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Remember being 15
(lemmy.blahaj.zone)
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My dad treated me like that. After my mom died, my dad treated me like a small adult over whom he had no authority for the entirety of my teenage years, didn’t go through my room, didn’t tell me what to do, but tried to reason with me and convince me.
It didn’t work out well, because I was a child. I was nowhere near mature enough to handle that responsibility (my siblings and I were three stereotypes of too much freedom when we were younger- a recovering alcoholic, a born again Christian, and a kleptomaniac) and it made me feel unloved and like a burden. He does love me and was living the golden rule, but it turns out it’s not universally applicable.