My Mother Said “I Wish You Were Never Born”—So I Told Her “Consider Me Dead” What Followed Was Pure

My mother once told me, “I wish you had never been born.” I responded, “Then consider me gone.” What happened after that was complete disorder. Hey, Reddit. My own mother said she wished I was never born, so I acted on it. I disappeared from the entire family. No contact at all. The result, absolute fallout.

Stay with me because this situation escalated fast. My name is Jake. I’m a 32-year-old man, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve been the backup child. You know, the role, the kid whose main purpose is to make the favorite look even better by comparison. My younger brother, Tyler, 28, has been the center of attention since day one.

He could have burned the house down, and my mom would have applauded his creativity. The favoritism growing up wasn’t hidden at all. It was so blatant that even relatives and family friends noticed and made awkward comments about it. Tyler had the largest bedroom in the house, complete with bay windows overlooking the backyard, a walk-in closet, and a private bathroom.

I was assigned what used to be a storage room in the basement. It had a small window well that flooded whenever it rained and a bathroom shared with the laundry area. The carpet constantly smelled damp no matter how much it was cleaned. In winter, the heat barely reached my room. You could literally see your breath.

When Tyler turned 16, he was given a car. Not just any car, a Mustang that my dad spent 3 months restoring in the garage. I remember watching them work on it together every weekend. Dad showed Tyler how engines and transmissions worked. Both of them laughing and covered in grease. Whenever I asked if I could help, Dad told me to do my homework or cut the grass.

That car became dad’s prized project, even though Tyler didn’t treat it well. He wrecked it twice in the first year, and both times, Dad repaired it without so much as raising his voice. When I turned 16, I got a lecture. Dad explained that owning a car was a privilege and that I needed to prove financial responsibility.

He also handed me a bus schedule. So, I got a job at a local grocery store, saved for 8 months, and bought a 1998 Honda Civic with $140,000 for $2,800. It barely functioned and needed constant repairs, but it was mine. Dad never offered to help fix it or teach me basic maintenance. I learned everything from YouTube videos in the driveway while he and Tyler watched football inside.

Tyler barely made it through high school with a 2.3 GPA. Yet, my parents threw him an elaborate graduation party. They rented a banquet hall, hired a DJ, invited around 150 guests, and played a slideshow that somehow turned average grades into a success story. The cake alone cost $400. And they even hired a professional photographer.

Tyler wore a customtailored suit and dad gave a long emotional speech about his pride in watching his son overcome challenges and achieve his goals. Those challenges were regular classes and those goals were graduating after 5 years due to failing junior year English. Two years earlier, I graduated with a 3.

8 8 GPA, membership in the National Honor Society, and acceptance letters from three universities with partial scholarships. What I received was a card with $50 and a quick good job. While my parents focused on planning Tyler’s college living arrangements, there was no celebration, no photos, no speech. We went to a family dinner at a chain restaurant where Tyler complained about the menu the entire time and mom spent dinner asking him what color sheets he wanted for his dorm room.

I sat there in my honor cords watching my parents plan his future while mine was treated like an inconvenience. The following day, I asked my mom why Tyler had a major party and I didn’t. She said Tyler needed extra encouragement because school was more difficult for him and that I was self-motivated and didn’t need outside praise. Self-motivated.

That’s what you call a kid who learns early that no one is going to recognize his accomplishments. So, he has to find motivation on his own. College followed the same pattern only with higher consequences. Kyler attended State University for six years, changed majors four times, and eventually graduated with a communications degree he has never used.

He started as premed because dad wanted a doctor in the family. After failing organic chemistry, he switched to business. Then psychology because a girl he liked was in the program. Then marketing because it sounded easy. He finally settled on communications because his adviser told him it was the only major he had enough credits to finish. My parents paid for everything.

Tuition, housing, meal plans, spending money, fraternity fees, spring break trips. Altogether, they probably spent close to $180,000 funding his extended adolescence. Mom justified it by saying Tyler needed to focus on school without the pressure of working despite the fact that he spent more time partying than studying.

I took a different path. I attended community college while working full-time at a warehouse, then transferred to a regional campus to complete my business degree. I graduated with $31,000 in student loan debt, which I’m still paying off. My parents contributed exactly nothing aside from frequent remarks about how I should have worked harder to earn scholarships like Tyler supposedly did.

Tyler never received scholarships. What he had instead was unlimited financial support from my parents. and it still took him 6 years to finish a 4-year degree. During that time, I worked overnight shifts at a warehouse from 11:00 p.m. to 7 a.m., then went directly to class. I sat in the back rows of lecture halls, struggling to stay awake, relying on gas station coffee and vending machine snacks because I didn’t have time for proper meals.

Other students complained about being tired from late night gaming or parties. I was exhausted because I’d spent eight hours loading trucks before stepping onto campus. There were weeks when I worked 45 hours, attended 15 hours of classes, and somehow still managed to study and complete assignments. I’d scroll through Facebook and see Tyler at football games, parties, and road trips with friends.

At the same time, I was calculating whether I could afford both groceries and textbooks. Most weeks, I couldn’t. I shared books with classmates or used outdated library editions. My parents were fully aware of this. They saw me at family dinners, barely able to stay awake, sometimes falling asleep on their couch because I hadn’t slept in my own bed for days.

Not once did they offer to help with tuition or reduce my workload by covering basic expenses. But when Tyler mentioned wanting to join a fraternity, they produced $800 for dues within a week. After college, I entered supply chain management. I started at the bottom, worked irregular hours, dealt with demanding clients, and faced constant deadlines.

Over eight years, I worked my way up to senior logistics coordinator. It’s not flashy, but it pays well. Around $73,000 a year, plus bonuses. I own a small home in a decent neighborhood, drive a reliable car, and pay my bills on time. In short, I live a stable adult life. Tyler moved back home after graduating, he spent 2 years finding himself.

Cycled through part-time jobs he quit after a few months and now does freelance graphic design. By freelance, I mean he designs logos for friends failed startups and hasn’t earned more than $15,000 in any year. He’s 28 and still lives rentree in my parents finished basement. What makes it worse is how my parents describe us.

Tyler is labeled artistic, creative, and on a journey. I’m accused of focusing too much on money and missing the bigger picture. Tyler’s lack of steady work is framed as pursuing passion. My stable career is described as settling for corporate mediocrity. Every family gathering follows the same script.

Mom asks Tyler about his latest project as if he’s creating a masterpiece. He talks for half an hour about a $200 logo job, and she listens attentively, asking detailed questions about his creative process. Dad adds comments about Tyler’s entrepreneurial mindset. They analyze his portfolio like it’s a gallery exhibit.

Everyone plays along, pretending freelance logos equal running a real business. Then mom turns to me and asks if I’m still doing that warehouse thing. Not how work is going or what I manage, just that warehouse thing said in a tone that implies mild embarrassment. I manage supply chains for a regional manufacturing company operating in 17 states.

I coordinate with more than 40 vendors, oversee inventory systems, tracking millions of dollars in products, manage shipments worth more than my parents’ house, solve complex distribution issues, and lead a team that depends on my decisions. But to them, it’s still that warehouse thing. I tried explaining my role once at Thanksgiving.

I got three sentences in before Tyler interrupted with a story about an Instagram influencer who wanted him to design a logo. Everyone’s attention shifted instantly. My explanation hung there, unfinished and ignored. Tyler’s girlfriend, Brooklyn, fits right in. She’s a lifestyle influencer with about 3,000 Instagram followers, most likely bots based on engagement.

She posts smoothie bowls, sunset yoga poses, and inspirational quotes while living off Tyler’s monthly allowance from my parents. I recently learned that allowance is $800 a month. Tyler receives a steady income for existing while I worked night shifts to afford community college. Brooklyn’s content is predictable.

generic quotes over stock photos, sponsored posts for questionable diet tees, and endless yoga photos in expensive activew wear. She once told me she was building an empire and asked if I wanted to invest in her personal brand. When I asked what that involved, she said she needed $5,000 for a professional photo shoot and Instagram ads. I declined.

My girlfriend Lily is a middle school teacher. She works tirelessly for modest pay, spends her own money on classroom supplies, and genuinely cares about her students. She’s smart, kind, funny, and far more impressive than she gets credit for. We’ve been together 4 years and talks seriously about marriage and building a future.

According to my family though, Brooklyn’s Instagram lifestyle is more admirable than Lily’s real career in education. Mom regularly asks when I’ll find someone ambitious like Brooklyn. Things came to a head 3 months ago. Tyler announced he was proposing to Brooklyn and my parents immediately planned a large engagement party.

around 80 guests, catered food, open bar, the whole event. Dad called and asked me to contribute $2,000. The total budget was about $8,000. And since I was doing well, they felt my contribution was reasonable. Tyler wasn’t paying anything because he was saving for the ring using money they gave him. I laughed out loud. I told dad I wasn’t funding Tyler’s engagement party when Tyler wasn’t even paying for his own ring.

Dad paused, then said, “Family helps family.” And accused me of being selfish. Selfish coming from people who paid nothing toward my education while financing Tyler’s six-year college experience. I said I’d think about it and hung up. I didn’t think about it at all. Two weeks later, mom called upset that I hadn’t sent the money.

They’d planned the budget assuming my contribution and were now short after placing deposits. I reminded her I never agreed to anything. She said she assumed I’d do the right thing as Tyler’s brother, that family supports family, and that she raised me better than to abandon him. “The right thing would have been treating both your kids equally,” I said. Mom immediately became defensive.

She insisted they’d always treated us the same. “Any differences,” she claimed, were because Tyler needed more support due to his creative personality. I was independent and didn’t need as much help. That was the story they’d told themselves for years. I pressed for specifics. Tyler’s Mustang versus my bus pass.

His fully funded six-year college experience versus my student loans. Him living rentree at 28 while I paid rent at 19. She had explanations for everything. The car supported his social development. My loans built character and credit. Charging Tyler rent would have stifled his creativity. Every excuse was flimsy, and we both knew it.

But she delivered them with practiced confidence. Finally, she said I’d always been jealous of my brother. That’s when I realized the conversation was beyond repair. I wasn’t jealous. I felt sorry for him. He was 28, living in a basement, earning next to nothing and unprepared for adult life. There was nothing to envy. Mom’s tone turned cold.

At least Tyler was grateful, she said. At least he appreciated what they did for him. I was difficult. Always complaining, always making things about myself. Everything has always been about Tyler, I replied. for 28 years. She said maybe if I were more like him, they’d want to help me more. That line clarified everything.

They didn’t withhold help because I didn’t need it. They did it because I wasn’t Tyler. She told me to forget the money and said they didn’t need anything from me. Something finally snapped. I told her that was fine because from now on she’d get nothing from me either. She accused me of being dramatic.

I told her I was serious. If they didn’t need anything from me, then the relationship was over. She laughed thinking I was joking. Then she said it. Maybe she wished I’d never been born. I went quiet. Then I calmly said, “Okay, consider your wish granted. From now on, act like I don’t exist.” I hung up, blocked her number, then Dad’s, then Tyler’s.

I blocked them on every social platform, and removed relatives who would try to intervene. By the end, I’d blocked 17 contacts. Each one felt like cutting another thread, holding me down. An hour later, Lily came home exhausted from work. She took one look at me and asked what happened. I told her everything. She listened without interrupting.

When I finished, she held my hand and said, “I’m proud of you. No doubts, no second guessing, just support.” That’s when I knew I’d made the right decision. The first week was silent. No calls, no messages. Then the engagement party happened. I took Lily out to dinner, saw a movie, played video games, and didn’t think about it once.

The next morning, my doorbell rang at 8:00 a.m. It was my aunt Rachel. She said my mom asked her to talk to me. I told her I wasn’t interested, but she asked me to listen. Against my better judgment, I let her in. Rachel sat at my kitchen table and explained that the party had been a disaster.

Not because I wasn’t there. That barely registered. The event fell apart because without my $2,000 contribution, they had to scale things back significantly. Instead of the upscale venue they wanted, they used my parents’ backyard. Instead of professional catering, my mom and her friends cooked the food themselves. Instead of an open bar, there was a cooler filled with drinks.

Brooklyn was furious. Rachel told me she had expected a polished high-end celebration and ended up with what was basically a backyard barbecue. She and Tyler got into a loud argument in front of everyone. Brooklyn accused him of not caring enough to give her a proper engagement celebration. Tyler felt awful.

According to Rachel, he believed I had intentionally sabotaged his party. I laughed. I sabotaged his engagement by not giving money I never agreed to give. That was some impressive mental gymnastics. Rachel looked uneasy. She said my mom was deeply hurt and didn’t really mean what she said on the phone. Yes, she did. She meant it completely.

She said she wished I was never born. So, I was honoring that wish. Rachel tried to excuse it, saying people say things they don’t mean when they’re angry. I told her I’d had 32 years to observe how my parents treated me compared to Tyler. That comment wasn’t accidental. It was the truth finally spoken out loud. Rachel shifted to familiar arguments.

Blood is thicker than water. You only get one set of parents. Life is too short to hold grudges. I countered each one with facts. They had chosen Tyler over me for three decades. I was simply accepting their decision. Finally, she asked what I wanted her to tell my mom. I told her exactly what I’d already said. I don’t exist to her anymore.

She needs to act like I was never born. Rachel said I didn’t really mean that. I told her I absolutely did. She left looking defeated. I felt nothing. No guilt, no regret, no sadness, just relief that my boundaries were holding. Two weeks later, my dad showed up at my workplace. Somehow, he got past the front desk and appeared in my office during lunch. He said we needed to talk.

I told him we didn’t and kept eating my sandwich. He said I was being stubborn. I told him I was being consistent. I told mom I was done and that included him. He sat down anyway and started talking about how I was tearing the family apart, how Tyler was upset, how mom cried every day, and how all of this was ridiculous over a few thousand.

I interrupted and told him it wasn’t about money. It was about 32 years of being treated like I didn’t matter. He said that wasn’t true. I reminded him that he restored a Mustang for Tyler’s 16th birthday and gave me a bus schedule. He said I told him I didn’t want a car. I pointed out that I was 14 when I said that because I knew they couldn’t afford two cars until Tyler turned 16 and money suddenly wasn’t an issue.

I reminded him they fully paid for Tyler’s college while I graduated with $31,000 in debt. He said they were in a better financial position when Tyler went to school. I pointed out they bought Tyler a car 3 years earlier and could have saved that money for my education. He had no response. Tyler lived rentree in their basement at 28. I paid rent at 19.

Dad said Tyler needed more time to establish himself. I didn’t. We went in circles for 20 minutes. Every example of favoritism had an excuse. Either he genuinely couldn’t see it or he refused to admit it. Eventually, I told him to leave or I’d call security. He stood up angry and said, “I’d regret this because family was all I had.

” I replied that apparently I didn’t have much. He left. I finished my sandwich and went back to work. That evening, my boss called me into his office. He said my father had come by and claimed I was having a mental health crisis and might not be reliable at work. I explained that we’d had an argument and I’d cut contact and that my dad was trying to create problems.

My boss agreed and said my father’s behavior reflected poorly on him, not me. He warned me in case things escalated further. I called Lily on the way home and told her everything. She was furious and suggested a restraining order, but that felt premature. Instead, I emailed my boss, HR, and building security, explaining the situation, and asking that my parents and brother not be allowed into the building.

The following week, Tyler showed up at my house. Lily and I were making dinner when the doorbell rang. I saw him through the peepphole and told him to leave. He said we needed to talk. I told him there was nothing to discuss. He accused me of ruining his engagement. Brooklyn’s family thought they were broke because of the scaledown party who father kept asking why Tyler’s brother didn’t help.

I told him it sounded like his problem. He told me to stop being petty and said I should get over the college and car issues since they were years ago. I told him those weren’t isolated incidents. They were part of a lifelong pattern. I warned him once to leave and told him I’d call the police if he came back. He argued until he realized I wasn’t backing down, then left, shouting that I was a jerk and that Brooklyn’s family thought our whole family was dysfunctional.

Good. Not my concern anymore. By week five, things escalated further. Mom began contacting Lily. The messages started as concern and shifted into manipulation, suggesting Lily was turning me against my family. Lily showed me everything and blocked her number. That Saturday, mom showed up at Lily’s school after classes and approached her in the parking lot.

Lily called me immediately. I told her not to engage and to call school security. Mom was removed and warned about trespassing. Lily filed a report and mom’s name was flagged in the system. At that point, I spoke to a lawyer friend who advised me to document everything and consider a restraining order. In month two, my uncle Dave reached out.

He wasn’t asking for reconciliation. He wanted to warn me. My parents were telling people I’d had a breakdown, that I was unstable and that they were afraid of me. It was character assassination. Dave told me he didn’t believe any of it and said he’d watched the favoritism for years.

He offered to make a statement if things went legal. With that information, I had a lawyer send a formal letter demanding they stop spreading lies, stop contacting my workplace and Lily and stay away from our property. It worked mostly. Direct contact stopped, but rumors continued. I held firm. No contact meant no contact. The bridge wasn’t burned.

It was gone completely. By month three, Tyler’s wedding planning ran into problems. Brooklyn’s parents started asking why I wasn’t involved.