It was fear.
But fear still abandoned me.
And pain doesn’t disappear just because someone finally explains it.
My brother says I’m cold and stubborn.
My aunt says I’m selfish for “punishing” them.
My best friend says boundaries are not cruelty.
I don’t know which one is right.
I only know this:
I survived something hard.
I earned that white coat.
I walked across that stage without their help.
But I also know that part of me still wanted them there.
So maybe I was too harsh.
Or maybe I was just protecting the 20-year-old girl who stood alone in her bedroom and decided she would become a doctor anyway.
I don’t have an answer yet.
But I do know one thing:
I didn’t become a doctor because my parents believed in me.
I became one because I believed in myself—even when no one else did.
