I have sisters.
And for as long as I can remember… they’ve made fun of me.
At first, it didn’t seem like a big deal.
Just jokes.
Little comments here and there.
The kind of thing people say siblings do.
But over time…
it didn’t feel like jokes anymore.
It felt constant.
No matter what I did…
they had something to say.
If I got something wrong, they laughed.
If I made a mistake, they pointed it out.
If I tried to explain myself, they talked over me.
And even when I got something right…
they didn’t let me have it.
They’d get annoyed.
Roll their eyes.
Say something rude just to bring me back down.
Like they couldn’t stand seeing me do well.
The worst part?
It doesn’t just happen when we’re alone.
It happens in front of my parents.
And instead of stopping it…
they laugh.
Every time I hear them laugh…
something inside me sinks.
Because it feels like I’m the only one who sees it for what it is.
Not funny.
Not harmless.
Just hurtful.
There were times I tried to laugh along.
Pretend it didn’t bother me.
Act like I was “in on the joke.”
But I wasn’t.
I was just trying not to feel small.
Because that’s what it does.
It makes me feel like no matter what I do…
I’m not taken seriously.
Like I’m the easy target.
The one everyone can joke about.
And when no one steps in…
it feels like I don’t matter enough to be defended.
That’s the part that hurts the most.
Not just what they say.
But that no one stops it.
I started noticing something, though.
The more I stayed quiet…
the more it kept happening.
The more I laughed it off…
the more they thought it was okay.
So one day…
I stopped.
The next time it happened, I didn’t smile.
I didn’t laugh.
I just said:
“Stop.”
At first, they laughed like usual.
But I didn’t join them.
“I’m serious,” I said.
“I don’t like it.”
It got quiet for a moment.
Not because everything suddenly changed…
but because something did.
Me.
For the first time…
I wasn’t playing along.
It didn’t fix everything overnight.
They still made comments sometimes.
They still tried to push.
But now…
I respond differently.
Short.
Clear.
Firm.
And if it continues…
I walk away.
Because I’ve realized something.
I can’t control what they say.
But I can control what I accept.
And I don’t have to accept being disrespected.
Even if it’s my own family.
I’m still learning.
Still finding my voice.
But I know this now:
I deserve respect.
Not just outside my home.
But inside it too.
And I’m not going to stay quiet about that anymore.
