the thing is, i understand where they are coming from and i empathize with them and they are nicer now, though they don't know everything yet. i am scared that if i came clean with who i am they would accept me, and be kind and loving and then i would have to accept that, and then move on from the wells of hurt they've caused me with no apology. i still haven't dealt with that. they haven't accepted that what they did hurt me. and i am the one doing all the empathizing: they still haven't changed at all.
My Papa's selfish choices became my inherited pain.
Yel Eyas, November 2025
I was a daddy's girl for the early years of my life.
I was an only-child until I turned seven years old. For the most part, my papa and I were close and I had a fun early childhood with him. I remember him taking me to his work a lot. He used to be a family driver and would take me to his trips. He taught me some important things like math, riding bike, swimming etc. Although, I'd say I've never really mastered math and swimming. And this is me being generous to myself because, what do I mean I've not mastered it? I AM terrible at math to this day. My brain just couldn't easily absorb it like that and also my dad was not an effective teacher. I am one of the millions of adults who had probably the universal experience of their parents, usually fathers, terrorizing them in the process of teaching them math.
It's one of the core memories I have with him. Now when I look back, I realized that it was also a foreshadowing. At the moment, grade-schooler me thought that I was being really bad at math and my papa was rightfully frustrated. It has eventually turned into a clue later on that he has issues regulating his emotions, mainly his temper with everything.
Our closeness started to dwindle when my brother was born. Papa began to expect that I would immediately grasp the concept of me being an ate or a big sister, with big sister responsibilities. Not only I couldn't do that immediately at seven years old and shortly after years of being an only-child, but his bad temper also did not help. He would angrily wake me up and tell me that I need to look after my brother, as him and mama worked at that time. He would get angry about my choice on which pot to cooks eggs on. He would blame me that my brother is not gaining enough weight at his age. He got easily angry about many things and I was confused most of the time, and of course, hurt.
The anger issues did not come out of nowhere though. At a young age, I witnessed some of mama and papa's fights, which should be normal right? Every couple goes through fights. Eventually, papa started having health issues even before my brother was born. He had brain tumor, which was thankfully non-cancerous but he had to go through brain surgery to have it removed. He's had blood transfusions and couple of other issues that had him hospitalized when I was a kid. He would recover every time and be fine, and go back to work.
But papa being clearly not in the best health and his brain surgery would eventually be dangled over to my head whenever I get upset because he's mad. 8 year-old me was always told to try to understand him, because he had a head surgery and it could have affected his behavior. I remember wondering until when it would last.
I am now 29 years old. Unfortunately, it did not change.
I went through teenage years no longer being closed to papa anymore. I was never able to tell him about my problems at school, or friends. I was never able to come to him for advice. It continued on to my adulthood. If it bothered him through the years, I wouldn't ever know because he never mentioned it. I've mostly remembered him working and coming home to rant to mama about how his day at work went. He always had something to rant about his co-worker or job, and usually from my judgement, they were petty things. I would unintentionally hear them and thought it must be hard to be a new hire at work and someone like papa is my mentor. Anyway, the thought of him being pre-occupied about work stuff made me more distant from him and I didn't think he still has headspace to hear more from me. So I just co-existed with him inside a home, only responding to him if he needs anything.
He was generally not bad to us his kids. I couldn't say he's nice either, so I would just say not bad. He was not physically abusive. Anger issues were there but we thought it's normal. Him and my brother was able to have a better relationship, to my brother's credit because he was more patient with papa than I was. But I didn't really care. Growing up, I thought that as long as I am invisible and he's not mad at me, I'm fine.
He's been hospitalized due to his hypertension many times throughout the years, even when I'm already an adult, which also added to the implied excuse to understand his angry outbursts. Again, he would recover every time. I didn't think about hospital bills back then. All I know was that mama was always able to find a way to settle them.
However as I turned mid-twenties, I was slowly beginning to understand more about his health. I started looking into his findings. His poor diet caused his hypertension and eventually elevated other blood levels. He's had maintenance medicines for probably almost a decade before it started affecting his other organs.
Papa took his meds diligently and willingly went to the doctor for follow check ups. But he was not as diligent in changing his lifestyle and diet. As long as he felt okay, he would eat whatever he wants. And when reminded, he would either not mind them or be mad. By our poor judgement, we let him be like that because we thought that he would be fine. Looking back, had I known what will happen, I would have given him an ultimatum then that if he did not start taking care of his health, I would leave and stop supporting him. We didn't know better. So I would say that when his creatinine level started rising, it's like when Titanic hit the ice berg for the first time. There was clearly something wrong but for a moment, we thought it would be fine and under control.
He had to take medicines for his kidneys and was advised constantly to eat healthier. Lessen protein and leafy vegetables intake which shouldn't be harmful, but already a sign that his kidneys couldn't filter some nutrients as effectively. For over eight years, he took kidney medicines and we closely monitored his creatinine levels and blood pressure. His creatinine never returned to normal once it started rising, but for a long time, it was stable and low enough to not need dialysis treatment yet. His nephrologist said to try not to reach 500µmol or else he would need dialysis. At that time, all of us did not know the impending weight of it. We thought that dialysis is "bad" which is a huge misconception and a topic of its own. While concerned, we were not as worried as we should have been, especially papa himself.
So he continued on his unhealthy ways. He would get hospitalized for hypertension every now and then. Family savings would go to hospital bills. And he would recover, but not without complications. His heart started to enlarge and his kidneys got further damaged by hypertension. Other blood toxins and nutrients started accumulating within him. And he has recovered, until one day — he did not.
Fast forward to today. He's been undergoing through dialysis for almost two years now. Unfortunately, almost a decade of maintenance medicines and check ups did not help an avoidable disease only because papa continued to not take accountability for his health, stayed stubborn and did not think of his family.
Here are just other things that happen because of my papa's selfishness.
Quality of life does not progress.
Eight years ago, my parents and I decided to buy our own home through a housing loan. We were at a financially better place at the time but I already had a bit of anxiety about this acquirement, as decades of loan payment is a huge responsibility. My parents were really optimistic back then and told me that we will work together to pay it. Now, I am the only one left paying the loan. We could not do further house improvements as savings get continuously spent on utility and hospital bills. My brother has stopped college for now and assumed the responsibility to accompany papa to the hospital where he has his 4hr dialysis sessions 3x a week. We cannot take time for enjoyment whenever we want. We cannot travel easily. We cannot take time to breathe from work. The home is supposed to be a huge milestone for us, instead it's just another bill. Another responsibility for me.
There is no rest.
When I was in college, I could not wait to graduate, start working and give back to my family. Now, sometimes there would be nothing left of my salary that went to help my family out. And I would think, this is what I wanted — to help and give back, but why am I feeling resentment? I realized that I wanted to give back to see my family progress. To see my mama take a break from decades of working hard. To spoil my brother and give him new experiences. These are what I live for. And because we are stuck in survival mode, no matter how much of my salary I give to help, my mama is still overworked, my brother is still stuck in the uncertainty of his 20s, and papa is still not getting any better.
Papa's condition of Chronic Kidney Disease, is a never-ending battle. He will never have normal blood levels, and he's much prone to other illness. He will get hospitalized or be under medication for one thing, and even after that, his symptoms will continue. It's a constant mindwork of how to ease things for papa, and of how to survive one bill to another.
I stopped having long-term plans and stress has began affecting my body and relationships.
I am almost 30 and having my own family is completely out of my mind at this point. My traumas from papa sealed my decision to not have kids of my own. I could not make future plans to travel or spend money for my enjoyment without being anxious about impending hospitalizations. I could not plan or think of what I really want in life when I'm stuck in survival. I started having medical findings in our annual physical exam, and I've recently had hormonal issues, having bled constantly and heavily for three months. All while needing to work because I cannot afford to stop.
Any plans to establish romantic relationships have come to a halt. The constant stress has stopped me from feeling "kilig". Hindi na ako kinikilig! It has also affected my friendships. It made me isolate and an absent friend. And at times, even an emotionally absent daughter. I started to have suicidal ideations, I don't really care about my future anymore and I just want the struggles to stop, but that can't happen unless I'm dead.
Philippines is full of injustices. Papa made sure we witness and experience all of them.
The poor healthcare and needle holes we have to go through for assistance. The health and social insurance faulty systems, and taxes at every breath.
I have to grieve the loss of my parents over and over again.
Clearly, my parents are still alive. It's about grieving the loss of versions of them throughout the years. My papa's refusal to change his ways made me constantly have to prepare mentally for the worst case scenario — his death. It's a constant feeling of fear and then anger towards him. Needing to rewire my brain to sympathize with his situation one moment, and then be frustrated because of his own doing is so tiring. There are moments when I am mentally a child and want papa to take me to his trips again, and I wished we had a better relationship so that I can come to him for guidance. My mama — I can see how the survival mode changed her. I read somewhere that many mothers have their motherhood sparks taken away from them, because they have been subjected to abuse and needed to survive for a long time. I see it happening to my mama. She does her best, but I wish things were different and much better for her. She deserves the best things, and I feel like I failed at giving back to her no matter how invalid this thought is.
Now, I am not talking about illness that are completely out of someone's control. Papa had enough time, his body gave him so many chances but he never took it seriously despite the access to healthcare. He never had the initiative to study his disease or his body and be responsible to change his lifestyle. It became our assumed responsibility to do it for him, to give him reminders which he did not gladly accept and taken to mind most of the time. He would get mad as if it's our fault.
Remember the anger issues? It never went away. He would still speak rudely to mama and my brother to this day, as if we have not just done everything to save his life every single time. The only reason he could not speak to me like that anymore is because I have stopped trying to revive our relationship. I needed to emotionally engage with him in the least way I could so I don't break down every time. But still I would ask myself, have I not been a good daughter? What did I do to deserve this hardship and why, even after all our efforts, papa has never shown us even once that he is grateful or apologetic?
Sometimes, this resentment extends to his parents, my grandparents. I wondered that if they only nurtured him more to grow up emotionally and mentally better than he is, wouldn't he have not been hypertensive and not developed other diseases? After all, I understand that how he acts today could be a result of his childhood traumas. But I have traumas too, and I don't think I would ever be that inconsiderate of my loved ones.
I would like to be completely honest in this blog, because when someone in the family is sick, caretakers are rarely checked on. And I completely understand, but I want to say that all hardships are equal. The patient's battle with their disease, and the caretakers' battle with financial survival. It is mentally and physically taxing for EVERYONE. I am done being told to understand someone because they're sick. They had free will to be mindful. They are sane (I would like to believe so) to think about taking care of themselves. To consider that their family might be in financial and mental danger. They knew that they could be more responsible with their choices, but papa was not. And a lot of times, I dream of papa recognizing his issues and choosing not to bring a child to life 29 years ago.
How amusing. I can hear my parents above my head in the kitchen and I can tell they’re talking about Me. I’d be able to hear better if my tinnitus was SO AWFUL
Maaan I don’t want smut. I want the mmc to immediately stop his side of the argument when he sees the fmc tear up, instantly comforting her despite their differences
hey guys! if you have a parent with bpd or high emotional instability, please take this (anonymous) survey! the experiences of children of parents with bpd aren’t talked about enough and we’re trying to change that 💞 18+
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