“You will never be enough.” The words are branded in my mind. I flinched at the searing pain and the fire that jolted through my veins when they were spoken. The emerald trees and chipped sidewalk seemed to race across the car window, and my pulse sprinted, joining the race. I gasped, trying to keep up, but the whirlwind of color and emotions made the fine edges of the world disappear. A symphony roared in my head, turning lullabies into battle cries. Tears rained down my already salted cheeks, and my heart clattered in the surrounding chaos.  I knew he was wrong. He had to be wrong. But I could not shoot the retort that I had already nocked and perfectly aimed.

I grew up around one phrase: respect your parents. And that meant never talking back. Each insult they slapped me with and each reprimand they threw at me were to teach me a lesson. Needing to satiate my endless well of curiosity, I embraced the stinging pain and burning shame, which were needles coated in gold, disguised as education. Wanting to wear the crown labeled “perfect child,” I allowed my parents to sew my mouth shut.

This time, however, the first seams tore.

I informed my father that I forfeited in a competition because my team was short on time. My words ignited his temper, and he exploded. He was a cannon firing verbal attacks, each one more vicious than the next. With each insult, a part of me fractured, but I held the broken pieces together, hesitant to break the sacred family rule: never talk back.

“You will never be enough.” It was when he said those five words that I nocked my arrow and aimed. All of a sudden, doubt slithered its way in, welcomed by the family rule that my parents inscribed in my mind. But the rule had lost all value. It was worthless, just like how he saw me. The fractured pieces were slipping through my fingers, jagged edges tearing my palms, and the only way to stop it was to fire back. So I let the arrow fly.

“You do not get to decide my worth.”

My knuckles were colorless and my palms scattered with fingernail marks as I slammed the door of the black Mercedes-Benz, but I strode away with my shoulders back and my head held high.  

The veil that once covered my actions had finally been lifted. The strength of my emotions could not be hidden. For too long, I believed that talking back would mark me as a disgraceful daughter. But I proved that false. While rules are made for a reason, there is also value in breaking them. More importantly, however, is that there is value in knowing your self-worth.

Adversity hurts, yet it is the most worthwhile tool to build one’s life. When I think of those five words, I still feel the sharp sting and burning shame. But they are just memories now. I fired back, and it sparked the confidence within me. Now, I am not afraid to do it again. Each step I take and each achievement I complete heals a part of me that was broken. I take the fire that burns me down and use it to forge the shattered pieces into a stronger version of myself.