The First Time I Said No

I didn’t plan to stand up to my parents. It just happened. Another dinner. Same tone.

Same control disguised as “concern.” They told me I’d fail without them—like they always did.

This time, I put my fork down. I said, “No.” They laughed.

Then they got quiet. I told them I was done being scared, done carrying their anger,

done shrinking to make them comfortable. My voice shook—but I didn’t. They called me ungrateful.

Dramatic. Cruel. That’s how I knew I’d won. I left with nothing

but my jacket and a pounding heart. They didn’t change. But I did. And their voices

finally stopped being the loudest ones in my head.