The women in my life were just as bad as the men when it came to telling me I shouldn’t cry because boys don’t cry. Teachers, adults at the adoption center, even some of the other kids’ mothers—all of them were ruthless. They’d tell me that boys aren’t allowed to show weakness, that crying makes me less of a man. I remember being told to “man up” and “stop acting like a little girl” whenever I showed any emotion. It wasn’t just a comment—it was an attack. They’d look at me like I was pathetic, like I didn’t deserve any sympathy. If I ever tried to speak up or express how I felt, they’d shut me down, mocking me, telling me I was embarrassing myself.
They didn’t care that I was struggling, that I had autism and felt completely lost. Instead, they made me feel like I was a burden, like my emotions were some kind of flaw that made me unworthy. They treated me like I was broken, like my pain didn’t matter at all. They didn’t offer comfort or understanding; they just criticized and belittled me. Every time I showed any vulnerability, they acted like I was a failure, like I was less than everyone else. I wasn’t allowed to be human, just a shell of what they wanted me to be.
They didn’t care that I was struggling, that I had autism and felt completely lost. Instead, they made me feel like I was a burden, like my emotions were some kind of flaw that made me unworthy. They treated me like I was broken, like my pain didn’t matter at all. They didn’t offer comfort or understanding; they just criticized and belittled me. Every time I showed any vulnerability, they acted like I was a failure, like I was less than everyone else. I wasn’t allowed to be human, just a shell of what they wanted me to be.
