LISTEN TO ARTICLESynthesized Narration • 0:00 / 0:00

All my life, I was never treated as their child—I was a project they created to resemble their vision. They called it love. They called it discipline. They said they just wanted the best for me. But beneath those words was always a cruel truth: I was not raised to be myself. I was raised to be theirs. To be loved this way is to feel like a song trapped in someone else's throat—meant to be heard, but silenced before it can ever become my own. I became an extension of their silent ambitions. Every step I took was measured by the path they had already drawn for me, as if my life was set in stone. My grades don't reflect my achievements, but theirs. My choices don't mirror the person I am, but the one they're forcing me to become. Every violin lesson I didn't want, every medal hung around my neck, every career suggestion disguised as advice—they were never meant for me, but for them. I was a mirror, reflecting what they wanted to see. The perfect smile for photographs, the polite nod when advice was given. To be raised this way is suffocating; bittersweet even. Sweet in its promise, bitter in its weight. I was polished until I shone, but I lost myself during the process. And so, I learned silence. I swallowed my own voice, disregarded my feelings, for the sake of becoming the person they envisioned—the person they wanted to become. Now, when I look at myself in the mirror, I don't see myself—I see a doll my parents had created. The reflection stares back at me, refined and composed, yet unfamiliar. The mirror doesn't answer my questions. It only holds the silence of all the things I was never allowed to say. They carved away the parts of myself that I loved until I was smooth, but in their carving they erased the very pieces that made me human. Somewhere deep inside, the person I truly am lies beneath the version of me that my parents carved for me. And yet, I feel something stirring inside me. A small, fragile voice whispers that I was meant for more than this. That I am more than just their puppet, more than just they forced me to be. Perhaps one day the mirror will crack, and from its broken shards, I will find the voice I lost, the version of me they forced me to bury. One day, I will no longer reflect—I will finally live.