living on our parents’ couch. He spent most of his time playing video games and complaining online that the world owed him something.
Whenever I reached another milestone, my parents expected me to make myself smaller so Tyler wouldn’t feel uncomfortable about his own lack of direction.
For years, I cooperated.
I downplayed promotions.
Kept good news quiet.
Accepted scraps of praise.
Swallowed my frustration to keep the family peace.
Not this time.
“Are you out of your mind?” I finally snapped, the years of suppressed rage boiling over in
