10 Stories Proving That Losing Your Child’s Trust Is a One-Time Way Back—and Two Lessons for All of Us

It is well known that taking the entire process of raising a child seriously and being responsible for their attitudes is essential for anyone who wants to be a good parent. After all, the child is more sensitive than the adult, and hurting him with a word or a gesture is easy. Unfortunately, she can carry a grudge for life, even though her parents don’t care much about what was said or done. The following reports from Internet users prove that the behavior of parents greatly affects the bonds with their children and can result in the loss of their confidence.

The team of awesome.club I would like all parents, after reading this post, to start paying more attention to their children’s feelings, trusting them and taking their opinion seriously. Bonuses at the end of the publication underscore the importance of this.

When I was about 9-10 years old, my mother presented me with a “secret diary”. She said I could write whatever I wanted on it as it would be safe from others. In general, I didn’t like the idea very much, but it made me want to describe my experience traveling to a neighboring city on one of the pages (note that it was my first trip 400 km from my hometown).

So I put my thoughts on paper and left the journal on one of the shelves. A few days later, when my mother and I were having breakfast, she praised me saying that, despite my age, I had written a very interesting story in the diary… Since then, I haven’t left anything personal in writing and now I usually do notes only on a mobile app. © fenderovna / pikabu

My mother is a successful writer and best-selling author. I remember how she used to spend all her time in her room working and how she eventually managed to get a lot of books out in over 10 years. Meanwhile, I was having fun alone in my room, missing her…

Recently, I decided to read one of your books and came across an epigraph: “In honor of my daughter. Forgive me for the absence in your life”. I was moved, but my heart was already hardened. © Palata № 6 / vk

I had a diary in which I used to write short stories dealing with typical topics that typically preoccupy teenage girls: boys, relationships, love, etc. It may seem primitive, but it was another step towards becoming a great writer. I thought the diary was only available to a friend of mine, but then I found out that my mother also had access to my texts and then she started making fun of me: “Hahaha, what a funny story you wrote, it can only be to be…”

It was with her that I felt burning shame and fierce hatred for the first time. © Pushkanaizzer / pikabu

Once, when I was 8 years old, my grandmother’s gold watch disappeared. She was extremely worried as it cost a fortune. My uncles and mother decided to interrogate me and I, sitting in the kitchen chair, had to answer their questions without taking my eyes off the “policemen”. I was drowning in tears of despair, trying to justify myself in front of three people pressuring me for 4 hours.

As a result, all the accusations, threats, and, oddly enough, pity on my family’s part got mixed up in my head (“think about it, chances are I missed something!”), and I began to feel terribly uncomfortable. embarrassed and lost.

Suddenly, I felt an emptiness inside me… They didn’t even try to believe my words! I was telling the truth but they didn’t want to listen to me. The emptiness became so unbearable that self-confidence disappeared from me. Anyway, I was so scared and upset, in addition to feeling very sick under the psychological pressure, that I decided to lie saying that I had given the watch to a colleague, in order to put an end to that torture.

Immediately my uncle got on his bicycle and went to my friend, who, of course, knew nothing about the matter. The next day, ashamed and furious with myself, I went to school without the courage to raise my head to talk to my classmate. Apologizing, I felt my body burning inside, and I couldn’t wait for classes to end. Reluctantly, anguished, guilty and humiliated, I returned home, where my own mother betrayed me by distrusting me.

After a week, my grandmother found the watch, but no one apologized to me. I believe they thought apologizing to a child was silly. Since then, I stopped trusting my family. © Hottabov / pikabu

As a child, I loved to draw and went to art school, but I didn’t do well in class. So I used to practice at home by drawing for my mother. This was very important to me, so I spent hours drawing it, often starting over, but always delivering a gift to her every 3-4 weeks. Smiling, she would leave my drawings somewhere stating that she kept them all, and I believed her.

But one day I found her tearing up my gifts and throwing them in the trash… My world turned upside down. I spent a few weeks crying in secret, not telling anyone, and then I dropped art school and art itself ceased to be my passion.

To this day I wonder why she did that. Although I was only 12 years old, my drawings weren’t just any doodles (I have a few saved). But what I saw was enough to put the art down. Every now and then I want to start all over again, but I can’t… The image of my mother tearing up my work immediately pops into my head. I’m afraid you’ll spend your whole life holding that grudge. © Palata № 6 / vk

When I was about 8-9 years old, I attended children’s singing lessons. In my class there was a chubby, spoiled boy named Michael. I didn’t like him, because he loved to make fun of girls and it was impossible to confront him – he would throw tantrums and run complaining to his mother, who loved him more than anything and protected him from all “aggressors”. Eventually, my mom befriended her, and that’s where my sad story began.

One night, after a concert, Michael and our mothers and I went for a walk around town. When we arrived at the amusement park, among several rides there was a children’s roller coaster that went through a tunnel. Our moms bought two tickets each! I was extremely happy until I got on the ride: both Michael and I wanted to get in the driver’s seat. During a brief discussion, Michael’s mother said: “Let’s do this: now he will sit here and then you”. We agreed, we sat down, we did the first lap, I got off the train to change seats, but… Michael stood still – he didn’t want to give up his seat.

I started to complain: he had already done a lap and it was his turn to take the passenger seat. But the boy started screaming loudly, and his mother exclaimed: “He’s a boy, this place is more important to him than to you!” Then, to my surprise, as I turned to my mother for support, I heard her angrily yelling, “Either you sit next to him or we’re coming home right now! He understood!?”

I was quiet and terrified of so much injustice. I couldn’t believe that the closest and most beloved person, my mother, refused to defend me. It may sound silly, but the resentment lives on in my heart (and I’m about to turn 22!). This story always makes me cry.

I wish I had given up the toy that night, just so my mom would have stayed by my side. © Ofigela / pikabu

When I was about 12 years old, I was addicted to video games. On holidays, he spent whole nights playing and then slept until 2 pm. My mother tried to distract me, but it didn’t work.

So she decided to bet with me to motivate me: I had to spend the whole summer without a computer and, in exchange, I would receive 500 reais (and I could spend them on whatever I wanted). We agreed. That way, I spent the summer wandering the streets and planning my future with 500 reais in my pocket.

Of course my mother didn’t give me a penny. She had a lot of money, but “she had already spent a lot on me: new clothes and shoes, as well as a desk”. According to her, I “only knew how to consume”.

In response to my arguments (after all, we had made a deal) I was called ungrateful. No, it was like this: “UNGRATEFUL SON, I DO SO MUCH FOR YOU, BUT YOU KEEP ASKING!”

Since then, I stopped believing her words. © PaulBoimer / pikabu

Once, when I was 5 years old, I went into the forest with my parents and my cousin, my age, to pick blackberries. He stole my berries, so I tried to get him out of my basket, keeping all the patience in the world. I was really looking forward to eating my harvest at home…

As we all got into the car to leave, my cousin made yet another successful attempt to steal some of my fruit. I couldn’t stand the boldness and slapped him on the back of the head. My father immediately took my basket and said that I would not eat a single piece of fruit. What happened to them only God knows…

More than 20 years have passed, but I cannot forget this story and the feeling of injustice. © Korellian / pikabu

My hobby was collecting rare coins (which cost more than 100 reais), but, one day, my mother destroyed my collection… spending it all at the market. When I told her the coins were mine, she replied that the money ran in the family, there was no hiding place in the house, and then added that the wares were more important than a silly collection. Unfortunately, I failed to explain that she could have made a lot more money with those coins, making her mood even worse.

My collection was approximately 6 years old. Some coins were so rare that they couldn’t be found anywhere, others had some defects that increased their value. But, apparently, only I thought about it… I was very upset, since my mother did not know about the value of coins. I never expected such a betrayal. © Palata № 6 / vk

In the early 2000s, when I was around 8-10 years old, my dream was to buy an action figure. Bionicle, by LEGO. Like a good child, I started to collect part of my allowance and keep it in a very safe (in my opinion) place. However, at the beginning of the school year, I discovered that my stash was empty (there were only 50 reais).

It turns out that my mother had spent my money on notebooks for school. So she didn’t intend to apologize or return the amount spent.

It was then that the happy, innocent child lost…