What screams “I’m a man-child”?

The Price of Approval

I refused to give my brother all of my money, so my mother branded me as selfish. So, I showed her how selfish I can really be. My childhood is marked by one phrase and one phrase only: “Stop being selfish”.

One time when I was nine, I set up a yard sale where I sold all of my old belongings and made almost $100. But when I announced it to my family at dinner, my mom just asked why I didn’t give some of the money to my younger brother, who was eight at the time.

A feeling of guilt immediately washed over me, and I handed Trent $20. But instead of thanking me, he gave my mom a look. My mom then told me to stop being selfish, and I ended up giving him $80.

On some level, I knew it wasn’t right. However, I did it anyway because her approval mattered more to me than my feelings. Fast forward to last week when I turned 27.

For the first time in my life, I’ve achieved financial stability. I have a pretty solid savings account and a 401k, which might not sound like much, but to me, an exshopaholic, it’s a very big deal.

And of course, I didn’t want to be selfish. So, at the last family gathering, I came with a very big announcement.

This Airbnb expert at my job was looking for someone to invest in a house renovation with him. In exchange, they’d received 10 times the amount in passive income every year for the rest of their lives.

I could have signed up myself, but I wanted to give the opportunity to Trent. On the way there, I kept telling myself that this was the last key I needed to prove that once and for all, I was not selfish.

But of course, my hopes were shattered because when I got to my mom’s house, Trent opened the door.

“Did mom tell you my laptop broke a few months ago?”

I stared at him blankly and he just sighed.

“Mom, I told you Maggie would forget to buy me a new MacBook.”

I heard footsteps and suddenly my mom was beside him. They both stood with their arms crossed.

My mom told me that if I was going to be selfish and not buy my younger brother new things, then I didn’t even deserve a nice job, car, or anything.

Before I could explain why I came empty-handed and tell him about the Airbnb that would make him an extra $5,000 a year, he chimed in.

“Maggie, I’ve always protected you at school.”

“Remember the bullies?”

I did remember because he never let me forget. You see, in high school, I was tormented all day, every day. And one time, my brother threatened them to stop, so they did.

But it only lasted one day. Still, he raves about it to me and my mom, talking about it like he was a great Roman soldier. And I know this might sound pathetic, but I wasn’t even angry.

I just felt tears sting my eyes. My fingers clutched the brand new iPhone in my pocket that I had gotten for my mom. And as I was about to give it to them, they kept going.

“You know, your brother Trent just got fired from his role as cashier at the local Quick Check.”

“10 years of employment down the drain.”

“How do you plan to support us during this?”

In an instant, my sadness turned to anger. I stared at the entitled faces of my family. Not once during this whole ordeal was I invited inside.

I thought about my friends’ families that I had been introduced to. How they were always warmly greeted with a hug, never yelled at, never made to cry, and never treated like the family slave.

I took a deep breath and asked them if they had any gifts for me. My brother rolled his eyes.

“It’s always about you, isn’t it, Maggie?”

I kept a completely stoic expression while he retrieved it. The gift in question ended up being a discount coupon for a milkshake at Burger King. I’m lactose intolerant.