The Birth of Humanity Deboism
From the Punching Bag to the Best Version
The Curse
For the longest time, I believed I was a curse. I grew up in a house that was less a home and more a battlefield, where my only currency was my success.
From class 2 through graduation — where I earned a silver medal — I was the consistent topper. Highly active in extracurriculars: sports, singing, dancing, drama, art. In any competition I entered, I was the winner or runner-up. Good at everything. Popular for all the right reasons.
But this excellence brought a deep, burning frustration. I was doing my absolute best to be the "ideal daughter," constantly asking: What is missing? Why treat me like this? What is my mistake?
The Logical Void
As a child, I was trapped in a confusion that defied logic. I was doing everything right, yet I was treated so wrong.
My father was a physical presence but a ghost of a parent — a man who preferred manipulation, screams, and broken things over love. My mother, in the heat of the chaos, would look at me and call me "the cancer of the house."
I was the rope in their endless tug-of-war. And then I watched as my younger brother began to follow their lead — blaming me for everything, misbehaving with me as if I were the problem.
The Silent Weight of the Curse
This mindset followed me like a shadow into college and the workplace.
Every time something went wrong, I silently believed it was because of my presence. I lived in fear that people would realise I was "cursed" and abandon me. I would often tell people I was the problem and go away — isolating myself, just to "protect" others from the trouble I thought I carried.
The Great Exit
The "bad omen" narrative was so deep that I eventually did what I thought was the kindest thing: I left.
When I began to earn my own money, I walked away. Not out of hatred. But because I genuinely believed my absence would finally allow my family to be happy.
A year passed. Then two. Then three. I didn't return — and yet, they were still a mess.
That was my moment of clarity: It had nothing to do with me.
Choosing the Cure
It took five years of agonising self-reflection and a heavy dose of self-awareness to dismantle the lies.
I realised I wasn't a curse. I was a witness to adults who never learned to regulate their emotions.
This awareness journey didn't just help me heal; it allowed me to break the generational curse. Once I found my own light, I began to share it. I started helping others—my family, my friends, and my coworkers—using the gift of awareness to help them see their own patterns and potential.
Do I hate them? No. My parents were trapped in their own cycles of unawareness. My brother was a child repeating the patterns he saw.
"Forgiveness isn't for them — it's the key to your own handcuffs."
New Truths
- →I am enough, with or without a trophy.
- →I am worth it, regardless of their words.
- →Healing is a slow, patient process.
- →The only thing I can control is my own actions.
I was never the cancer of the house.
I am the cure for my own life — and so can you be.
