but dropped out of classes very soon.

My parents did not recognize me. Neither did I. From a golden child, I turned into a demon. I absolutely hated myself. I hated my parents, and I hated the fact that they never listened or took responsibility for any of their mistakes. I felt suffocated, and the only way for me to feel any sense of autonomy was to go out and "have fun." I felt ashamed of myself. I couldn’t commit to anything, and I didn’t know why I was broken.

I tried to talk to them so many times, encouraging them to go to therapy together, but they said I was the sick one and denied any allegations I had towards them. So just like when I was a child, I learned quickly that there was no point in fighting and closed myself off, drifting further into drugs, alcohol, and depression.

I don’t know why I wasn’t sent to a better therapist who would address my depression strongly and advise medication. I don’t know how it is possible that I’m still alive and didn’t develop an addiction to any substances. As easy as it was to start, I could quit any day. The only thing that kept me stuck were social groups. Finally, in my life, I had "friends." I didn’t feel out of place and awkward. Unfortunately, all of us were stuck in a similar loop, only fueling one another. This is something I couldn’t escape for a long time. When I got a party invitation, I always said yes. When I was given drugs, another yes. You have a sense of belonging that identifies your new identity, and mine was a mess.

It’s not that I only partied. Every day I had suicidal thoughts and a constant dilemma of what to do next. I didn’t have many options - no work experience, education, money of my own, or emotional support. One day, I was helping out a friend with a business, and something shifted in me. I fell in love with architecture and decided to learn how to draw. I was 21 at the time and never thought I had any artistic talent. But I was stubborn and motivated, signed myself up for drawing classes, and boldly decided to apply to art school.

I didn’t tell anything to my parents since I was forbidden from following an artistic path in life. When I told them I was taking drawing classes, they thought it was my new hobby and were happy that I found an activity other than getting wasted. They absolutely despised me; we barely talked, which wasn’t that difficult since they spent most of their lives outside of home, traveling and working.

I can say that art saved my life. I finally found a goal in life, saw a career for myself, and it turned out I was a quick learner with a talent for painting. Parties were less frequent since I needed to practice drawing. I was working out, had time filled with activities, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like shit anymore.

I applied to two schools but wasn’t very optimistic about getting in on the first try. I was extremely lucky and got into both of them the same year.

Eventually, I needed to tell my parents because I still needed their financial support. The shock and respect on their faces were priceless. They even agreed for me to move out of the city and pay for all the expenses.

Things shifted in my life for the better. I was still struggling; my mental health problems did not leave, but at least I had a goal in life and lived in a healthy environment. I found wonderful friends who accepted me from the day we met. They gave me unconditional love and support. The moment I moved to a new city, I felt like I was starting another chapter in my healing journey. I felt like I was finally free.

I wish I could end this story here and say, "they lived happily ever after," but that’s not what happened.

My life was basically a compromise, which I didn’t know at the time. I was still learning how to honor my feelings, unpuzzle what my thoughts meant, and recognize healthy and unhealthy habits.

I changed my major from interior design to graphic design after one year, and I dropped out of college before my last year, once again. I liked my classes and my professors, but untreated depression episodes made it very difficult to be consistent with classes. Why were they untreated? Because I was ashamed of myself and didn’t tell even my closest friends what I was going through. Why didn’t I go to therapy? I normalized the way I felt and thought it was just a matter of me being lazy, unruly, and whiny. A day of a break turned into a week, a week into a month. I barely ate, showered, and slept all day. I wouldn’t even allow my friends to help me because I wasn’t honest with them. All of this contributed to creating a gigantic snowball of guilt, lies, and shame. The only way I could deal with it was by partying. It wasn’t about substances anymore but filling time and not having to think for a while. Putting on a happy face and having any sense of belonging. Seeing my artistic friends and meeting new people at least got me out of the house and ultimately helped me to pick myself up. I was going back to classes, late with all assignments but finished. I feel like the professors didn’t throw me out because I was the best painter in my year.

But what ultimately got me to leave college was landing a dream job as a set designer in TV production. It was difficult for me to attend the classes, so I took a gap year and never came back.

I wasn’t feeling as guilty about it anymore since it was a conscious decision. My parents were extremely disappointed, but after the circus I put them through in my previous years, they didn’t fight me on it.

Then COVID hit, and my life collapsed again. Shooting was canceled, and I took mini-jobs for commercials and pro bono for my portfolio. And I realized I didn’t want to live like this anymore. I didn’t see myself long-term working in such a hectic environment, despite the excitement and good money. I didn’t have any private time, time to paint, or time to work out (at the time, I was hooked on yoga). It was really difficult to set my priorities straight and figure out what to do next. I started doing more design work at home and helped out my parents with their new business. It wasn’t “love,” but it got me money and experience. I was getting jobs here and there, knowing it wasn’t forever. I was still drifting, but I knew I needed to allow myself to do it.

I had a thought once that I would like to apply for an internship at Vogue and needed to talk to my parents to see if they could help me out financially. It was one of the moments when I forgot who my parents were.

“Ha - and I would like to learn how to cook with Martha Stewart. Over my dead body,” my mother answered, ending any further discussion.

Trying out different projects, whether it was graphic design, set design, costumes, creating brand identity, managing marketing, creating websites, and even selling real estate, I was finding out what I liked and what I didn’t like.

From the outside perspective, it looked like I couldn’t commit to anything, and I was a constant mess. But with the support of self-development books and coaching, I allowed myself to be lost and keep searching without shame (or with less of it than usual).

Frankly, my mental health needed the most attention and was the root of all of my adult life problems. I went through therapy again and coaching. I read a lot of psychology and motivational books. I took care of my body and got into yoga and meditation. All of this contributed to my healing; these were my tools that I wasn’t offered the first time I went to therapy.

At a certain point, I completely gave up drugs and alcohol. I realized I preferred myself sober. And that brings us to now, ten years later after my “demon period” at the age of nineteen. Of course, this is a shortened description of my life; otherwise, I would have to write a book, but it includes my major points. From the “demon phase” and discovering my art talents, I was only going up, with some hiccups along the way.

I’ve mentioned before that it was “a compromise,” and I want to elaborate on what I meant. I was never taught to have confidence and honor my passions. I was never asked about what I wanted or how I felt. Even when I thought I was making a decision for myself, subconsciously, I wanted to make my parents happy. I was thinking this way I am “a well-behaved adult.” But then I fell short because it just wasn’t working for me. I was extremely critical of myself, couldn’t see the talents and good ideas I had, and projected my constant anxiety outwards. Some things—jobs, friends, relationships—I categorized as “out of my reach.” It’s pretty crazy how low self-esteem can limit you in life without your conscious knowledge.

As I grew, not in the outside adult world of career, money, babies, loans, buying a house, getting married, but mentally, I finally started realizing who I am.

I’ve also realized that my parents are deeply troubled people who have even less idea of what they are doing, stuck in old habits, limitations, and unhappiness. They are just people, like me.

Last year, at a consultation with a psychiatrist (we had a short session, and I was told I no longer have to continue therapy and let me have my bragging moment; I have done an amazing job on myself—that’s what the doctor said). Apparently, I have very healthy self-esteem and know how to take care of myself and manage my emotions; it’s a huge step considering my early life experiences. It took me ten years to get to this place.

Is life still sad or disappointing at times? Yes. But it also has a lot of beautiful moments, and I know it’s only going to get better. I finally feel comfortable with myself. I learned how to say no and how to articulate what I feel. Would I want to go through this journey? ABSOLUTELY NOT, it was a hellish experience. But I believe that this was my path that I was to follow.

The only moment I like to bring it up is when I can help someone. I am so grateful for the loving people who helped me on my journey; they were angels sent from the skies, and I feel a sense of duty that I have to give it back to the world.

My mom has a habit of complimenting me but insulting me at the same time.

“You have FINALLY lost some weight”—thanks, mom, I didn’t realize I needed to lose any.

“You used to be so pretty, but you have gotten fat”—thank you, mother, for fueling my body dysmorphia and self-esteem issues.

“You are not such a horrible singer as I thought. I mean, you lack rhythm, but your voice is quite nice”—well, I don’t know if it adds up to anything, but good to know that I am constantly being judged.

When I chopped my hair off, even my dad said he liked it. My mother, on the other hand, said that I look like a prisoner from Auschwitz and, on a daily basis, sends me photos of actors from Holocaust films that remind her of me.

“You are so thin, you look like you are sick”—well, that was true for a time, and I genuinely appreciate the concern and making sure that I eat.

But my appearance isn’t my mother’s only concern. The biggest one is that I haven’t finished college.

For some time, professionally, I have been helping with designing websites. When I showed one of the finished projects to my mom, she said: “You really should’ve studied computers. It could be a steady job for you.” Which translated means: I really like your work, you are quite good at it. I’m proud.

I showed my mom some photos that I took on holiday. “You take beautiful photos, you have a good eye for detail, and you know when things are beautiful. You should study photography.”

Thanks, mom, I already studied, and I told you I am not going back.

“Stop your smart talk. Maybe you should have studied psychology instead of taking it out on me”—I hear almost every time I try to establish boundaries or voice my concern for my mother’s personal life.

When I shaved off my eyebrows and drew them back on in different shapes: “You really drew them on? They look so natural!” I could stop there, but we wouldn’t be talking about my mom without another sentence: “You have to become a permanent makeup artist.”

Next time I chop some flowers in the garden, I will probably hear that I should become a gardener.

Instead, I was talking to my mom about a movie. Sometimes I find a good partner in her when it comes to this topic. I mean, she has probably seen every movie that was created on this planet.

"You have very sharp observations. You always had, you are also witty and know how to articulate yourself. Such a shame you didn’t study films or something similar, maybe anyone would take you seriously and listen when you speak."

That was the day I couldn’t hold it anymore.

"Mom, when will you finally get the memo? I am not going back to college. College is not mandatory, and I can’t allow myself to go back to school now. I want to grow my career. Why do you think that I’m only worthy of anything with a diploma? Life is not about a piece of paper; frankly, in my field, what is more important is knowledge, skills, and the ability to promote oneself. When hiring, I have been going through applications of people that finished my university and they couldn’t design a simple resume. The world has changed since you have been at school, and not everybody has to go to college to have a successful life."

I voiced out a monologue and in response, I got:

"Jesus, I can’t tell you anything, you always have to attack me," she said, backing out like a child that a second ago was poking you with a stick.

"Mom, stop lying. I know what you are doing. You are disappointed that I didn’t finish college and in your eyes, I am a failure, unable to create anything good enough. That’s what you mean on a subconscious level."

"That’s not what I said! As usual, you are making things up!"

I ignored her this time, since proving her wrong was pointless. I carried on with my monologue.

"For the last time, I am saying that I am not going back to college, unless I will have the possibility and desire to do so. And instead of making sneaky comments as a loving mother, you could just say, 'I am so proud to have such a smart and talented child. You are the best.'"

She stopped listening to me the moment she got distracted by a notification on her phone. I wasn’t surprised; usually, when she knows she can’t win a conversation, she pretends she can’t hear me.

We never really talked with my parents. We never expressed our feelings; signs of affection were gifts and money. I have a huge problem saying to my parents, "I love you," despite the fact that I do. I don’t particularly like them at times, but regardless, this is the type of love that can be challenging. I believe it’s there to teach me something and vice versa.

Along my journey, I have learned how to parent myself. I mean, learned is a strong word, but I’m familiar with the term and I am learning every day. How to give yourself qualities that your parents couldn’t. I know how to forgive myself and how to appreciate and say confidently, "Good job." I don’t need my parents to love me or like me. I like me, and that’s the most important.

Have I made mistakes in my life? Tons. They shaped the person I am today, and this person I like. I will probably make many more, but what would life be if the learning period was finished "after college"? It’s never too late to get to know yourself, to change direction, to fix something.

Am I feeling ashamed of myself for not being married and having babies? Not having a mortgage?

No.

I absolutely do not feel anywhere near such responsibilities. Here is my observation: 30s is the new 20s, 40s is the new 30s, 50s is the new 60s, and so on. We can live longer, we can be healthier, we have access to knowledge from the computer in our home. You can travel for work, you can work remotely. I mean, you don’t have to work at all if you don’t want to. Under the current socioeconomic situation, sticking to baby boomers' vision of a proper life is undoable ("I should've bought a house instead of resting in my mother's womb"). But also, we have so many more tools to cope with trauma, emotions, and learn how to live this life and be happy.