“It Hurts So Much: My Parents Just Used Me”

For as long as I can remember, my parents have always struggled financially. Growing up, I watched them work tirelessly, yet it seemed like no matter how hard they tried, they could never get ahead. As a child, I didn’t understand the full extent of their struggles, but as I grew older, it became painfully clear.

My name is Jake, and I’m 28 years old. For the past few years, my parents have increasingly leaned on me for financial support. It started small—covering a bill here and there, lending them money for groceries—but it quickly escalated into something much more burdensome.

Every time they went to the store, they would call me, lamenting about how expensive everything had become and how they couldn’t afford even the basics. “Jake, we just don’t know what to do,” my mom would say, her voice tinged with desperation. “We can’t make ends meet.”

At first, I felt a deep sense of responsibility to help them. After all, they were my parents, and they had sacrificed so much for me. But as time went on, I began to feel more like a bank than a son. They would call me multiple times a week, each time with a new financial crisis that needed immediate attention.

I tried to set boundaries, explaining that I couldn’t always bail them out. But my words fell on deaf ears. They would guilt-trip me, reminding me of all the things they had done for me over the years. “We took care of you when you were little,” my dad would say. “Now it’s your turn to take care of us.”

The emotional manipulation was relentless. They made me feel like I was a terrible son if I didn’t help them. And so, I continued to give them money, even when it meant sacrificing my own financial stability.

I started working extra hours at my job, taking on freelance projects just to keep up with their demands. My social life suffered, and I found myself constantly stressed and anxious. I couldn’t remember the last time I had done something for myself.

One day, I decided to confront them about how their constant requests were affecting me. I sat them down and poured my heart out, explaining how much pressure I was under and how it was impacting my mental health.

To my shock, they didn’t seem to care. My mom shrugged and said, “Well, life is hard for everyone.” My dad added, “You just have to toughen up.”

Their lack of empathy was a punch to the gut. I realized then that they didn’t see me as their son anymore; they saw me as a means to an end. It hurt so much to come to that realization.

I tried to distance myself from them after that conversation, but it was difficult. They would still call and text, pleading for help. And every time I ignored them, the guilt would eat away at me.

Eventually, I had to make a tough decision. I moved to a different city and changed my phone number. It was the only way I could regain control of my life and start healing from the emotional wounds they had inflicted.

It’s been a year since I cut off contact with my parents. The pain is still there, but I’m slowly learning to live for myself again. I’ve started therapy to work through the trauma and rebuild my sense of self-worth.

I wish things could have been different. I wish my parents had seen me as more than just a source of money. But sometimes, you have to make hard choices to protect your own well-being.