I’ve sacrificed more than I can count, big ones, small ones, but all held together behind a smile. One of the earliest dreams I ever sacrificed was painting. I adored colors, brushes, and the sensation of creating something that felt like me on a canvas. It wasn’t a hobby; it was how I explained the world to myself. But my parents never encouraged it. They didn’t appreciate art. To them, it was a distraction and not a direction. So, I quit. I put my brushes away and rationalized that it wasn’t that important.
And then there was badminton. I excelled at it and kept me feeling alive, unattached. But still, no one was there to support me. No one attended the matches to cheer. No one inquired about how I played. Gradually, the racket was dusted off, and so did another fragment of my soul.
I’ve been known to take a step back for others, especially for my older brother. If it was food, chances, attention, or just the right to say how I felt, I had to step aside. Because he enjoyed it more. Because he desired it more. Because mom instructed so. I was taught at an early age that it was easier being the quiet one for those around me, even if it stung within.
I’ve lost the opportunity to be understood. I’ve relinquished explaining why things were important to me because I knew I wouldn’t be heard. I’ve lost comfort for respect, identity for peace, and silence for survival.
And maybe the most unseen sacrifice of all, myself. The me that used to be spontaneous, curious, and expressive. That was gradually edited down to meet other people’s expectations. To be the “good daughter,” the “adjusting sister,” the “nice girl.”
But here’s what I’m discovering now: sacrifices can mold us, but they won’t define us. I’m creeping back into the pieces I had to discard. Perhaps not all at once, perhaps not the same way, but I’m learning to paint once more, in language if not pigment. I’m learning to choose me, not in rebellion, but in self-respect.
Sacrifices must be made, but some were never mine to make. And it’s acceptable to mourn them, and to learn from them also.
The Thought Box 
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